Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction based on the original creation of E. Kripke. Only the deepest respect meant, no infringement.
A/N: This is written for Bambers – who asked for it.
A/N2: Dean's thoughts at the end of 6.06 – so spoilers...
Dean heard the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh. He felt the jar of bone on bone right up to his shoulder. He smelled and tasted the uniquely metallic quality that was so distinctly blood. But all he saw was red. And everything that he'd lost.
The first punch was because he wanted the pain to go away.
The second punch was because he was tired of burying everything.
The third punch was for his lost childhood. Given freely to his brother. His brother who'd been more like a son to him. And who'd lied to him anyway.
The fourth punch was for learning that his brother had only wanted to get away from him their whole lives.
The fifth punch was for coming second to a demon.
The sixth punch was for being left to grieve needlessly for an entire year.
The seventh punch was for being given a window into a different life.
The eighth punch was for having to give it up.
The ninth punch was for being considered completely expendable.
The tenth punch was for almost hurting the ones he loved.
The eleventh punch was for the ache that was left by knowing he was completely alone. Again.
The twelfth punch was just because he was so angry he couldn't stop.
The final blow was for not wanting to be the animal –the killer - that he'd been stripped down to.
When his vision cleared, Dean wished he was looking at his own beaten and bloody face.
Dean rocked back onto his heels. His face slowly unfolded from the snarl of anger and pain as he stared at the unconscious thing with his brother's face. The thing that had asked him for help. The thing that had cost him so much.
Once upon a time that face had been Dean's whole world. His responsibility. His best friend, his brother. He thought his brother felt the same way, but he'd since learned the truth. Sam had only wanted to get away. The family Dean had tried to create not good enough. Dean had failed somewhere along the way; he'd failed long before Sam had left for Stanford. He hadn't protected him and he hadn't been worthy of Sam's loyalty or love. But then, he'd failed everyone, hadn't he?
At that moment, Dean wanted nothing more than to put an end to everything. Two bullets and he could be done.
But Lisa's words still haunted him. "I wouldn't bring him back from the dead." She couldn't understand just how tangled up their relationship was. But how could she? Dean had never told her. He would never have wanted her to think badly of John, and if you hadn't been there, you'd never understand the choices he made. Lisa could never respect someone who left a ten year old to babysit a six year old for days at a time. And if Dean had felt like a father to Sam sometimes – or just an unhealthily overprotective big brother – how could he explain that?
Lisa's words were the reason he would have to wait for another day to be covered in his own blood. Because she was right. Dean wondered briefly what Lisa would think if she knew that she and Sam actually agreed about this. That Dean should never have brought Sam back in the first place.
His weakness had started all of this. Right from the beginning. He hadn't been good enough, and John had ditched him to hunt alone. He'd been too slow not to realize John was wrong in that cabin. He'd forced John to sell his soul to save him. Every weakness he'd shown had only made it worse. He hadn't been able to live without his brother. He'd sold his soul. He'd been weak enough to let his brother try to stop it. So Sam thought he'd failed and became obsessed with revenge. He'd broken the first seal and started the dominoes falling, ending with Lucifer wearing his brother to the prom. And then this had come back. Back to drag him back to hunting. Letting him be turned as a means to an end. And again, Dean had been weak. He'd thought he could keep his new life. That he could keep it separate. He'd given in to his stupid desire to say good bye to Lisa. He'd put both her and Ben at risk. He'd been too stupid to see just how wrong his brother was. Well. He could fix that. But first, he had to be sure. He had to be sure that a bullet was enough.
Dean pushed awkwardly to his feet. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a set of handcuffs. Securing Sam's hands behind his back, he managed to get him up into a fireman's carry. He got him out to the car and managed to get him in the passenger seat. Dean thought briefly about putting him in the trunk or the backseat, but he couldn't stand the thought of whatever this was being out of his sight.
Dean slid wearily behind the wheel of the Impala. The numbness slowly slid from his body and he was suddenly aware of the aches from being thrown around by Veritas. His hands were screaming and he looked down at his torn and bloody knuckles. He was pretty sure something might be broken. But when the numbness finally slid from his mind and heart, Dean knew what was truly broken, and he doubted it could ever be mended or healed.
A/N3: I'm not really happy with this, and I know there a billion of these out already. It has improved every day that I've worked on it, but I didn't want to make you wait longer B – hope it isn't too disappointing...