Fic contains dialogue from the episode It's The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester, it belongs to Eric Kripke and Julie Siege.
Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)
Dean can tell how much Sam wishes the angels weren't such gold-medal douchebags. Dean's not thrilled about that part of it either, but he's already a little used to it. The look on Sam's face when Cas called him the boy with the demon blood was one of the sadder things Dean's seen in a while. He's never going to stop hating what Yellow-Eyes did to his brother. Never, not for the rest of his life. It was bad enough that it makes Sam think he's less than human, he poor kid really didn't need angels getting in his face about it on top of the crap that's gotta already be going through his own head. Sam was so excited to meet Cas, and with six words Cas just crushed him.
"I thought they'd be different," Sam says. His sad-puppy face is about the only thing on the planet that actually has the power to take Dean's mind off what that stupid, chubby little asshole of a kid did to his car.
"What, the angels?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I tried to tell you."
"I just …" Sam shakes his head. "I mean, I thought they'd be … righteous."
Dean shrugs. "Well, they are righteous. I mean, that's kinda the problem."
Sam looks over at him with a frown wrinkling his forehead. It makes Dean sad to think Sam's been disillusioned just because Cas and his new friend are dicks.
"'Course, there's nothing more dangerous than some a-hole who thinks he's on a Holy mission," Dean adds.
"But – I mean, this is God? And Heaven? This is what I've been praying to?"
He sounds so sad, and it makes Dean hurt even worse. "Look, man, I know you're into the whole God thing. Jesus on a tortilla, stuff like that. But just because there's a couple'a bad apples doesn't mean the whole barrel's rotten. I mean, for all we know, God hates these jerks. Don't give up on the stuff, is all I'm saying. Babe Ruth was a dick, but baseball's still a beautiful game."
Sam smiles just a little, and Dean smiles too, knowing he made his brother feel better. At least that part of his job, he's still good at.
As completely creepy as it is to see corpses actually crawl out of their graves and start stumbling towards him, Dean's not sure he's ever fought genuine zombies before. So that part is kinda cool. Gross, but cool. Sometimes his job is awesome. He puts them down and then he hurries to find Sam. He's not crazy about the part of the plan where Sam takes on a seriously powerful demon by himself. Way too many things could go wrong.
When he rounds the corner and finds them, his heart sinks. Things did go wrong. Dean doesn't know where the knife is, but Sam's standing in front of the demon with his hand outstretched, blood dripping from his nose and his face screwed up in concentration. He sees Dean and his expression changes for just a moment, but then he goes back to exorcising or whatever it is he can do, and there's nothing Dean can do but watch. Anger boils under his skin as he watches Sam do the very thing Dean begged him not to. Dean isn't a drill-sergeant like Dad was; he doesn't expect Sam to do every little thing Dean tells him to. Sam is a grown-up, he's allowed to make his own decisions. But Sam said he knew how dangerous his powers are. He said he'd stop, and he sounded like he meant it. Dean believed him, and that's the worst part.
Sam looks up at Dean after it's over, his breathing labored and blood running down over his lips. He has the same look on his face as he always does after a close call – halfway between worried and relieved – like nothing specific is wrong. Like Dean didn't just see what he saw. Dean sees red.
"Is he dead?" Dean asks, nodding at the body of the witch Samhain had been riding.
"We shot him in the chest," Sam says, struggling to catch his breath and wiping at the blood on his face. "He was dead an hour ago."
"And the demon?"
"In Hell."
Dean nods again, clenching his teeth together in anger. "How 'bout the knife? You drop it while you were running over here? Or were you ever plannin' on using it at all?"
"What?" Sam frowns. "Yeah, of course I was. Dean, the guy was already dead. There was no victim to save, the knife would've made way more sense."
"So?" Dean asks obnoxiously.
"So, he got it," Sam answers, narrowing his eyes. He points across the room, and Dean follows the direction of his hand to where the knife is lying on the floor. "It's not like he was just gonna stand there are let me stab him. We fought, he was stronger than me."
"Or you let him get it," Dean mutters. It makes sense. Sam wanted to use his powers on this demon, and then it just happened that it ended up his only option? Dean's not buying it.
"What?" Sam snaps. "Are you serious? You think I let him take it from me? Why the hell would I do that?"
"I don't know, Sam, you tell me. All I know is, you wanted to use your freaky mind-thing on this guy right from the beginning, and then I walk in on you going all Yoda on his ass and the knife is just conveniently where you can't reach it?"
"You …" Sam gapes at him. "You gotta be freakin' kidding me. You seriously think I dropped the knife on purpose so I'd have an excuse to use my powers on him? And then lie about it right to your face?"
Dean shrugs callously. "Wouldn't be the only thing you've lied to my face about lately, wouldn't it?"
Sam glares at him. "I should've told you about Ruby right from the beginning. I know that. But I said I was sorry and I meant it. So, what, I'm not allowed to make a mistake? Now you're gonna spend the rest of my life throwing that back at me?"
"I am as long as it's a mistake you keep making!" Dean cries.
"What are you talking about?"
"You said you were gonna stop using your powers!"
"I did stop!" Sam insists.
Dean gestures wildly around the room and sarcastically shouts, "Hello?"
"I had to! And that's the first time I've used them since I told you I wasn't going to anymore."
"Damn it, Sam, you said you knew this was playing with fire!" Dean knows he's probably being unreasonable, but Sam's abilities scare him so much he gets irrational about it.
"He got the knife!" Sam yells. "I wasn't going to use them but I didn't exactly have a choice, did I? What the hell was I supposed to do, let us all die? We already let the seal get broken, I didn't want to add letting him get away to the list!"
"So you should've, I don't know, stalled somehow! Waited for me to get here, instead of jumping at the opportunity to do something you promised me you weren't going to! How do I know you were ever planning on using the knife at all, huh? How do I know you didn't just throw it down the second you got here so you could get your Mindfreak on!"
"Alright, you know what? Don't believe me if you don't want to. I don't care." Sam walks over to the knife and picks it up, sticking it back into the holster inside his jacket. "This isn't the place to fight about this anyway. We gotta get outta here before the cops show up and pin this dick's death on us."
He glares at Dean again one more time and then brushes past him as he leaves, not looking back to see if Dean's following him.
Dean does follow him, still steaming in anger even though deep down he knows he isn't being fair, back to where they parked the car. He drives them back to the motel, refusing to look at Sam. Dean can't remember something like this ever happening before in the more than two decades they've known each other. They're brothers and they have a hard life, there have always been disputes and arguments and things they didn't see eye-to-eye on. But Dean can't ever remember something this big being between them before. He can't wrap his mind around Sam's side of it, and Sam can't seem to wrap his mind around Dean's side, and it's just creating this rift between them that Dean really hates. He isn't the psychic one, but if he were one to make predictions, he'd guess it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. He just hopes he's wrong.
What Sam can do with his mind has always scared Dean, but after Cas's threat, it scares him even more. The angels are about as far from fluffy, white, benevolent creatures as they could possibly get. They're almost blood-thirsty, and they don't seem to care who or what they turn to dust as long as they're following orders. If they've got orders to stop Sam from exorcising demons, Dean has no doubt that they'll do it and not even think twice about it. Dean doesn't know what happens to a person when an angel kills them, but he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to bring Sam back this time. He can't let that happen. He has to make Sam see that.
"I swear I didn't have a choice," Sam says softly, once they're back in their room. He's sitting on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees and looking up at Dean through his long bangs. "That's the truth, okay? I know playing with my abilities is a bad idea. I told you I was gonna stop and I have. I used them tonight as a last resort, because he was coming at me and I couldn't get to the knife."
Dean sighs tiredly. He didn't even take his boots and jacket off when he came in the door, because honestly, he doesn't want to stay. He doesn't want to be trapped in a room with Sam tonight; he just wants to be alone. To just sit in silence and figure things out. He leans against the wall by the door and crosses his arms, not looking at his brother as he says, "Sam, the angels were ready to blow-up this whole town, because they were told to. They didn't care for one second about all the people here, and they don't care about you either. I don't know exactly what Cas meant when he said he'd stop you, but I know he wasn't joking around."
Sam looks up at him with a small frown on his face. "I don't care about them. I care about you. I don't want you to think I lied to you, because I didn't."
Dean nods. He wants to believe Sam, he's just not completely sure he can. "I'm not mad. I just …"
"I know." Sam looks away again. He stands up and walks a few steps in the other direction, running a hand through his hair. "Dad was like that too. Whether you're upset, or scared, or whatever, it always comes out as anger even when maybe it isn't. I'm used to it."
"I just don't want you to get hurt," Dean says honestly, a little uncomfortable at how well Sam knows him.
Sam glances at him over his shoulder. "Yeah. I know that too."
Dean presses his lips together and sighs again. He gestures vaguely toward the door, muttering, "I'm gonna …"
Sam nods and blinks a few times. Dean stares at him for just a moment, wanting to say so many things – that he'll be back soon, that he's sorry, that he wishes things weren't so messed up lately – but he doesn't say any of it. He just pulls the keys out of his pocket and walks slowly out the door.
He ends up staying away for what's left of the night, just driving around in circles and mulling everything over in his head. He doesn't get anywhere, doesn't come even close to any solutions, and as the sun's coming up he drives by a public park, so he parks and finds a bench to sit on instead because his legs are cramping. An hour passes before people start showing up, moms and kids mostly, and a few of them eye him warily but mostly they leave him alone.
Not telling Sam about Hell is weighing on him. Dean doesn't want to admit it, but it is. Usually, Dean deals with things on his own – never wanting to bother anyone else with his stupid little problems – but whenever there's ever been something serious troubling him, he turns to Sam. His whole life, Sam's been the one he's always gone to with stuff like that – although none of the problems he's ever had before can hold a candle to the memories that tear at the inside of his skull. His instinct is to keep it inside, to keep it buried down as far as he can shove it and never let it out, even to Sam. Or maybe especially to Sam, because Dean did horrible things and Sam can't ever know. Sam wouldn't love him anymore if he did. But even still, there are times when Dean's burning to tell him, and it sucks to have to hold it in.
After a while, Dean senses someone sitting on the bench beside the one he's on, and somehow without looking he knows who it is.
"Let me guess, you're here for the I told you so," he says flatly.
"No," Castiel's voice answers.
"Well, good, 'cause I'm really not that interested."
"I am not here to judge you, Dean."
"Then why are you here?" Dean asks, not caring for a second about how blunt he's being.
"Our orders – " Cas starts, but Dean interrupts.
"Yeah, you know, I've had about enough of these orders of yours."
Cas looks at him and continues more forcefully. "Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain. They were to do whatever you told us to."
Dean blinks and stares at him, not sure what to make of that. He leans forward a little before he asks, "Your orders were to follow my orders?"
"It was a test. To see how you would perform under … battlefield conditions, you might say," Cas says, in that emotionless way of his.
"It was a witch," Dean points out. "Not the Tet Offensive."
Cas actually laughs a little.
"So I, uh, failed your test, huh? I get it." Dean's used to failure. It hardly bothers him at this point. "But you know what? If you were to wave that magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I'd make the same call. 'Cause, see, I don't know what's gonna happen when these seals are broken, hell, I don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow. But what I do know is, is that this, here? These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it. Is still here because of my brother and me."
Cas nods thoughtfully. "You misunderstand me, Dean. I'm not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town."
"You were," Dean says skeptically.
"These people, they're all my Father's creations. They're works of art. And yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken. And we are one step closer to Hell on Earth for all creation, and that's not an expression, Dean. It's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means."
Dean feels the familiar sting of memories creeping up, and he struggles to push them back down.
"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" Cas asks.
"Okay."
"I'm not, a … hammer, as you say. I have questions. I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore. Whether you passed or failed here. But, in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."
He gives Dean a meaningful look, and then Dean looks away for a moment and Cas is gone when he looks back. Yep, dicks. All of them. Or, at least, the two Dean's met so far. He kind of can't wait for this whole mess to be over with, even though unfortunately it sounds like it's all just beginning.
Eventually he goes back to the motel, when a few of the moms start giving him more serious sideways glances, wondering why a grown man in his late twenties is sitting on a park bench watching a bunch of kids play. He calls, "Hey, Sammy," when he walks in, expecting Sam's going to be annoyed that Dean was out all night and didn't call. Sure enough, Sam steps out of the bathroom with a completely accusatory look on his face, and Dean braces himself for getting bitched at. What comes out of Sam's mouth, though, isn't at all what he expected.
"You remember Hell?" Sam asks, angrily.
Dean blinks. "What?"
"You remember Hell," Sam repeats; a statement this time. "You've been all over me for weeks for keeping shit from you, and all this time you remembered Hell and've been lying to me about it?"
Sam says it like he knows it, not just suspects like he did before, and that probably means somebody told him Dean's been lying. Cas, maybe, or that new angel, the one up for the Dick-Bag of the Year award. Sam wouldn't be this upset over a hunch. He knows. Which means Dean is epically, royally screwed.