Disclaimer: I don't own the supernatural characters.

Warnings: Harsh language, swearing, violence, some physical violence but nothing too graphic, thoughts of self-incrimination.

Author's Note: This is set after the Darkness is released and is sequel to my other story Unforgiven Remedy. I would recommend you read that one first, but you should be able to follow this one regardless.

I didn't like how left the boys in Unforgiven Remedy, and that's how this story was born. Anyway, enjoy and I hope you like it.

UNFORGIVING ANTIDOTE

CHAPTER ONE

Sam Winchester was hungover.

Extremely hungover.

He knew it, even before he became consciously aware of his surroundings, before he had even opened his eyes that he was hungover.

His head throbbed – pounded – in time with his own heartbeat, feeling the room spinning around him even though his eyes remained closed as he valiantly fought the bile that rose up in his throat.

Oh no, was he going to be sick?

Eyes still closed – knowing that it would be so much worse when he opened his eyes – Sam placed a hand over his mouth determined to hold in the sickness and keep it at bay because he was not going to be sick all over himself, damn it. He could control this. He would control this because he wasn't a teenager anymore; he was a grown man and he refused to humiliate himself by not being able to control where he threw up.

Sam stayed perfectly still as he fought his body's instincts to release the bile, knowing from experience that any kind of movement, no matter how slight, and the battle would be over. Sam would lose to his own body's instincts, no matter how much he fought it or didn't want to be sick.

Oh man, how much had Sam had to drink last night?

Too much, Sam decided with a groan, not even sure of his current whereabouts at the moment.

Was he at the Men of Letter's Bunker in the comfort of his bed? Or maybe he was in some random motel room after completing a hunt? Or … Sam really hoped he wasn't in the Impala right now because the last thing he needed to do was to barf in Dean's baby.

As if things between them weren't already tense enough without Sam adding fuel to the fire by contaminating Dean's precious baby with his bodily fluids. Sam swallowed convulsively, determined not to puke in his brother's car. He was supposed to be making things better between them, not worse.

Finally, after what seemed like a life-time but must have been only a few minutes, Sam breathed a sigh of relief, feeling confident that he was no longer in danger of projecting his vomit everywhere, lying completely still to avoid the return of his nausea as he removed his hand from his mouth and placed it upon his forehead.

Gently, Sam rubbed soothing fingers across his forehead, trying to relieve the ache within his head. But Sam knew the only way he would truly be able to relieve the pounding within his skull was to take some painkillers; and soon, if Sam didn't want to deal with a full-blown migraine on top of this hangover, which would cause him to become sick regardless of how hard he tried to fight it off.

Sam didn't want to move yet. He couldn't even fathom the thought of opening his eyes, let alone moving. He was content, for the time being, to just lie here, feeling immense relief at the fact that he hadn't vomited everywhere.

Sam sighed softly, self-pity beginning to invade him now. Why the hell had he drunk so much anyway?

Sam gave a mental shake of his head to rid himself of these thoughts – not wanting to move in case his body decided to revolt upon him again – a low growl of annoyance coming from his suddenly too dry throat as he tried to concentrate on more important things – other than his aching head and seedy stomach – like where the hell he was right now.

Sam lay there, breathing deeply as he opened up his other senses, trying to gauge his exact surroundings. His hunter instincts weren't screaming at him, so that meant he was somewhere safe. And he was lying down … so, did that mean that Sam wasn't in the Impala?

Sam cautiously felt around his immediate area with his right hand, not willing to open his eyes just yet and risk fighting with his own bodily functions again, feeling a hard, solid surface beneath him and not the familiar touch of leather that he associated with the Impala; nor could he hear her distinctive purr, which led Sam to conclude that he wasn't in the Impala right now.

That thought made Sam breathe a little easier, because now he had no chance of defiling Dean's baby if – when – Sam lost the battle with his own body to extinguish all of the liquid contents within his stomach.

Okay, that narrowed things down quite a bit. If he wasn't in the Impala, but was lying down upon a hard, solid surface … was he in a motel room? Had the two of them finished a successful hunt? Is that why Sam had gotten so drunk?

Sam frowned, confused for a moment as he tried to recall events from earlier in the night, trying to remember if they had been a hunt. But he came up empty. He couldn't remember doing research, talking to any witnesses or anything case related and he definitely couldn't recall drinking so much that he had caused himself a damn black out.

The last thing Sam could remember with absolute clarity and certainty was being in some hick bar, having an epic showdown with Death and his older brother Dean, who was possessed by the Mark of Cain and was convinced that the only way to get through this was for Dean to kill Sam and for Death to take Dean to somewhere far away so that Dean could no longer hurt anyone else.

And even though it had been Dean's plan, Sam eventually resigning himself to the fate of his death, Dean had taken out Death instead of Sam before the Mark had been removed from his brother's arm, which had both freed Dean from the Mark's effects and released the Darkness from its cage.

Sam had let another evil being loose upon the world while the two brothers had high-tailed it out of there as fast as they possibly could; scrambling to get back to the Men of Letters Bunker so they could formulate a plan – figure out who and what the Darkness was – before they destroyed it or sent it back to where it belonged, and then they could live happily ever after.

Yeah, right! As if they could live happily ever after, Sam couldn't help but scoff. Sam had tried that. He had tried living a normal life before he was dragged right back into this life again. Normal and happily ever after was one thing the Winchester siblings could never have.

Sam could also recall the terror as a wave of darkness began to overwhelm them and the Impala, the look of accusation upon his beloved older brother's face, hitting Sam hard, because yes; this was Sam's fault. Here they were, faced with another end of the world disaster because Sam couldn't leave well enough alone and had released another evil upon mankind because of his ignorance and his refusal to listen to his big brother's warnings.

But Sam couldn't feel guilty about that. If he had listened, he would be dead and his brother would be lost to him forever. What he did feel guilt over was the fact that he had doomed mankind to his selfishness and the fact that he had disappointed and failed his older brother yet again.

Sam pushed those emotions down for now in an effort to figure out where the hell he was right now. He wasn't in the Impala and they hadn't been working a case before Sam become so blindingly drunk. They had obviously escaped the wave of darkness somehow, so the only logical place he could possibly be right now was the Men of Letters Bunker.

That thought made Sam relax further. Because, at least now he wouldn't be making a fool of himself in public.

Oh yeah, and making an idiot of himself in front of Dean isn't embarrassing at all! Sam couldn't help the sarcastic comment that came to mind.

Dean … Was Dean even here right now? Or had he gone out, too ashamed and disappointed in his younger brother that he couldn't stand the sight of him, not wanting to see Sam make an even bigger fool of himself, not wanting to help Sam through one of the worst and epic hangovers Sam had experienced to date?

Oh God, what embarrassing things had he said to his brother before Dean had had enough and decided to leave Sam to suffer all by himself? Sam couldn't help but cringe inwardly at that thought.

This was exactly why Sam didn't drink.

He was an emotional drinker. And while at times he would be goofy and clingy, there were other times when his darker emotions would surface, where everything he had done in his life would hit him all at once and he would become consumed with guilt and shame, becoming paralysed by the epic mistakes he had made and how many times he had failed and betrayed his big brother.

Sam suspected that this had been one of his darker moments where he had been overwhelmed by his guilt and regrets. Because, if he could remember correctly, not long after the brothers had returned to the Men of Letters Bunker, Dean had practically run to his room and shut the door, wanting nothing to do with Sam, even though Sam had suggested that the two of them go out to celebrate and let off some steam.

Oh, this was not good. Dean turning down drinks and a good time all so he could avoid spending time with Sam … Yeah, this was really bad. Worse than Sam had thought possible. Sam hadn't seen this kind of avoidance from Dean for years … not since the whole apocalypse-demon blood-Ruby thing. Although, the whole leaving Dean in Purgatory for a whole was a very close second.

Now everything was beginning to make sense. Sam would have taken Dean's rejection hard; he would have assumed – and, rightly so – that Dean was once again disappointed and ashamed of him because his very actions had released the Darkness from its cage and now it was free to cause all kinds of carnage and mayhem upon the Earth.

Sam let out another groan, this one born more from embarrassment and frustration than actual pain because of course Dean wouldn't want to stick around and watch his younger brother sink into oblivion, revisiting every past mistake or choice Sam had ever made.

Why? Why had Sam allowed himself to drink that much?

Now, not only did Sam have to contend with Dean's obviously blatant disappointment of him for refusing to listen … again … lifting the Mark of Cain from his brother's arm and in doing so, releasing something far more dangerous than Lucifer from its cage; but now, Sam also had to contend with the knowledge of any number of embarrassing things he might have done or said to his brother.

Oh God, just kill me now.

SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW

Dean blinked, suddenly feeling disorientated as he quickly placed a hand upon the wall in order to steady himself and to have something solid to hold onto … almost as if he were trying to ground himself.

Even though Dean quickly regained his balance before he found himself flat upon his face, he couldn't stop the intense wave of vertigo that swept over him. And before Dean could even comprehend what was happening, he was on his hands and knees expelling the entire contents of his stomach.

And this was precisely why Dean hated travelling via angel-zapping. It always made him feel like crap afterwards. It was almost as if Dean suffered from travel sickness except it was angel sickness.

Was that even a thing?

Dean figured he should make it a thing because every time he got zapped by an angel Dean would end up feeling like crap afterwards; sometimes even for several days afterward, and the fact that he couldn't poop … Well, Dean supposed that was irrelevant, but still, the fact remained that Dean officially hated travelling by angel-zapping.

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand once he had finished puking his guts out, breathing deeply for several moments while he tried to regain his equilibrium, trying to figure out where the hell he was and why the hell he had needed angel-zapping in the first place.

Dean raised his eyes, taking in the hallway around him, instantly recognizing it as the hallway between his room and the kitchen in the Men of Letters Bunker and felt himself relax.

He was home. He was safe.

Gingerly, Dean got to his feet, trying to remember just what exactly had happened. Instinct had Dean heading toward his room. His bed didn't look as if it had been slept in at all, and the empty two bottles of beers upon his night stand helped to jog Dean's sluggish memory.

He had secluded himself in his room after the two brothers had escaped the wave of darkness after he had been told by the Darkness itself, that Dean and the Darkness had a connection because Dean had once bore the Mark of Cain and the Darkness was once the original owner of the Mark.

That, in itself, was enough to shake the older hunter to his core because he didn't want to have any kind of connection to this Darkness!

Plus, the fact that he had almost killed his baby brother … that he thought, for even a second, that was a viable solution to their problems, had caused Dean such grief and anguish that he had locked himself in his room, struggling to get down the two beers as he became overwhelmed by his emotions.

Dean had been too ashamed to spend the evening in the company of his brother, acting like everything was fine when it wasn't fine at all because Dean had almost broken every vow he had ever made to that kid when he had tried to kill him.

Granted, Dean had been under the influence of the Mark when he had come up with that half-baked plan, but that did nothing to lessen Dean's guilt or his shame.

Dean rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, hating the after-effects of angel-zapping because it took a few minutes for his memories to return. And then, when they did return, they were often all jumbled together, all out of context and all out of order.

Disorientated. That's how Dean felt at the moment as he ran a hand over his duvet, hoping to ground him in the here and now.

Back where it had all started, Dean thought both bitterly and fondly. At least Gabriel had been an angel of his word and had transported them back to their own world, their own reality.

Wait a minute … Gabriel was still alive? And where exactly had the brothers been?

Sam. Sam had been with him, Dean was sure of it. But where the hell was his brother now?

Swallowing back his confusion, Dean left his room and headed toward the kitchen, his stride picking up pace even as he fought against the panic that wanted to consume him and the dizziness that was often experienced by the older hunter after travelling via angel-zapping.

Dean rounded the corner and headed into the kitchen before he stopped dead in his tracks, the breath knocked out of him in both surprise and alarm as he took in the state of the kitchen.

Broken glass was shattered beside the kitchen table, the smell of alcohol reaching Dean's nose as he noticed the label of a whiskey bottle in amongst the scattered glass.

Huh. It looked like someone had either had one hell of a good time a few hours ago or a fight of some kind had broken out. Had Dean and Sam fought? Dean couldn't recall trading any punches with his younger brother, but he did briefly recall having some kind of discussion with a very drunk little brother.

Dean chuckled in surprise at that revelation. Sammy getting drunk. That was unusual but it wasn't enough to explain the cold feeling of dread that was now gnawing at Dean's stomach.

Something … bad had happened here. He could feel it. And he knew that it involved Sam somehow, but … Was Sam even here right now?

Dean cocked his head to the right, straining to hear any noise or anything that sounded out of place, but the only sound that greeted Dean was silence.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, refusing to give into the panic just yet. If his brother was as drunk as Dean remembered him being, then Sam was most likely curled up in his bed nursing one hell of a hangover.

Dean forced himself to relax, to calm down and just think things through logically. It wouldn't do him any good to go off in a half-cocked frenzy of panic just because he had a bad feeling.

Still, Dean was a man who trusted his feelings because nine times out of ten it meant he was either in danger or trouble was headed his way. And as a hunter, he had learned never to dismiss his instincts. Dean's eyes widened slightly when he spotted a trail of red heading from the kitchen.

Wait, was that blood?

Disjointed memories began to surface within Dean's mind, the side-effects of angel travelling in full swing as his memories came at him hard and fast, all out of order, all mixed up in his mind, the images causing Dean's panic to soar higher than before as he realized that something very bad had happened here. And his little brother was right at the centre of it all.

DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW

Sam knew that if he had his eyes open and he could look in a mirror right now that he would be able to see himself blushing deeply in embarrassment because Sam Winchester did not get drunk and make a fool of himself.

That was more Dean's style. And Sam was fairly certain that Dean had never felt this bad after one of his benders. Of course, Dean had more practice at it than Sam had.

Sam very rarely drunk more than three beers in one sitting. And if it was whiskey, then Sam only had one glass – two at the most to seem social – because someone had to keep a level head when they were out hustling pool or having a celebratory drink after completing another successful hunt.

The majority of the time the two of them went out would find Sam scrapping his older brother up off the floor, stitching Dean back together because he had either hit on another man's girl or the marks of the night realized they had been played and wanted their money back.

Either way, most nights in a bar with Dean ended in a bar fight. And Sam needed to stay sober in order to help his brother in the bar fight and to patch him up later on.

Plus, Sam was a light drunk. Any more than six beers would put Sam on his ass. And if he had six shots of whiskey … well, there was no telling what crazy stunt Sam would get up to. Getting into a car with a bunch full of hippies who were high as a kite, immediately came to mind. Sam had travelled with them for two days straight before he came to his senses and called his brother for help.

Boy, Sam had never heard the end of it from Dean after that particular stunt and Dean had continually reminded Sam of that time years after it had occurred. Dean had been so furious with him that he had banned Sam from drinking anything heavier than a soft drink for months after Dean had rescued him from the hippies.

So, if Sam had been wallowing in self-pity, distraught at having failed and disappointed his big brother yet again, trying to numb his feelings by drowning them out through the use of alcohol – a vague image of him drinking a glass of whiskey from a nearly empty whiskey bottle came into his mind – then, there was no telling what crazy things Sam would have said or done while under the influence of alcohol.

Maybe like trying to do a spell so that he could fix all of the damage and get rid of all of the pain he had caused his older brother over the years … for instance.

Hang on a minute, is that what had happened? Had Sam really wanted to perform some kind of spell in which Sam could erase everything that had happened in their past by changing one thing in his life? Like he never went to Stanford, for example.

No. Surely not. That was too crazy even for him. How could he think that doing a spell would solve anything, let alone be able to call do-over on his past mistakes?

He couldn't wipe away all of his mistakes just like that. He didn't deserve to be let off that easily. He should have to feel and suffer through all of the guilt and pain his actions had caused.

That was his penance. That was what he deserved when he continually betrayed and hurt the one person whom Sam would gladly give his own life for in a heartbeat. That was what he deserved when he continually brought about mankind's imminent destruction because he refused to listen to reason, believing that his way was the only way … the right way.

Still, Sam had jumped into a van full of hippies that he didn't even know. Was it really so hard to imagine that he would try to do a spell and call a do-over, trying to make a better life for his beloved older brother?

No. It wasn't hard to imagine that at all. In fact, given how Dean had wanted nothing to do with him once they had returned to the Men of Letters Bunker, it suddenly began to make a lot of sense that Sam's inner darkness had multiplied his guilt to such a degree that the only thing Sam could do to make this right for his brother was to become someone else entirely. To call a do-over, to relive his life and not repeat any of his past mistakes.

Sam suddenly decided that he didn't want to know where he was. He was quite content to lie here and remain oblivious for as long as he could, his humiliation and embarrassment keeping him company until he could find some hole to crawl into and hide until all of this blew over … or until his brother returned from wherever he was and his merciless teasing of Sam's antics from his drunken escapade lessened and Dean had finally gotten it out of his system.

Yeah, it could take months before Dean got sick of teasing Sam over this. That is, if Dean was even still talking to him right now. For all Sam knew, his non-remembered antics from his drinking binge could have caused the fragile bond between them to break beyond all repair.

Sam felt a stab of pain in his heart at that thought, moisture gathering within his closed eyes. He would much prefer Dean's teasing over Dean's disappointment and hurt any day.

Sam couldn't help the half-moan, half-sob that escaped him, knowing he had done the one thing he'd sworn to himself never to do again, hurt his big brother.

God, why couldn't he do anything right? Why did all of his attempts to make his mistakes right or help free his brother from the Mark of Cain, always cause pain and hurt to the one person Sam never wanted to disappoint or hurt?

As Sam was lying there, trying to reign in his self-loathing and self-incriminating thoughts, it was almost as if Sam could feel the gentle touch of his brother's hand upon his chest, soothing him, reassuring Sam that everything was going to be okay, whispering words of encouragement and endearments.

But Sam knew better. Dean had already been so pissed off with Sam that he didn't even want to be in the same room as him. Now that Sam had gotten blindingly drunk and had done and said God only knows what, becoming fuelled by his own guilt and remorse, Dean probably hated him with a vengeance.

Sam swallowed hard and pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He'd have time for self-pity later. Right now, Sam had to open his eyes and risk moving so that he could crawl away to his bed and hide away for the next few days until he felt more normal and he didn't feel as if his head was about to explode at any moment.

Sam knew he couldn't hide away forever. He knew he had to either kill the Darkness or put it back in its cage before it annihilated everything – even if he no longer had Dean backing him – because it was Sam's mess to clean up. And Sam always cleaned up his messes.

Dean may have lots of practice at drinking and how to deal with hangovers, but Sam had lots of practice at making epic mistakes and having to clean them up. Sam knew that, starting tomorrow, he would be starting the process of fixing up this mess, beginning with a big fat apology to his big brother. Whether Dean accepted it or not remained to be seen, but that problem could wait until he had a few more hours of sleep under his belt. For now, Sam was really craving the privacy of his room and his bed.

With a silent plea to his body to behave until he had at least gotten to his room, Sam began to push himself up using his left elbow, when he felt a hand quickly grabbing his left arm and pulling it down by his side, gently, but forcefully restraining his arm.

Sam's eyes shot open on their own accord in alarm, adrenaline pumping though him as he suddenly realized that both of his arms were restrained – what the fuck was this?! – and started to struggle out of instinct alone, in order to free himself.

Maybe Sam had been mistaken. Maybe he wasn't hungover. Maybe he was suffering from a concussion. And if that was the case, then maybe the brothers were on a hunt and … where the hell was his brother?!

"De'n!" Sam tried to call out for his brother but was surprised when nothing more than a squeak came out of his mouth.

Oh shit, had he been drugged? Is that why he couldn't remember anything that had happened? Just what in the hell was going on here?

"" De'n!" Sam tried again, pleased, when this time he could actually make out the name he was calling for but dismayed at the near whisper of that cry.

Panic began to grip at Sam's heart when his feeble attempts to free himself was doing absolutely nothing at all. His arms were still held firmly at his sides, no matter how much he bucked and struggled. And the worst thing was, even though Sam's eyes were now open, he couldn't see a damn thing.

Oh shit, was he blindfolded or … had something else happened to impair his vision?

If they were on a hunt and Sam was trapped by some evil son of bitch and Dean was nowhere to be seen, heard or felt … then, that meant Dean was also in trouble.

Sam feared more for his brother's safety than his own, so he resumed his struggles to free himself, frantic to get to his brother before the unthinkable happened.

Sam had only just gotten his brother back from being possessed by the Mark of Cain. Sam couldn't lose Dean now, not after everything Sam had done and gone through to get him back. It couldn't end like this. Sam refused to let it end like this.

"Dean!" Sam screamed in terror, fear and panic, his scream echoing off the walls, extremely proud that this time Sam's voice could be heard, even if he still couldn't see.

Now, all he could was wait for his brother's reply as he redoubled his efforts to free himself from the near impossible grasp that had him pinned down.

"Dean, where are you?"