Tag to The Bad Seed. Cas and Dean might have a special "bond" but Sam is Dean's brother. The tension between the two friends is just a scratch on the surface of all the pain and problems between the two brothers. Can they work some of them out?
A few spoilers for Season 5 and for 10.23 through 11.03
GLAD WE HAD THE CHANCE.
Sam watched Cas brutally beat his brother and had remembered what it felt like. Not to be the one receiving the beating, but to be delivering it. Oh yes, he would never forget the feeling of Dean's bones crunching underneath his fists controlled by Lucifer. He remembers Dean's words to him about not leaving him, how he didn't fight back. And as he watches Castiel beat his brother now, choke him mercilessly he is afraid. Afraid that he will lose Dean at the hands of his brother's closest friend, because Dean WILL NOT fight back.
Then he takes a breath because Rowena screeches something in Latin and Cas freezes and Dean takes big gulping breaths from his spot on the floor. Cas looks around not quite registering what just happened, his eyes land on Dean's crumbled form and Sam watches his face fall and he thinks, "serves you right!"
While Cas might be Dean's special friend and they may have a special bond or something. But Dean is Sam's brother and there is nothing that can breach that. Azazel didn't, hell didn't, the apocalypse didn't, Lucifer couldn't even manage it, the mark of Cain and Death attempted and failed. "Bond" wasn't quite strong enough to explain what Sam and Dean had for each other.
So after Rowena made herself scarce, Sam packed Dean and his angel up into the impala and made for the bunker. Dean was quiet from his seat next to Sam and Cas was studying his bruise-mottled face with creepy fascination, needless to say...it was an awkward drive.
But it seemed Cas wasn't intending on leaving the nursing part to Sam, he stuck around and watched and chatted as Sam made a plastic bag of ice and wrapped it in a towel. He watched the Winchesters drain their daily quota of beer and still watched Dean's now fading bruises. By this time it's getting on Sam's nerves. And he was carefully watching Dean for signs of concussion or just general pissiness.
Trust Sam no one not even Cas wants to deal with a pissed Dean. Because Dean never got all that pissed about the "big stuff" (for the most part he just felt guilty about those things). But get Dean worked up about the little things like, Rowena getting away, not locating the book of the damned, the tiny little fact that CAS NEARLY BEAT HIS FACE IN AND CHOKED HIM TO DEATH. God help them when Dean decided pick something apart! So he watches carefully, and tries to keep Cas from being too overbearing and keep him out of Dean's space. He also tries not to let his worry shine through, though of course Dean catches onto it.
"Keep the beers coming," he says and, oh no, that's never good.
Sam huffs and gives an affectionate smile because sometimes his heart his filled to the brimming with thankfulness for having his brother back and bursting with love for the person dearest to him he thought he lost. He sits and watches the exchange between his brother and his friend.
Sam hates the way Dean flinches when Cas reaches towards him. Dean tries to hide it by sitting back and lifting the ice pack to conceal his face.
"I had it coming."
The four little words obviously affect Cas but even he can't see what they mean coming from Dean's mouth. Sam glances in between the two and catches Dean's eyes as they pass over him. There it is, that look. That same haunted look Dean had given him when he'd awoken from being a demon and realized he almost ended Sam's life. The look that he'd worn the whole year before the apocalypse, the look Sam had seen as he struggled through the trials.
It was the one thing Sam hated the most and loved the most about his brother. The responsibility Dean felt for everyone and everything was so endearing and frustration T the same time. How many of Dean's problems came from this guilt? It did make him so GOOD. And Sam admits, Dean Winchester, good?
Nervous laughter.
But really, Dean was selfless, and loving and really what other attributes does a man need to be good?
He watches Dean shift nervously in his seat and knows he's at the end of his rope.
"Hey, Cas, you gonna stick around here?" He asks, and starts gathering up the bottles and gives Dean a stern look when he removes the ice from his face.
"Umm," Cas looks around, apparently for the answer, and Sam wonders why he hasn't figured out that it doesn't help yet? But Cas was never one for the obvious as he tilts his head like cat, "Where?"
This time Dean laughs, "There's only about a thousand rooms here Cas, so...pick one and it's yours."
Much to Sam's relief Dean rises and gets ready to go to bed, grabbing his coat and gun.
"See y'all in the morning," he says casually and disappears down the hall.
Cas blinks at Sam, who rolls his eyes and disappears into the kitchen listening for Cas to go find a bed. He breathes freer when he hears a door shut somewhere not too close where his and Dean's rooms are. He brews coffee and carries it back to the library with him where he sits at the very back table and starts casually flipping through files. It's actually kind of nice to work without being rushed by " immediate" apocalyptic consequences.
A steaming cup of coffee beside his booting laptop was probably Sam's favorite sight. And he gave an appreciative sigh at his first sip as he began where he'd last left off looking into the darkness. Not the nicest topic, or apparently most popular, since he's getting no where, but still it's something to fix his mind on and relax him. Because really that incredibly awkward night he just had was more than enough to have the hard muscles in his neck and shoulders cord and knot in really painful ways. So he rolls his head around to relax his neck and stretches his arms above his head to fully release all the tightness and workout all the creaks and cracks.
He finds himself for the first time in his life looking at his computer thinking, I wish I didn't have to research. Because if he didn't have to research the darkness that would mean it wasn't free and then they wouldn't have this mess on their hands. And that look on Dean's face...he was sure there was something about the darkness he hadn't told him yet. There was too much guilt...somehow on his brother's face, too much weight on those shoulders.
And yes, Sam expected guilt after the frankly brutal killings Dean had committed while he had the mark but the relief of removing the mark was supposed to down the guilt. But this whole thing was not going down like Sam had planned. Honestly he knew nothing of the darkness, or the crazy virus that would kill people, or that the darkness would park it's all be it supposedly sexy ass in a baby right where Dean would find it.
C'mon odds have never been in their favor, but this was spectacularly screwed up, even by Winchester terms.
And then the new rules. What the freak had he been thinking? Seriously? He knew they would never go back. Saving people, hunting things, wasn't them anymore. They were DEMON HUNTERS. Period. That's how they were known, they weren't hunters, they were demon hunters. They would never go back now because demons or Angels, one would always be after them. They would always have a bounty hanging over their heads from one side or another.
So Sam guesses it was just wishful thinking. It was that ache of his own guilt that spurred him on. Dean had found a way to fix this, to fix it without releasing a pre-biblical nemesis. It would cost them both their lives...but they were Winchesters that's what they were for right? There to stand between the innocent and the supernatural, to be the ones to stand against evil when no one else would. Dean had figured it out, he had finally accepted that he couldn't save Sam every time, that if to save the world Sam must die too then that was alright.
And Sam hadn't been able to do it.
He feels his stomach clench, a hand comes to nervously wipe over his mouth in the shock of his realization.
Oh shit.
They were so screwed. He was so screwed up. Everything he'd accused Dean of being, he was himself. The "new rules" scoffed at him now. He was such a hypocrite. There was no difference between him and Dean other than that Sam wished they could change. He had no wish to change the codependency, that was old news. Come on, Sam had learned to live with that years ago. It was the fact that they would murder, lie, betray their friends and work with their enemies just to save each other that bothered him. There had to be a break down there.
He gulps down the quickly cooling coffee wishing there was something a little stronger in it. He runs fingers through his hair and takes a HUGE breath. Wow, he thinks, that just fell apart REALLY quickly. But a few deep breaths help everything right?
Breath.
Breathe.
Bre...not helping.
Sam hasn't been this close to the hyperventilating since...the last time Dean died.
That's messed up, he's died so many times, Sam's died so many times. No wonder their so screwed up. And it's Sam's fault really it is, he was the first one to get killed and then Dean sacrificed himself and it's been snowballing ever since. And they won't change, he knows, even as he reviews the rules in his head, they will never change.
He goes to take his first truly labored breath when Dean appears at the foot of the stairs coming towards him from the hallway. His not really walking, kind of weaving, and stumbling. He looked like he'd gotten halfway ready for bed before losing the fight with what ever had clearly gotten the better of him. He was barefoot, clad only in his jeans and an open flannel shirt that looked as if it had barely made it on with half the collar sticking manically up next to his ear and the other side twisted underneath In his left hand he gripped a more empty than full bottle of whiskey and his sparkling eyes shot nervously around the room till they landed on Sam and then his lips lifted into an affectionate grin.
He had to look down and concentrate on getting up the few stairs into the library, and then tripped on the very last one. Luckily Sam had anticipated it and saved him from a nasty bang on the head.
"Dean," Sam said, as his brother gripped his wrist and let himself be hoisted up. "Are you drunk?"
"Yep," Dean let the p pop massively. He maintained a healthy grip on Sam's arm until he lead him over to the table and then he slumped into the chair across from Sam's so Sam sat back down in his former seat.
He went to set the bottle down but instead it clashed into the underside the table, so he settled with pulling it protectively between his legs.
"You are so wasted," Sam said, almost unbelievably, because seriously, HE was having a break down!
Dean gave him a look like, no shit Sherlock!
"S'mmy," he slurred, "I come to find you, but you weren't in your room."
"Yeah, I was researching," Sam explains, gesturing towards his laptop and swallowing, thinking back on what was really going on.
"What were you wanting me for?" He asks Dean curiously.
"I was drinkin' alone," Dean said as a way of explanation. "Here," he sloppily brought up the bottle banging it a few times on the table until finally he was pouring a generous amount into Sam's empty coffee cup.
"Woah, woah, woah!" Sam jerks the bottle from Dean's strong grip just before he overflows the cup. "Dean, that's way too much," he begins to carefully dribble the hazel liquid back into the bottle. "How much have you had anyways?"
"Not nearly enough," Dean grunts making a wild grab for the bottle.
"Oh no you don't, you've had enough, it's time for bed Dean." He sits the bottle well beyond Dean's limited reach, Dean looks up at Sam with an adorable pout that if he knew about he'd probably shoot himself. Now that the whiskey was out of question Sam gives his big brother a calming smile. He grips him tight around his forearm and pulls Dean towards him.
"You are going to bed, c'mon." He starts to pulls them towards the hall when Dean begins to adamantly pull away.
"No, Sam!" He manages to jerk his arm away nearly losing his balance in the process, he holds a hand out to Sam as if to stop him. "I gotta talk to you!"
Well, that's a new one, Sam thinks, surprised.
"Wow, you really are drunk!" He says and starts pulling Dean towards the hall again, "C'mon Dean, you'll regret all this in the morning."
"Not that drunk," Dean states and pulls his arm away once again and Sam sighs in frustration.
"I gotta talk to ya S'mmy," and there it is those great, big, sparkling green eyes and the dropped syllable in his name and Sam's gone. He knows he's signed, sealed, and delivered the whole puppy dog look but he's beginning to think Dean must have somehow handed it down to him. Because damn, that man looks for all the world like a lost boy, or a kicked puppy and Sam finds himself giving in.
"Look Dean, let's talk as we go, you need to get in bed, you're gonna have one heck of a hangover tomorrow." He smiles comfortingly at Dean
This seems to appease him and Dean finally allows himself to be pulled along down the hall and into his bedroom where Sam leaves him standing by the bed to go for a glass of water and warm cloth to soothe his already overheating brother. He comes back into the room to find Dean slumped to the floor back against his bed, very much like the way he used to research while shutting himself in with the mark of Cain.
"Dean?"
"Gotta talk to ya S'mmy," he says in a mumble and dizzily lifts his head to peer at Sam and pat the spot beside him on the floor invitingly.
Sam attempts to bitch face but really, Dean is just way too cute like this, so it comes out as a tight lipped smile as he sets the water on the bedside table.
"Dean, you're about three minutes out from puking all over the floor, the sooner you get in bed the better," he gives Dean a stern glare and then heads back to the bathroom for meds, "Bed. Now." He commands, pointing to Dean and then to his bed. He walks into the bathroom and begins to go through Dean's medicine cabinet, which surprisingly is well stocked. Just because he's a stubborn son of a bitch about admitting pain to other people didn't mean Dean was stupid, he could dose himself up.
Sam pours three aspirins into his palm and then stares for awhile at the heavy sleep pills. He hated to think of when Dean had used them before, but maybe he hadn't, the bottle was open, but full. He got out the huge blue pill and placed it into his palm with the aspirins. He turns on the light and pulls the door a to so only a little soft light leaks through into the room. He hits the light switch, but before he can even make it back to Dean's bed the lamp has been switched on.
Dean sits on his bed giving Sam an epic bitch face beside the now lighted lamp. His feet are still firmly planted on the floor, this is going to be a battle, Sam knows. His arms are crossed over his chest and he's just ever so gently swaying, making Sam a little anxious as to the subject of the conversation their supposed to have. He sits down on the bed beside Dean and gives a dramatic sigh when Dean shifts away from him just to show how pissed he is.
"Here ya go, Dean," he says holding out the pills,"C'mon, you'll feel better." Dean makes no movement to comply just stares ahead and ignores Sam, hands clamped under his arms against his sides.
Sam takes hold of one of his arms trying to pull it out so he can make Dean take the pills. "You will take these pills..." he grits his teeth in effort, and gah, but his brothers strong. "...If. It's. The. Last. Thing. I. Do!"
He's pulling with all his might but Dean yanks back and sends Sam sprawling over his lap as Dean scrambles up onto the bed away from him.
"Don't flatter yourself, S'mmy," he insults and watches as Sam rights himself and glares at him. "If I wasn't drunk off my ass I'd hand you yours."
"If you weren't drunk off your ass we wouldn't be here right now, Dean!" Sam retorts, making a grab at Dean that his brother avoids only to look green at the sudden movement.
Dean swallowed thickly, "No one asked you to Florence Nightingale, bitch, I just needed to talk to you."
"You jerk!" Sam explodes and then for real grabs Dean's hand and drags it towards him. Dean grunts and yanks back sending them both falling towards the other side of the bed.
"Get you giant girliness offa me," Dean grunts as Sam rolls them so Dean's on the bottom.
"I will force feed you these pills, if I have to Dean," Sam huffs heavily, "now just take them!"
"I'd die first!" Dean shouts through gritted teeth and then reaches up and gets hold of a handful of long chestnut hair and yanks, Sam goes with the action to relieve some of the pain and off the bed he tumbles and lands all arms and legs on the floor.
Now he's just pissed.
"That's playing dirty, Dean!" He yells.
He can understand an emotional drinking binge after the day they've had, but this childish anger Dean always so stubbornly shows in the most aggravating ways is just inexcusable. And if he's so mad way is he taking it out on him?
Sam is nice to Dean.
He thinks this from his big brother's floor and feels foolish. But then there's another thump and Sam looks over to find that Dean has fallen off the bed on his hands and knees and is scrambling to his feet and dashing towards the bathroom, head barely missing the door jam.
He winces at the painful sounding heaving, but thinks, you deserve it, you bastard, as he picks himself up from the floor and actually comes up with a handful of loose hair when he runs his fingers through it. He grits his teeth in frustration, you bet it serves him right.
But then more than a few minutes have past and Dean is still throwing up in the bathroom and since its been a while he's going to guess its all dry heaving, and his brothers throat is probably raw, and he probably doesn't even remember what had just happened. He sighs from his seat on his brother's bed, rises to his feet and walks to the bathroom door and pushes it open. Gah, it smells. Like bad...sweat and sour whiskey and, obviously, puke.
Dean is kneeling in front of the toilet elbows resting on the rim and heaving, tears running down his cheeks and by the looks of his dilated pupils awful close to hyperventilating. And Sam can see sweat beading and dripping down his face, chest and stomach but Dean is shaking with violent shivers. Man, he really did drink a lot...like alcohol poisoning a lot. And now Sam's just worried, no wonder Dean was being a dick.
He walks the rest of the way in and leans down the place a consoling hand on the back of Dean's neck. Dean glances up at him with big watery emeralds for eyes and spit hanging from his chin.
"Don' feel s'good, S'mmy," he slurs as Sam gets some toilet paper to wipe the spit from his face.
Sam rubs his back methodically and soon Dean's stomach calms but leaves him a shaking mess on the bathroom.
"Here," Sam says, and hands him a cup of water, which Dean drinks and swishes around is his mouth and spits back into the toilet.
"S'm, what happened?" Dean asked, standing, looking around and nearly face planting into the wall. Sam placed a big hand in the center of his chest and righted him. "Oh, thanks," he grinned cheekily.
"You drank, we fought." Sam summed up dryly. Dean might have thrown up most of that liquor, but he'd drunk so much he was probably still a little tipsy.
"Oh," Dean said and kept a hand clamped on Sam's arm as they made for his bed.
"You don't remember anything?"
"No, everything's pretty hazy after I cracked open that second bottle." He sat down on the bed and grinned carelessly over at Sam.
"Second bottle?" Sam asked in disbelief. He turned around with his back to Dean and wiped his hand over his mouth to keep the words in. Sure enough there on the floor next to Dean's bed lay a knocked over EMPTY whiskey bottle. The half finished one still safely in the library on the table. Sam gritted his teeth.
"You probably do have alcohol poisoning, and if you do then you deserve it!" He said turning back around to Dean who was regarding him with big sad eyes.
"Bu..."
"No buts about it Dean, are you ever going to learn responsibility about ANYTHING?" Dean winced at the heightened volume of his tone and nervously looked at the hem of his shirt.
"You can't even remember anything about what just happened," he tirades. "You pulled a whole handful of hair out of my head for chrissakes and dumped me on the floor and I can't even kick your ass cause your sick and you don't even remember doing it!"
"I'm sorry, Sam really, but I needed to talk to you and then...there was less thinking and more drinking..." Dean gestured in a desperate search for words to describe what had happened to him after going to bed.
Sam is just about to explode at that comment when he notices the wetness in his brother's eyes. Wait, so this was what this was all about, huh? Dean needed to talk to him about something and had needed to build up some liquid courage first. The thought constricts his heart a little.
And why wouldn't Dean be afraid to talk to him? He's judgmental, and arrogant and hypocritical and selfish and Sam thinks that sadly, just like his dad, he hadn't encouraged the talking thing. Because even though he requested Dean to tell hm what was going on, afterwards he did, Sam got his two cents worth in. Most of the time that's what talking was about, Dean admitting something so Sam could rebut it, and tell Dean to go screw himself because it was so messed up.
So Dean was a closed up clam with abandonment issues. Because everyone he let in and got close to either gave up and left him or they got killed and left him. That was Dean's experience. Those were the rules he played by. So he never let anyone close. Except for Sam. And Sam knew he was a chink in Dean's nearly impenetrable armor. That no matter how much Dean wanted to close him out, no matter how much Dean wanted to be invincible, he never would and he would never choose to be if that meant sacrificing Sam.
So yeah, Dean initiating a conversation was ringing huge warning bells in Sam's mind. Like what the hell, seriously, was going on? He started running through the past few days frantically in his mind. Had Dean found out about him getting infected somehow? Was there something more he was going to tell him about the darkness? Was he more hurt than he had let on? What if Cas had hurt him internally?
"Are you all right Dean,?" He asked, approaching Dean who still shivering and starting to jerk a little more violently.
"D, did, didn't mean to make ya, m, mad S'm." He stuttered and looked utterly miserably, as he wiped the back of his right arm under his nose and rubbed the wetness away on his jeans.
"Dean...don't do that," he scolded, batting his left hand away from his nose where it was about to follow the other. "Look, let me get you a tissue, okay?"
Dean nodded, looking pleased with this turn of events, and folded his hands and pressed them in between his legs, "J, just needed to talk to ya, S'mmy." He said shakily, looking anywhere but Sam.
Sam sighed because all the heat had left him and he just felt as miserable and low and dirty as he had before Dean had interrupted his "episode" as he had decided to call it.
"I'm going to go get you some Coke to settle your stomach, then pills, then we'll talk, okay?" He pulled back the covers as Dean shifted to make it easier for him, Dean slid his legs up under them as he leaned against the headboard.
"I don't need to," Dean objected, close to whining,"Let's just talk and then I promise I'll go to sleep."
Sam smiled, "No can do brother, I'll be right back."
Sam was glad to find that they actually had some Coke, and poured some into a whiskey glass over ice. He took meds from his own stock careful to add a great big old Benadryl in like before. Dean was going to need one hell of a sleep after this. He carefully closed Dean's door behind him, and quietly approached the bed as Dean had his eyes closed.
"I'm awake Sam," Dean said, scaring Sam a little. "You're not getting out of this."
"I'm not trying to get out of it," Sam returned.
"Yes, you are, you're me and I know me." Dean stated, looking seriously at his brother.
"What?" Sam asked, he placed the cup on the bedside table and dropped the pills in his hand as he sat down on the bed by Dean's knees.
Dean laughed, "In this whole conversation you're me, and I'm you, wanting to talk and all, such a girl," he mumbles distractedly as his eyes wander somewhere behind Sam's head.
"Hey!" Sam snaps is fingers in front of his eyes and Dean looks back at him. "Go on," he commands, "take them."
Dean looks sourly at the medicine, he picks up the Benadryl in between his thumb and index finger and eyes it, "not this one."
Sam sighs dramatically, "That we can do." He holds out his hand and Dean drops it there unconcerned, Sam drops it on the bedside table as Dean downs the rest of the pills with a long drag of Coke.
"Ugh!" He exclaims, crinkling his nose and staring into the glass. "Tastes like ass."
"Pretty sure that's you insides you puked up, and not the Coke, Dean." Sam supplies dryly. "Okay, you've got...," he consults his watch, "...five minutes until lights off."
"I'm not fi..." Deans starts to argue.
"You're not five? Please. Then stop acting like one. What did you have to talk to me about?" Sam feels kind of bad about being mean, but Dean would sit there and deflect all night and that would probably end up with them fighting again in the wee hours of the morning.
Dean hugs himself and pulls his knees up to his chest, he looks insecurely at the floor.
"It's about the new rules." He mumbles and then bites his lip.
"What?" Sam asks, because he's sure he must have heard wrong.
Dean sighs, suddenly frustrated,"I don't think I can follow the new rules, I felt like it was only fair for you to know."
He looks away from Sam, looking small and ashamed and it only makes those same emotions more intense in Sam.
"Why?" He asks, softly.
Dean looks up surprised at the quiet question. He looks even more ashamed as he answers.
"Because I would have killed Cas." He swallows thickly, and Sam freezes. "Tonight I would have killed Cas, S'mmy...I'm sorry, I just...can't." He lays his head on his knees and places trembling fingers in his hair, as if to keep his face safely buried in its hiding place.
Dean had been thinking a lot about the rules, the things Sam wanted to go back to. And he was right, they were good things, things they never should have side stepped in the name of love and brotherhood. But they had, especially Dean. Did he know anything else? No. All his life he had one purpose, take care of Sammy. That was an old story. Everyone knew that. The bitter truth? He couldn't live without Sam there along beside him in this hard life, he'd rather die and bring Sam back to life, rather save Sam and let it cost their brotherhood, than let him die and leave him alone.
Cas had beat him up and he hadn't fought back, that was only fair. Then he'd seen Sam run up followed shortly by Rowena and he'd seen the pure unadulterated fear cross Sam's face. In that moment he had seen the depths of where his brother would go, of what he would do. He saw Cas bloody and dead on the floor in front of him...he saw the world black and broken with the darkness standing victorious over it.
BUT SAM AND DEAN STILL HAD EACH OTHER.
What the hell kind of price was that? That wasn't loving, that wasn't true. If they truly loved each other they wouldn't ask the other to live with the weight of the world on their conscience. Dean might have stopped Sam from dying after the trials but the guilt of every demon attack was now laid on Sam's shoulders. Sam may have saved him from the mark of Cain but now he lived with the deep, writhing, guilty connection to the darkness, she was grateful, for gods sake...did Sam know what that did to him?
They clearly needed guidelines. New rules were a good idea. That was why he agreed to leave Sam at the hospital. There was too heavy a connection between them. The chemistry would always win out if they were together. If they were together they would pay whatever price to make it stay that way. So he'd taken Jenna and Amara and left his brother, and god, if it didn't feel like he'd left his soul behind too. This is screwed up, he'd thought. We are so screwed up. This is good, getting away from each other, get our heads free of this...obsession.
Then Rowena came calling, telling him of Sam's deal with her. Then Cas, and that look on Sam's face. He knew then they were a lost cause. They would never change. This was who they were, they were the Winchesters, they were together, they were one. And no matter how messed up it was, no matter how much Dean felt like he had screwed with his little brother's head, he knew this was them, and there was no changing it now.
He left the library, thinking of the soothing tunes of Metallica, and the cheap whiskey under his bed. He'd skimmed out of his shirts and was starting to shuck off his jeans when he was suddenly back in that bar with Death and with Sam.
He'd found a way.
A way to rid the world of the evil of the mark and the blade, and all it cost was both their lives. Granted, even as the mark thirsted for his blood, sacrificing Sam for anything tore him apart. But for the world? To lock away this evil and this "darkness" for ever? No sacrifice was too small.
And who was he kidding. Who were they anyway? Sam had said it himself, how did him living make a difference for the good? They may have fixed a few problems, but they caused way more trouble than good. And even though Dean wasn't directly dying, Sam was. So yeah, two plus two equals four, Dean would be dead too, if only inside.
So with the mark crying out its burning blood thirst for his brother's blood, and the promise of righting the world, he stood in front of his brother and prepared to kill him. The price was right, it was even more than he could have hoped for, kill Sam and the job was done...forever...
And he couldn't do it.
Couldn't do it.
Literally, couldn't do it.
His little Sammy wanted it, asked him to do it. Told him that one day he would remember who he was, would remember him, and become the big brother Sam had loved again someday. He had given him back mom, given him back himself...and then told him...
"Do it."
And Dean couldn't. Wouldn't. Take your pick. It was one big chick flicky mess.
He was possessed by a biblical curse that wanted him to kill his brother and he still couldn't.
How did Sam think they were supposed to just stop?
So he stood beside his bed in his jeans and had decided, screw this and the new rules, there is no way rules are going to change us, not in our wildest dreams. And then he decided to get drunk before he talked to Sam.
Needless to say he got a little carried away.
Sorry bout that, Sam.
He didn't remember anything until the bathroom floor and the terrible taste in his mouth that he was all too familiar with. And Sam was pissed. What did he do, say? Apparently just won a wrestling match drunk as he was, yeah, that pulling hair was a dirty trick, but Sam should have known better then to fight with him while he was drunk.
But Sam seemed off a little, heavier than a few hours ago. Like someone had but a pin to his balloon. Not that that was strange. Sam had perfected that look. Dropped ice cream, spilled milk, lost boy, kicked puppy, call it what you will, it's that look that melts Dean's heart to compassion and big brother hormones every single time. But Sam usually likes to talk and in Dean's somewhat still drunken brain it made sense. He REALLY needed to talk to Sam, he needed it off his chest, they needed to get this clear and out in the open.
He wonders whose rolling over in their grave when a Winchester, and Dean Winchester at that, says those words. So he does...
"We just need to get this clear and out in the open, Sam."
Sam stares at him a second, "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
Dean laughs, slightly relieved Sam isn't totally freaking out on him. "It's me," he confirms, "I feel like shit."
Sam sighs, " I know, Dean."
"You know?" Dean asks. "What do you mean?"
"I know we'll never be able to follow those rules." He sighs and looks down at Dean's comforter. "I don't know what I meant really, I..."
"You wanted us to try harder." Dean supplied.
Sam looked up at him and nodded before swallowing down the emotion rising in his throat, "I don't regret the decision I made to save you, Dean, darkness included, and it scares me. But I don't want to change, we are who we are, your my brother, my business partner, my only family, I've tried living without you and I don't want to do it again. We are worth more together, we can do more good together."
He smiles and shrugs looking at Dean with this undying light in his eyes, "But at the hospital we both just thought, kill those infected people, and get out together. And that's not being hunters, we've stopped thinking about the people we save and only think of the monsters we kill. That was never supposed to be the way it worked. I believe we should be together but, demons posses innocent people, weird ass infections turn innocents into monsters who want to kill us...we are not more important than those people."
Sam took a deep breath. And then Dean laughs.
"You always were the angel on my shoulder," he tells Sam, smiling.
Sam tilted his head to the side with a wry smile, "Isn't that technically Cas?"
Dean chuckled, "I don't think your angel on your shoulder is supposed to beat your face mercilessly into a pulp." He gingerly felt over the side of his face.
"Little brothers aren't supposed to either," Sam said, a little sadly.
Dean looked at him, eyes glistening, "Listen to me Sam." He sat up and got right in front of his little brother.
"You remember when we went back and met mom and dad in '78?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, slightly confused as to this question.
Dean surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder.
"We told her to leave dad so that we would never be born, that there was a difference between dying and never being and that we were okay with that." He smiled up into Sam's eyes, doing what he could always do so well, calming Sam, convincing him that they'd be okay.
He moved his hand to cup the side of Sam's face, "Well, I'm glad we had that chance, Sammy, I'm glad we've had the chance to live, to be brothers."
Sam bit his lip and nodded as he felt tears well up in his eyes.
"I think you're right," Dean said more gently, "We can do more with our lives than we have been, we're hunters, not killers. And we're humans, not saviors, we're not perfect."
Sam could feel the tears beginning to run down his face.
"Hey, hey," Dean said gently, wiping one away with is thumb, "C'mere," he moved his hand to the back of Sam's neck and brought his head to his shoulder.
"It's okay," he whispered just next to his ear, "it's gonna be okay, I promise."
Sam nodded against Dean's shoulder and let his arms creep around his back to return the embrace. This was right. Out of everything going wrong, in spite of the way his plan to save Dean had backfired on the world, this was right. This one thing, this one moment, made it all worth it. Maybe that made Sam a selfish, uncaring person, but he and Dean had never asked for anything, never demanded anything, never fought for anything for themselves...except that they have each other.
It was the only thing they asked, the only thing they NEEDED, and Sam decided he wouldn't feel guilty over it, ever.
"I was scared Cas was gonna kill you," he whispered. "I, I could feel it when Lucifer did it, Dean."
"I know Sam, it's okay now though, it's okay." Dean's hand found its way into Sam's hair and ran along his scalp soothingly, "I got you little brother. Whatever happens we're doing this together, okay?"
Sam nodded again, sniffing heavily, "Okay," his answer was muffled in Dean's shirt.
"Okay," Dean assured and let his fingers pass through Sam's hair one more time.
He smiled softly at Sam as he sat up and wiped the tears off his face with a hand, his sleeve working well enough as a tissue as he ran it under his nose.
"Don't to that," Dean scolded, knocking his hand away, "Look, here's a tissue."
Sam laughed and took the offered tissue, "Jerk."
Dean grabs the Benadryl off the bedside table and throws it back with the last of the Coke and gives Sam a wink.
"Bitch."
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