Title: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother: Chapter One
Author: Lucky Gun
Disclaimer: Own nothing except for the story concept. All characters and devices within are owned by Eric Kripke. Think it's cause he's so awesome? I think it's cause he's so awesome.
Summary: Dean breaks, shatters into a thousand pieces, and falls to the ground. Sam and Cas try to pick up the pieces and end up cutting themselves in the process.
A/N: References to a Colt pistol are Dean's 1911 Colt, not Samuel Colt's gun. FYI. :) Also, many thanks to my best friend and awesome beta reader SpenChester! I love you like Dean loves pie.:D
It had been a long time coming and the conditions were just too well put together. In a perfect storm of circumstances, Sam and Dean found themselves on opposite sides of the board. Dean was dogged by sleeplessness and horror, and Sam was consumed by his own blood lust. Both were still trying to get used to certain truths they'd discovered about the other, and trust was a commodity worth more every passing day. With all they'd been through, things were bound to come to a head.
They were hidden away from the world but unable to hide from each other; the heavily falling snow outside the travel lodge they'd picked didn't distract their attention, even as the icy conditions outside matched the frigid temperatures of their voices. Jagged mountain peaks and winter's midnight were the only observers to the family meltdown.
Inside the wooden lodge, it would have been cheery but for the argument occurring in its walls. Typical western decorations of fur and paintings were visible on every wall, and there was a false fireplace in the wall near the door, the heating unit for the room nestled in its cavern. The plush red carpet belied the cheap price of the room, and though it was small, it was clean and smelt of evergreen.
Of course, the brothers barely noticed any of that. They'd rolled into town later than they'd intended after getting stuck behind a plow truck, tempers flaring as they disagreed on everything from travel routes and restaurants to credit card usage and jobs. They eventually found themselves in the northern part of Colorado; the Impala gave up her transmission just as they got to the parking lot of a lodge in the random town the road had deposited them in. The three hours after they'd arrived consisted of Dean rolling around underneath the Chevy in the oily snow while Sam stood nearby and argued that multiple disappearances around the town were supernatural and not related to the unusually severe winter the area was experiencing.
Close to eleven, Dean had declared the transmission fixed and Sam had declared a job found. Immediately disagreeing, the older hunter had pointed out flaws he found in his little brother's argument, shouting his reasons over the spray of a scalding hot shower. Dressed again and standing across from his brother in the hotel room that was suddenly too close, Dean tried to ignore the fact that Sam's hands were shaking like a junkie's. Likewise, Sam was trying to forget watching Dean struggle with the Impala's engine, fingers numbed from the cold. The fires in their eyes seemed to dim simultaneously as they both silently agreed to disagree. Then Sam muttered that he needed to get ahold of Ruby at the same time Dean said he was heading out for a night on the town, and their world erupted into a shock of thrown words and accusations.
Brothers weren't supposed to fight. Not like this. Sure, they'd had their knock-down, drag-out fights before, but those were just fights, nothing more. This was something different. This was primal and primitive. Every word was laced with pain and fear and exhaustion. Between every "screw you" and "bite me" there was a pause heavy enough to suffocate, and every retort cut like a blade. Even dozens of minutes into the fight, emotions still ran at frighteningly high levels.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Dean? You just don't care about stopping the Apocalypse anymore, is that it? Big bad Dean Winchester is finally giving up?"
Sam's eyes flashed as he bit out the words angrily, his gaze tracking the features of his brother as they screamed at each other across the room. Beneath the dark jeans and warm hoodie he wore, every muscle in his body was trembling with the force of the emotion that tore through him, intensifying as he saw his brother's face darken with rage.
"I want one night, Sam! One night to forget that the world is crumbling down around us! One night to ignore the fact that my brother has chosen a demon bitch over me! I want one night! Why the hell does that piss you off so much?" Dean demanded, his voice breaking, almost unnoticed, as he saw the signs of withdrawal in his brother.
For more reasons than one, Dean was doing his best to keep himself as distant from Sam as possible; the sharp signs of chemical retraction in his brother's posture was why Dean had dressed for leaving in his blue jeans, long sleeve shirt, button down over shirt, and leather jacket. That, and they hadn't fought so bad in as long as memory existed, and he was so turned around, so beleaguered by the exchange, he swore he could feel the ground shifting beneath his feet.
At his brother's words, Sam whirled and kicked a helpless nightstand, ignoring it as it wobbled, tipped, and fell, a small moose-shaped ceramic lamp tumbling to the ground and shattering. The mess caught his eye for a second; why did those broken shards remind him so much of his brother? The thought flitted away before he could analyze it, and he turned around again. His lips pressed into a thin line as he thought of Ruby, any shame he felt for his actions overpowered by the red-hot rage that coursed through him.
"Oh, so you want to forget? You want to just waltz into the arms of the whore of the night with a Trojan in one hand and a bottle in the other? You think that's going to give you some magical reprieve from the Apocalypse that you started?" he snarled, no brain-mouth filters working.
As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam knew he'd gone too far. But he lifted his head and squared his jaw. Dean thought Sam had chosen Ruby over him? Fine. He'd remind him why he'd had to make that choice. On the other side of the hotel room, the décor fell to the wayside of observation. Instead, Sam watched as Dean's face drained of color, cold sweat breaking out above his lips. His eyes darted to the side and his fists clenched tight. There was an aura of loss around him, and his brother knew that Dean was always going to blame himself for his weakness. But Dean's words were biting as deep as his own, so Sam threw every sense of self-preservation to the wind and took a step forward.
"You started this shit, Dean. You became Alastair's little pet and you started the Apocalypse. So now we've got demons running loose all over the place, angels fighting and dying, divine politics playing out in the streets." Sam paused for a second, eyes burning as he thought of all the death that had occurred and the destruction that was still forthcoming. "That's all you, Dean. That is all on you. And if none of the rest of us are allowed to run and hide from it, you aren't either. You least of all," Sam snapped, his shoes wearing a hole in the carpet as he paced like a caged lion. He needed a blood fix, bad.
A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched and he took half a step forward before retreating two steps. Sam's anger reached new levels as he interpreted the withdrawal as apathy. He stormed forward and placed himself well within Dean's personal space, their noses practically touching.
"You don't give a shit anymore, do you, Dean? What, did the fires of hell burn it all out of you? Did you bleed it all out when you were on the rack?" Sam shouted, furious as his mind retraced all of Dean's recent behavior, looking for more examples of indifference, his drug-addled brain bruising his own thoughts in his frantic search.
Somehow Dean's pallor became more ashen, and shadows entered his eyes.
"Back off, Sammy."
The warning was impossibly soft, impossibly gentle, and hard as stone. The rushing, overbearing sensation of need so much worse than a nicotine craving made Sam open his mouth again, ignoring the quiet caution.
"I asked you a question, Dean. Do you even give a fuck anymore?"
Before he even realized he was moving, an inhuman roar tore from Dean and he had his brother against the wall, one arm held against his throat, the other pulled back, fist ready to strike. Slightly dazed from the quick movement, Sam barely flinched. Dean hesitated a split second, mindless frustration giving way to tired resignation, and he slammed his knuckles through the drywall beside Sam's head. He owed the kid more than a split lip, but he didn't trust his detoxing brother not to beat him half dead if he tried it. The older hunter pressed himself against Sam, putting just enough pressure on his neck to keep his undivided attention.
"Now you listen and you listen good, you sorry son of a bitch! I know I started the Apocalypse; thank you for the fucking reminder. But if I didn't give a fuck, I wouldn't be here. So since we've established that I'm dedicated to finishing this thing, to stopping Lilith from breaking all the seals, I'm gonna take the rest of the night off. You think you can keep yourself from draining a demon dry for a few hours?"
Pissed, emasculated, and hungry for something other than the natural food of the world, Sam just glared at Dean, his jaw working against the arm below his chin.
"You go to hell," Sam whispered, and Dean's eyes widened, his body freezing for a second.
The younger hunter felt the shudder of revulsion that went through his brother's body, and he almost felt a bit of guilt. Then Dean's eyes turned cold, and the guilt fled. But Dean said nothing else and just stalked towards the door without a look back, slipping through it and slamming it hard behind him. Sam leaned against the wall and listened as the Impala revved to life; apparently even in negative twenty degree weather, Dean was still more than capable of fixing his baby. He rubbed his neck gingerly as he heard the tires tear against the pavement, the squeal sounding through the apartment.
Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care about his brother for the moment. He needed to find Ruby. He walked up to the small table in the corner of the room and leaned heavily against one of the chairs for a moment. Mentally, he was a mess. Part of him demanded he chase after his brother, find him, and set things to rights. He was worried; it was late, icy, the car wasn't handling the cold well, and God knows mixing alcohol with all that was as far from a good idea as it could be. This same part that was worried about Dean whispered warnings against the desire coursing through him and begged him not to call the demon that held so much of him hostage. But the stronger part just smiled and shrugged and made him turn to reach for his phone.
Sam stopped short as he realized he wasn't alone anymore. Standing silently in the room a dozen feet from Sam, clad in his usual suit, loose blue tie, and tan trench coat, Castiel regarded him with a dark look.
"You're losing your brother, Sam," the angel informed stoically, voice grating with the low volume.
The hunter took a moment to decide how to answer as he cast the other man an incredulous stare.
"It was just a fight, Cas. Nothing we haven't done before. Stop being a mother hen," he said with an ease he didn't quite have.
He started towards his cell phone again, wrong-footed by the angel's appearance. Instead of Castiel remaining distant as he would have long ago, when there was no threat of worldwide destruction, the angel seemed to dig in his heels for a fight.
"You don't realize what you're doing, Sam. You're torturing him. You're doing nothing but increasing his suffering. Brothers are not supposed to fight. Not like this," he said emphatically, one hand cutting through the air in a harsh motion.
Sam huffed agitatedly and finally snagged his phone from the bed, thumbing through his contacts as he gave the conversation half his attention. He idly wondered why he didn't have Ruby on speed dial.
"Yeah, cause you're such an infallible barometer for how brothers are supposed to act," he commented under his breath.
There was no answer, even though Castiel was sure to have heard him, and Sam finally tossed a sideways look at the vessel.
"What the hell are you doing here, Cas?" he demanded, skin still thin from his fight with his brother; he resisted the urge to reach for his jacket.
Studying Sam intently for a few moments and undoubtedly seeing everything he wished he wouldn't, Castiel said at length, "I came to tell you that I'll be out of touch for a day or so. So please attempt to keep yourselves from doing anything...unusually reckless during that time."
Nodding noncommittally, Sam turned his back on the angel and murmured, "Yeah, will do," even as he wondered if letting Dean drive off into the frozen darkness of an unknown town was a usual or unusual act of recklessness in the angel's book.
A strong grip on his shoulder had him whipped around in a heartbeat. Castiel leaned close and stared hard at him. His eyes passed over the startled hunter's face, and his gaze bore into Sam's, his words echoing with an otherworldly vibe as he tried to convey truth.
"You will lose Dean. You will lose him before you are meant to. You are killing him, Sam. Stop," he ordered, his eyes almost lit from within as his hand tightened on the man's shoulder.
Blinking and wincing from the grip, Sam angrily refuted, "I'm not doing anything to him. We've always fought, Cas. He didn't care when I was gone to Stanford. I'm a responsibility to him, a chore. I get it and I'm okay with it. So I sincerely doubt that us having a little argument is gonna kill him."
At Sam's response, Castiel's eyes blazed and he seemed to struggle for the right words for a moment before he spoke, his tone reverent.
"There is a reason you two attract so much trouble, Sam. You and Dean were the best examples of agápē, unconditional love, for the better parts of your lives. Even when separated, the intensity of love for each other in your souls was awe-inspiring. Angels returning from war and battle would seek you two out in order to soak up the sheer warmth of the true and sacrificial love you both had for each other. It was the closest thing on this planet to the love the Christ has for his people, which is why there never seems to be any reprieve for your family," he added, and Sam gave him a ghost of a grin.
"So instead of 'no rest for the wicked', it's 'no rest for the righteous'?" Castiel didn't return the gesture and the somber mood returned to the room.
"He doesn't see you as a chore, Sam. All he's ever wanted is to keep you safe and to be a part of your life wherever he can find a space to fit. The whole of his existence, ever since he carried you from your family's home the night your mother died, has been you," the angel said gently.
Sam frowned and shook Castiel's hand off his shoulder, backing up a few feet to give himself some space, partly acknowledging the truth behind the angel's words even while he railed against it.
"You've gotta be kidding me, Cas. We didn't talk for two years. We've butted heads since before I can remember, on everything. We haven't ever done anything but fight with each other. With the greatest respect, Cas, you don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about," Sam snapped, using the curse intentionally.
Castiel leveled an even look at him and challenged, "You're doubting the soul reading ability of an angel of the Lord, Samuel Winchester?"
Hearing a possibly unholy rumble in the background of the words, Sam wisely doubled back verbally and allowed, "I'm not doubting you, Cas. I just think you've got to be exaggerating, or lying, or something."
Castiel took one simple, threatening step towards the hunter, his blue eyes taking a silver sheen as he asked quietly, "You think I'm lying?"
Taking a responding step back, Sam felt an inch tall and his voice was a little higher pitched than usual as he offered hesitantly, "No? Um...yes? Dammit, Cas, I don't know!"
The angel shook his head and the quicksilver swirl disappeared from his gaze as Sam regained his confidence.
"How am I supposed to know, huh? You could be lying. I mean, you could be saying all this just to make me stop. Cause God knows you and Dean will stop at nothing to keep me from getting stronger. And I have to get stronger. I have to defeat Lilith. She can't get away with what she did to Dean."
Castiel came as close to rolling his eyes as he could as he said, "Don't con a conman, Sam."
Sam paused and raised an eyebrow at him.
Frowning, the angel asked, "That's how the saying goes, isn't it?"
Hesitating a moment, the hunter nodded and muttered, "Just weird."
Sighing deeply, Castiel seemed to age before Sam's eyes as he said, "You don't want to exact justice on her for killing Dean and dragging his soul to hell, Sam. You look at this as a final test, the final proof that your brother and myself were wrong, that your powers are nothing to be feared and should instead be embraced. You are convinced of your path the same way your brother is convinced of his."
Sam said nothing, and he couldn't meet the gaze of the divine being, either.
"I'm not sorry, Cas. I'll do this. I'll stop the Apocalypse from happening and...I wasn't able to save him from hell, but I'll save him now."
Just two feet away from him, Castiel studied his features and shook his head slightly, sincere sorrow crossing his face for a moment.
"No, you won't. You can stop every death, kill every demon, heal every wound, and erase every scar, from now until eternity, but you will never, ever save your brother. Not like this."
Castiel put his hands on Sam's arms, directly where he'd left scars on Dean's, and his voice was low as he spoke.
"I told you that the brightness of the unconditional love between you and Dean was, at one time, an incredible emanation of warmth. Now there is almost nothing. It physically hurts me to be in the presence of you and Dean. His soul is tarnished by doubt and horror but still shines with a painful fervor. But you, Sam...you reflect almost none of it. To see you now and know how you were before...I feel I mourn a death. All of the heavenly host mourns."
Sam swallowed hard as a mental image shone through his mind: luminescent beings on their knees, sobbing, weeping, crying out for the loss, raging against the truth of it. With Castiel touching him, he knew what he saw was a real, projected memory from the angel. What began as a tickle in the deepest recesses of his mind quickly became an overwhelming sense of despair that flowed over him and through him like water, drowning him in its intensity. He was distantly aware of his knees giving out, though the angel held him fast. Choking out a desperate plea, he dimly felt Castiel walk him backwards and position him so he was leaning against the wall near the beds. Then the vessel moved away, and instead of emotional silence, he suddenly felt bereft and empty. For a split second, he didn't even feel the heady, ever-present desire for demon blood. He felt the angel's eyes on him, watching him as he slowly recovered, and he fought back tears ruthlessly.
"I'll return in a few days. Keep yourself safe, Sam. You and your brother," Castiel ordered gently.
With a flicker of beating wings, he was gone. The hunter sat heavily on the double bed beside him, his mind still sluggish from the onslaught of emotions he'd received from the angel. He breathed deeply through his nose and cast a glance towards his cell phone, which had been mindlessly discarded on the corner table. It sat silently, innocuous in its implication, and with a long pause to steady himself, Sam grabbed it and dialed a number.
"This is Dean. Leave a message."
Despite the pull of the need flowing through him, Sam sat on the bed throughout the night, calling his brother every five minutes, all the way to the dawn.
End Chapter 1