Author's Note: Spoilers for 10x03! This is my first story for season ten and my first, non-prompt related story in a really long time. Hope you enjoy!
"I've got no one but myself
To ask "how did I get here?"
—Shane Alexander, "Feels Like the End"
He's human again.
Real, breathing, normal eyes blinking, soul intact human again. He's eating food again, savoring the taste. He's already gone through one burger and two slices of apple pie, but his body hasn't indicated that he's full so he'll keep eating.
Because eating is something he knows how to do.
That haunted, far away look in Sam's eyes?
That he doesn't know how to fix.
"It good?" Sam's voice is hoarse as he nurses a beer, cautiously perched on the dining room chair, ready to jump up should Dean need something. He hasn't made one comment about the cholesterol his big brother is inhaling. He hasn't actually said much tonight as if he's afraid talking will shatter the carefully constructed peace they had achieved tonight.
"Yeah." Dean manages to say in-between bites because he's missed food. He never thought he would, but he's missed it. Sure, he had eaten some things while he'd been a demon, but it never tasted the same. There was always a hint of sulfur, always a trace of something off, tainting the food.
"Good." Sam breathes and he seems exhausted, the adrenaline crashing and he wonders how many hours Sam's been stuck in fight or flight mode.
Judging by the way Sam's white knuckling his beer bottle, too many.
He wants to tell Sam to go to bed, but he knows that won't go over well. His little brother is stubborn and tonight, he's already been through enough. Dean won't take a chance that they'll end up in another argument.
So, he continues to eat and Sam watches and they both try to ignore the elephant in the room.
After all, putting off things is one of their specialties.
He swings the hammer, hitting Sam's skull, of it cracking as blood pours out and brain matter coats the wall. His brother's eyes widen with the tiniest hint of shock, only for them to glaze over as his knees buckle. He collapses and Dean can see the flecks of blood—his brother's blood—staining his shirt.
His demon self just laughs, his eyes the color of coal.
And that's when he wakes up.
"Sam?"
Sam glances up from glancing over the newspaper and Dean hesitates, standing in the doorway. He isn't sure how to say this—how to start his apology for doing more awful things than he can comprehend—and judging from his little brother's concerned gaze, he doesn't get it either.
"Dean?" Sam prompts and the older brother sighs raggedly, running a hand through his hair.
There's so much he needs to say, so much he needs to hear, but now, faced with a chance to do it, he can't voice the words. What he's done to Sam—what he almost did do—he needs more time to process it.
Because almost killing your little brother? That could do a number on you.
"You know what?" He fakes a nonchalant grin. "Never mind."
Sam clearly wants to press the matter, but seems to think better of it and goes back to reading the paper.
And the silence continues.
"You notice I tried to get as far away from you possible? Away from your whining, your complaining." He smirks as the words have their desired effect on his brother. "I chose the King of Hell over you. Maybe I was just . . . tired of babysitting you. Or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire, since . . . forever. Or maybe—maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn't for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life."
He rises from the chair, as if the binding never existed and smiling maliciously, his hand darts out and crushes his brother's windpipe. He squeezes as Sam struggles prove to be in vain. Then, bored, Dean snaps his neck and drops his body.
He steps over it and leaves the room, laughing at how easy it was to kill his brother.
It's day three and the silence is stifling.
Sam hasn't initiated a chick-flick moment, hasn't broken down and forced Dean to confront what happened between them. He hasn't yelled, hasn't demanded an apology for what Dean said or did. He hasn't locked himself up in his room and refused to come out like he did when he was younger. In fact, if anything, Sam's been more quiet than usual. He hasn't really spoken at all.
Which is, just plain odd.
He just gets up, gets breakfast and sits in that same chair, reading the paper before researching the Mark of Cain, which is another thing they need to talk about.
You know, if they could actually manage to string together a few sentences together.
"Sam?" He calls as he enters the dining room and he can see his brother flinch.
The blood chills in his bones as his little brother turns around and meets his widened gaze and says some bullshit excuse about being too lost in thought and being startled.
But, Dean knows Sam better than this—knows that his brother doesn't startle. That instinct has been trained out of them and if there's one thing they owe to their father, it's their ability to distinguish what sounds mean threats and which ones mean nothing.
Sam heard him and flinched.
He flinched because he was scared.
Scared of Dean.
"Dean—" Sam rises from the chair, but Dean's already backing up and grabbing the keys from the counter.
Sam's scared of him.
And that thought is just too much to process right now.
He drives the car to the mall, thirty minutes away. He ends up just sitting in the car, unable to leave.
When he comes back in, the bunker's a mess.
Papers are strewn everywhere and immediately, Dean tenses.
"Sammy?" He calls, voice loud without the tiniest hint of hesitation. He dimly realizes he's unarmed and he quickly moves towards their weapons storage. He unlocks the door as quietly as he can and slips in. He pulls out his gun—funny, he hasn't used a gun in what feels like an eternity—and then steps out. "Sam!"
When he gets into the kitchen, he sees blood on the counter and plates shattered on the floor. His rational mind quickly deduces that there's been a struggle here, while his heart tenses with worry.
Sam's cellphone rings, flecks of blood illuminating the screen.
Dean doesn't recognize the number, but he picks it up, voice low and dangerous, "Where is he?"
The voice laughs.
"Oh, now you want Sam?"
Dread settles in the pit of Dean's stomach, heavy as lead.
"Cole?" He breathes, hoping to God that it isn't him, but sensing his luck is about to run out.
"You remember my name?" Cole echoes. "I'd say I was touched, but let's be honest here—"
"Let Sam go." Dean interrupts, feeling useless. Sam's been taken by someone that Dean had screwed over and after the last time Cole had taken his baby brother, he doubts the hunter will be less inclined to play the ransom game.
"You make a lot of demands, you know that?" Cole muses and in the background, he can hear ragged breathing and he lets the tiniest surge of relief enter his system.
Sam's alive, for the moment at least.
"Cole, whatever you want, we can—"
"What I want?" He repeats, stunned. "What I want? You know what I want, Dean? I want you to suffer as much as you made me suffer." There's a gasp of pain and the eldest Winchester's eyes screw shut because just because Sam's alive doesn't mean he that will be for long.
"Cole, please—" He's not above begging if it will get Sam back to him. After what he's done, he deserves to be punished, but Sam? Sam's innocent. Sam got caught up in Dean's bad decisions and he didn't deserve this.
"It's too late for bargaining, Dean." Cole snaps, voice hard and unyielding. "I'm going to kill your brother. I'll bring you his head. And then . . ." Dean can picture him smirking. "Then, I'm going to kill you."
That's when the line goes dead.
"You shouldn't go after him alone. How did he even manage to find you?" Castiel cautions and Dean forces himself to stand still and breathe. He needs to think, needs to be logical right now or he'll get Sam killed. He doesn't know how Cole found the bunker, but then again, it's warded against every type of supernatural creature and Cole, as crazy as he might be, is still a human. Plus, after what Dean did to him, it's no wonder that he caught up to them. Dean would've done the same. "I can be there in an hour—"
"Cas, I don't have time to wait—"
Sam could be bleeding out now, never knowing how sorry Dean is, how he wishes that he could fix things between them. He doesn't have a second to spare debating the pros and cons of going this alone.
"He'll kill you, Dean. If what you've told me is true, he'll kill Sam too." Castiel sighs softly. "This is a suicide mission and you know it."
He does—knew from the moment Cole's voice came over the line. He'd made the choice to keep Cole alive, to bring him to the brink and then break him emotionally. He deserves the consequences of that choice. And death or whatever it holds, so be it.
As long as Sam lives.
"What do you want me to do, Cas?" Dean asks, voice nearly cracking as the suppressed emotions begin to boil up. He pushes them down, forces himself to be objective. "You want me to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while Sam's dying?"
"No, of course not, but—"
"If he wants me, he can have me." The eldest Winchester informs the angel, determined.
There's no room for debate; he's made up his mind.
He's getting Sam back—at any and all costs.
It doesn't take long to find Cole.
The guy's a rookie, even with the military training and there's only so many hiding spaces close enough to the bunker that he could've feasibly taken Sam to without someone noticing. The condemned building about twenty minutes away is a good choice, one that his demon self would've chosen. He arms himself with his gun and places his knife out of view. He isn't sure how this is going to go down, but he will be getting Sam out of here.
That much is certain.
He saunters into the building, forcing himself to exude confidence. He isn't surprised when he rounds a corner and sees his brother tied up to a metal chair, blood dripping from his forehead and bruises littering his face. He bites back on the anger, forces himself to take stock of the situation, something his demon self would've never done.
"Guess big brother isn't coming for you." Cole muses and Sam stifles a groan as he tries to lift his head. "You know, when I first started looking for your brother, they warned me not to mess with you." He smirks, as if it's the funniest thing in the world. "That, if I did, he'd come after me like a bat out of hell." He pulls out his pocketknife and turns it around in his hand, musing on it. "But, that's what I wanted. I wanted Dean Winchester to come after me and you have to know Sam, it wasn't personal with you." He smiles sadly. "You were just a means to an end."
"D'n's differen' now." Sam slurs through the blood loss and exhaustion and Dean can't help but grin, proud of the fighter his brother is. "S'not D'n that—"
The pocketknife flashes in the light before it buries itself in Sam's shoulder and then before Dean can even comprehend that, it's back in Cole's hand once more. Blood gushes out of the wound and the eldest Winchester winces, knowing he needs to do something soon.
"Your brother is a monster." Cole growls. "He killed my father and he needs to be stopped—"
"So, stop me then." Dean steps from the shadows, willing all of Cole's attention to be on him and not Sam. "Let my brother go and you can get your revenge."
"D'n, no—" Sam protests, barely conscious and fuck, he needs to get to a hospital because judging from his ashen skin and the amount of blood on the floor, he's going into shock.
"It's okay, Sammy." Dean soothes, a grin alighting on his lips. "I'm going to get you out of here."
"You're not going anywhere!" Cole roars and then he launches himself at Dean, knife extended. Dean dodges, pulls out his gun and aims it directly at the other hunter's head.
"This is why you don't bring a knife to a gun fight." Dean quips and Cole laughs bitterly, almost hysterically. It's the sound of a man too fractured to ever be put together again and grimly, Dean realizes that it's his fault that Cole is like this, that it was his doing that caused all of this.
"Pull the trigger then." Cole challenges, arms extended out as if he's embracing it. "Show your brother what a monster you truly are."
His demon self would've taken the shot without any hesitation. Or, to be honest, he would've taken Cole's knife and tortured him with it and then killed him.
He isn't his demon self.
"We can walk away from this." Dean offers instead. "Just let me get Sam the help he needs and then you and I can—"
"No, no!" Cole shouts, eyes wild with fury. "You think this is up for discussion? You kill me or I'll kill you! It's that simple—!"
His finger tenses on the trigger. He won't hesitate to kill to protect Sam, but Cole's a victim too, one of his own making. He doesn't want to add his death to his conscience, not if he doesn't have to.
"You're a coward, Dean." Cole mutters and then he takes a step towards the eldest Winchester and he tenses on the trigger about to shoot.
There's the flutter of wings and a bright, white light.
He finds himself outside with Sam, Castiel's cerulean eyes boring into his.
"Cas?" Sam slurs and immediately, Dean moves to his baby brother, now free of the chair. His brother leans heavily on him and checking his pulse, Dean grimaces at the rapid, light fluttering.
"Sammy?" Sam's gaze, slow like molasses, finally comes to rest on his. "Hey, you hang on, okay?"
He blinks a few times, as if he isn't sure what he's seeing. Then, he nods and Dean beams, falling back into the role he's been embracing ever since Sam was born.
"Go." Castiel informs him, eyes drawn in concern. "He needs medical attention."
"But Cole—" Dean protests.
"Hannah will relocate him, wipe his memories of the bunker from his mind."
"Hannah, who is—?"
Castiel waves his hand, dismissing his concerns.
"Go, Dean." He orders a bit more sharply. "Sam needs you."
That's all it takes for him to spring into action.
When Sam comes to, two days have passed.
Two days of anxiety, of surgery, of listening to the doctor's grim diagnosis turn into one of cautious optimism, of waiting and going over everything once more in his mind, trying to come to a new conclusion.
"Sammy, you with me?"
"Yeah." His voice is parched and immediately, Dean hands him a glass of water. He takes a few sips before letting his brother take the cup away. "Y'kay?"
"I'm fine, Sam." Dean chides him, as if he's stupid for caring about his brother's wellbeing when he should be focusing on his own. "You will be too." He ventures a smile that is immediately returned and Sam feels a weight lift off his shoulders.
They've been dancing around the subject of Dean's demonhood, of what he did and said while under its influence. Well, after his run-in with Cole, he's ready to confront it head on now.
While they wish they could just let it go, the past is coming to get them and in order to come to terms with what happened, they need to talk about it.
"Dean." It takes all of his strength to keep his voice steady.
"Yeah?"
"We need to talk."
To his surprise, Dean just nods his head.
"I know, Sammy. We will, soon as you're out of here, I promise."
The drowsiness of the medicine swims up to take him and he lets him go, assured by his brother's promise.
When he's released from the hospital, they return to the bunker and as soon as the door is shut behind them, Sam turns on his brother, eyes wide and pleading.
"I know." Dean sighs. "Go to the kitchen. I'll make something and we can talk." He pauses for a few moments, a wrinkle of disgust marring his face. "Dude, I sound like a friggin' girl."
Sam just laughs and goes to sit at the table. A short while later, Dean appears with a salad for Sam and a burger for himself. He sits and Sam waits, unsure of how to start this conversation.
Dean beats him to it.
"For what I said to you, for what I did," Dean winces. "I'm sorry."
They say healing starts slow.
It does—taking the first step is often the hardest thing to do and takes the longest time to achieve.
But as they sit and begin to have this discussion that seems like an eternity in the making, Sam knows they'll move past it. They both have regrets, both have done things they wished they didn't, but for each other, they can move past that.
For each other, they'll keep fighting.
And make no mistake, Cole would be back. He would find them once more, but the next time, he'd have to go through two Winchesters instead of one.
Because from now on, the Winchesters were back in action.
Author's Note: Wow, this quickly spun out of my control. It's way longer than I intended, but I love the way it turned out. I hope you liked it! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!