Title: Scales
Rating: K+
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby
Disclaimer: Kripke enterprises own Sam. I do own the DVDs though…
Note: So, for everyone who has added me to their list of alerts over the past months that I've been gone I would like to say think you so much. Every time that someone does that I'm stunned dumb that you like what I do so much, and I have every intention of getting to work on catching up but my personal life has been completely overturned. I hope you all enjoy and I promise that soon I'm gonna be posting updates to all the other stories that need updating. I may even post a poll in my profile so keep an eye on the profile if you'd like to vote. Thanks to all my loyal reviewers ad everyone who even just reads and like my stories.
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He always thought that their lives could be measured in scales of what he wasn't allowed to do.
Six years old.
Sam learned that the cardinal rule to not making his big brother murderously angry at him was to not ever, ever, mention mommy or anything that could even be related back to mommy.
So he didn't.
Eight years old.
Don't ever tell anyone that Daddy goes away on long trips and sometimes doesn't come back for a long time. Don't ever tell anyone that when you fell and hit your head it was your big brother who had to stay up with you all night just to make sure you don't have a concussion.
Eleven years old.
Brand new cardinal rule of being a Winchester, THE cardinal rule. You're a hunter, your father is a hunter, and the big brother who you look up to more than anyone in the whole world, more than John Wayne and Steve McQueen, and even more than them, is one too. So of course you are too. You Don't ever, EVER even think about telling someone about that.
Okay, so that's fine, you can do that. At least you know why your family is so noT normal now. You can package up your feelings into a neat little box and move on.
Just like Dean.
Thirteen years old.
You're finally just like Dean. He didn't want you to come because he thinks you're just a big baby but John let you and you shot the gun just like Dean taught you (Dean taught you everything, even the things you probably weren't supposed to know…like the difference between real boobs and fake ones) and you shot the werewolf dead.
You thought Dean would look proud but he doesn't…he looks angry.
"Good job, Sammy." John pats you on the shoulder and you get distracted from what Dean thinks. John never tells you good job, no matter how many A's you bring home from school.
"Yeah Sammy," Dean smiles but you know him better than smug 'well I know everything' Dean realizes you do…so you know its just a mask. But you don't know why. "You kicked ass tonight, good job, kid."
Later that night, back in the motel room, dad is asleep and Dean leans over and whispers in your ear.
"Don't you ever do anything that fucking stupid again. You ever jump in front of one of those suckers to cover my ass and I will lock you in a closet until the end of the world. Got it Sam?"
Dean isn't joking.
He was just trying to look out for his bIg brother.
He nods his head, he knows that Dean is angry because he was scared, they're all each other really has.
"Yes." He all but whispers.
Fifteen years old.
Dean smacks him across the back of his head as he watches the pretty brunette sail past him and just gapes at her like the incoherent retard he was around pretty girls.
"Dean, what the hell?"
"What the hell is right!" Dean objects fiercely, "Don't you ever just let a pretty girl run past you like that without getting her number…Christ, have I taught you anything?"
He grumbled unintelligibly and rubs the back of his head, Dean has a hand like a brick. "If you like her so damn much get her number yourself."
"Fine." Dean smirked," I will."
Five minutes later Dean struts back with her number and drops it on the table in front of him.
"She's sixteen, her name is Sarah Anne, and she loves Jane Austen…whoever the hell that is. I'm not up for a taste of jail bait today, she's all yours."
Sam glanced at the number.
"Don't let her get away Sammy, she likes you."
He's not sure that he minds Dean telling him what to do this time.
Seventeen years old.
He hadn't expected it to be easy, but he sure as hell hadn't expected it to be so hard.
"That's called naiveté." He pictured Dean drawling with slow, simmering, anger.
But he didn't. He just stared at him, and John yelled. That was all his father was good for was yelling, it wasn't like John Winchester did something constructive like give him one solid reason why he should stay. He just yelled and gave orders like his sons were his own personal marine corps regiment.
But Dean, Dean looked at him like he'd done something unthinkable. Dean looked at him like he kicked a puppy, or cut off Shirley Temple's curls. Dean looked at him like he didn't know him-and that hurt more than anything John could say.
"If you're going to leave," John warned, lingering by the open door, "Don't bother coming back, Sam!"
And Dean didn't say one single word.
John slammed the door shut behind him.
"So that's it?" Dean asked, "You're just leaving?"
Sam nodded his head, asking Dean to please not be mad was useless. He had nothing to say. He knew that no matter what, he was hurting Dean by leaving…to Dean abandonment was possibly higher on the list of most horrible things to occur than death or torture.
Dean snorted, "Whatever."
"I'm sorry." Sam said, unable to look his brother in the eyes. He didn't want to really know what Dean was thinking. Dean was truly an open book.
"No, you're not." Dean told him, "You're doing what you want to do Sam. Try not to get yourself killed." he finished slowly, an icy tone in his voice that sounded almost foreign to Sam.
Dean slammed he door behind him
He was more worried about Dean in that department than himself.
Twenty-two years old
As soon as he heard the familiar and raucous tone asking about beer…the unmistakable voice, he decided that whatever it might be the answer was no. This time it would not be Dean giving the orders. Dean would not be telling him what to do, or not to do.
He was his own person.
"Dad was on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."
Scratch every thought that had entered his mind in the four and a half minutes since Dean broke into his apartment, right? Sort of. He felt one tiny selfish part of himself itching to tell Dean so what, Dad didn't care about him, Dad and Dean were the hunters…not him-he was a future lawyer. He had a future.
"I need your help Sammy." Dean begged once they were outside and Sam felt a surprising wave of guilt.
Why?
"You don't need my help." Sam corrected him, and he knew that was fact.
"But I want it." Dean told him, "Please."
When he was a kid and girls would look at him and say, "Dean Winchester is your brother? Really?" He had just rolled his eyes and nodded his head, "Yeah."
But when his brother looked at him with clear green eyes that didn't betray the heavy amount of liquor he consumed, with hazel flecks that sparkled unnaturally he was reminded of all those nights that he'd been scared of the dark or sick and Dean stayed up all night with him and he looked into his big brother's eyes and for some reason…everything was okay.
Sam hated Dean sometimes for being able to convince him to do something with little more than a glance.
"I have to go back and say good bye to Jess." Sam said begrudgingly, "And grab a few things."
He swore that Dean smirked.
"Fine, just don't tell her anything."
Right, so it only took his brother 3.8 seconds to start ordering him around, that was a record, right?
Twenty-four years old.
Demons are evil. Demons lie. Demons are demons.
The rule that follows the cardinal rule-don't ever trust a demon, was a big one, and so he didn't. Dean told him in no uncertain terms that they would do this their way, they would fight the fight that they had the way they always did.
But now they were down to minutes and fighting the fight the Winchester way hadn't exactly worked out so well for him, had it.
Minutes.
He'd do whatever Ruby told him to do, there was no price to high to save Dean.
"Its too late." She told him incredulously, looking down at him like he was a fool for even having the nerve to contemplate it. "We needed time Sam, its too late."
No, because he wasn't letting his brother go to hell. He was not going to let Dean go to hell because he wasn't strong enough to do what needed to be done. No.
"I'm not going to let you go to hell." Sam told him, "No."
"Yes." Dean's tone was firm, and unmoving. "Yes, you are. Don't you get it Sam? This isn't going to save me, its just going to kill you."
He couldn't deal with the resigned look in Dean's bright eyes. He couldn't do it. They were Winchesters, he would not let his brother just roll over and accept death. Accept hell.
"I'm sorry." Dean told him, "I'm so sorry, this is all my fault."
"What am I supposed to do?" There was nothing, nothing he could do if Dean didn't keep going with him. His brother was the only person he had left in life. He needed Dean, he needed him more than he'd realized once before.
"Keep fighting." Dean told him, with a short outtake of breath.
Keep fighting, Sam thought, what was the purpose? What did he have left to fight for with Dean gone?
Twenty-Five years old.
He kept a running tally in his head of the things his brother would never forgive him for. At one point the biggest thing had been going away to Stanford…but that was nothing. He only hoped that Dean would be able to understand that it had all been for him…if he even knew.
Sam wasn't exactly privy to what hell…hell was for Dean. That was another thing that neither one of them had any right to forgive him for. He'd sent his brother to hell for being a coward.
No more.
Not that he thought Dean would approve of his new status as a demon blood drinker, but it was the only way. He knew now that the only way to kill Lilith would be with the powers that Dean liked to pretend he didn't have.
Keep fighting, Sam.
That was one promise to Dean he wouldn't break, his brother deserved that much from him.
Twenty-Six Years old.
Lucifer had been walking the earth for eight days, fourteen hours, and an indeterminable number of minutes, and he didn't have an answer.
He didn't have a answer to anything, and damn it all to hell but for the first time in his life it wasn't like Dean was giving him any.
Dean didn't yell. He didn't bitch. He didn't scream.
He thought maybe he'd worn out his reserve when he told him that if he was going to walk out that door, then he better never come back. But he didn't think Dean forgave him, not by a long shot.
He'd done the unthinkable, he'd trusted a demon over his big brother who had literally gone to hell and back for him. He'd done the unfathomable but still it wasn't talked about.
They were back at Bobby's and it was, "Hand me that book, Sam.", "Did you find anything Sam?", "Maybe if this is the end of the world, we should just go down to Mexico and get completely drunk."
He was detoxed, he refused to even think of attempting for a vision, never mind any damn spoon bending, but that was irrelevant. The damage had still been caused. How could Dean ever forgive him?
He'd lied, and he'd chose a demon over his own brother and literally made the world fall down around them.
He was ready, he had braced himself for Dean's anger and disgust and got…acceptance? He received absolutely nothing.
Sam decided he didn't deserve only that, it was the calm before the storm. Dean would snap sooner or later and he would deserve it.
I'm so sorry, he thought.
"Did you find anything Sam?" Bobby asked, handing him yet another book.
Aside from enough guilt to drown in, no, he thought.
"No." Sam sighed.
Dean turned around to look at him, and Sam wondered if the bags under his eyes were as bad as Dean's.
"Sam, when was the last time you got some sleep?"
"Not tired." Sam told him stubbornly. They needed answers, they needed to return Lucifer to hell, and maybe then he could work on getting Dean to forgive him.
"You look like crap. You're gonna kill yourself if you don't get some sleep. Catch a few Z's."
Sam shook his head, Dean would probably be irritated to hell if he knew that he stayed up late to get more researching in.
"Dean's right." Bobby said, turning to Dean. "Sam was still up researching at four when I got up."
"Sam, so help me," Dean said warningly, "Go lay down or I will put you to sleep myself."
"I'm making progress." He argued, even though it was as far from the truth as possible. All he needed was time…maybe that would give him progress.
"Don't care." Dean grumbled, "Progress won't mean a damn thing if you kill yourself researching."
He gave in. "Fine." Sam closed his laptop. "Wake me if you find anything."
Dean wouldn't, he knew that. Instead of anger, it was as if Dean was determined to treat him even better than he had before. He coddled him.
Anymore…he couldn't measure life anymore, he wasn't sure if it was life, or if it was even measurable. He wasn't sure of anything except that this wouldn't be the end, it couldn't. He had too much left that he had to fix.
He needed redemption.