Author's Note: Written for a wonderful prompt over at OhSam. It was "Dean is Dean, but they soon discover the MOC still needs to be fed. After witnessing Dean almost kill a guy, Sam decides to make sure he takes the brunt of it so no one else gets hurt. When he sees Dean getting agitated by the mark, he puts himself in harm's way to protect the innocent. Dean is powerless to stop Sam's plan because he is beyond reason once the MOC takes over. He is out for blood. Anyone's blood." Please be warned that this will get dark pretty fast. Also, I'm not sure how to warn for this, but if the idea of Sam being beaten up by Dean and allowing himself to be beaten up by Dean is not okay for you, don't read this story. Set post 10x03. Enjoy!
"And it must have been so bad
Cause living with me must have damn near killed you."
Nickelback, "How You Remind Me"
When Sam gets Dean back, he's thrilled.
Sure, harsh words were spoken and yeah, there's more than a few things that the two brothers need to talk about, but Dean not being a demon? Sam will take that. It's the best thing he's gotten in a long time. Sure, they still have to deal with the Mark of Cain, but one step at a time, right?
"Sammy?" Dean meets his gaze, somewhat perplexed and Sam can't help the unabashed grin that lights his face. "You okay?" He comes to stand beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as if he knows how much Sam needs his presence to assure him that yes, Dean's back and yes, they're going to be okay now.
"I'm good, Dean."
This right here—having a brother that cares, that knows him so well—this is worth everything.
And he's willing to sacrifice everything to protect it.
It's a few weeks later that Sam figures out the problem.
With their life, there's always a catch. You couldn't get something for nothing after all and every action comes with a price. Sam knows this—has been raised with this creed—and he should've seen this coming.
Dean's been stir crazy for the past week, irritable and lashing out at Sam every time the youngest Winchester tries to inquire about Dean's bad mood. Still, they haven't been on too many hunts and Sam's sure Dean's still brooding over the whole "nearly killing my brother while I was a demon" thing, so he decides that there's only one thing to do.
They need to go out.
He picks a small dive bar with good beer and plenty of pretty girls and for a few hours, it feels like they've made it out of the woods. Dean's smiling and shamelessly flirting and Sam can feel that weight on his shoulders slowly being lifted away. They're back together and it's in the dim lighting of the bar that it finally hits him.
His brother is human.
"What are you grinning for, Sammy?" Dean inquires, smirking somewhat. "Don't tell me you're drunk already?"
Sam punches his brother's shoulder playfully and chuckles.
"I'm just glad, you know?" His expression sobers. "When you left . . ." His voice trails off as the grief wells up within him with a vengeance, reminding him of all that he almost lost.
"Sam?" Dean's voice is gentle, tone filled with concern. His gaze locks onto his little brother's and the youngest Winchester just shakes his head.
"I'm good." He assures his brother. "Just grateful, you know?"
Dean takes a swig of his beer and then nods his head.
"I know, Sammy." He breathes, a rare grin tugging on his lips. "I . . ." He hesitates, then adds, "Thanks for not giving up on me. Even with what I said—"
"It wasn't you, Dean." Sam replies and he remembers the countless days of Dean saying the same thing to him in regards to his soulless self's actions. Back then, he hadn't believed a word of it, but now, having dealt with his brother as a demon? He understood. The demon that had growled those awful things to him couldn't be the same man that sits before him now.
It just isn't possible.
"Even so," Dean adds and Sam nods, understanding his point. His brother chuckles and then stands up. "I'm going to get some air."
Sam nods, sensing that this has less to do with how hot the bar is and more with his brother's troubled thoughts.
"I'll be here." He promises and then watches Dean weave into the crowd and head out the back door. He sits there for a few moments, listening to the strains of Metallica over the din of crowd.
"Hey!" The shout pulls him from his reverie and he glances towards the commotion. "Stop!"
He's up out of his chair immediately, beer left behind.
"Someone call the cops!"
He pushes through the crowd, urgency forcing him to move as fast as he can manage.
"You're killing him!"
Sam stands in the doorway and sees his brother, face contorted with an almost inhuman rage, and he can see the blood dripping off his brother's knuckles as he bashes the frat boy's face in.
"Dean, stop!"
Dean doesn't even hear him; his fists keep hitting and Sam quickly runs to his brother's side and pulls him back. Dean fights him, snarling like an animal and finally, thankfully, he calms down, though there is no recognition in his eyes.
"He was going to kill him." A woman whispers and Sam whisks his brother away to the car so they can make a hasty retreat before the cops show up and start asking questions.
"Dean?"
No response.
The fact that Dean lets him sit in the driver's seat raises a big red flag, but when Sam actually begins to drive the car back to the bunker, the youngest Winchester knows they're in trouble. He practically has to drag his brother inside, since apparently, the lights are on but no one's home in his brother's head.
"Anytime you wanna talk, dude." Sam mutters as he cleans the dried blood from his brother's knuckles, but Dean just stares at him with that blank, uncomprehending stare that terrifies him. By the time, he's done, Dean's suddenly exhausted and he's asleep before his head even hits the pillow of his memory foam mattress.
Sam spends the night researching, combing all of the lore they have and trying to figure out exactly what happened. Could something have gone wrong in the cure? Maybe Dean wasn't fully Dean yet. Maybe there was another step since Dean had the Mark of—
Dean is no longer a demon, that's true. But the Mark of Cain—that he still has, and sooner or later that is gonna be an issue.
The realization hits him like a freight train.
"Shit." He swears, frantically flipping the pages.
Why did Castiel have to be right?
By the time dawn breaks, Dean's up and acting like nothing was wrong.
"You mean you don't remember anything from last night?" Sam asks, somewhat skeptical as he drinks his third cup of coffee. He still has more research to do and he can't stop now, not when he's so close to confirming his worst fears.
"We had a few beers." Dean states, somewhat perplexed by his little brother's distressed tone.
"And then?" Sam presses.
"And then we came home and I went to bed." Dean states quickly, taking a bite of his eggs. His brow furrows in confusion. "Why? Did we do something else?"
"Dean, last night, you almost beat a guy to death." Sam confesses softly, eyes downcast.
"I . . . what?" Dean whispers, disbelief coloring his tone. "But I . . . I don't remember anything."
"I think it could be the Mark of Cain." His little brother informs him quietly. "I don't have enough proof to verify it yet but—"
"There was something Crowley told me." Dean interjects and Sam waits for him to continue. His brother sits for a few moments, before pushing his food away and restlessly stalking over to the books. He turns the pages for a few moments before slamming the books.
"What did he tell you, Dean?" His brother asks, wanting his older sibling to confide him.
"That I need to kill." It comes out in a rush, almost too fast for Sam to make out the words. "He said that the Mark of Cain needs me to kill people. That's the way to, I don't know, control it or something."
"And if you don't?" Sam urges and Dean runs a hand through his hair.
"I don't know." He replies, voice grave.
Silence.
Finally, Sam stands up and moves to his brother's side, offering his strength and solidarity.
"We'll figure this out, okay?" Sam promises. "We've been in worst situations, right? We'll find a way to fix things."
Sam ignores the voice in his mind that cautions against making promises he can't keep.
On Monday, they research together.
Dean throws himself into the quest for answers and scans the internet for any leads while Sam translates some of the more archaic texts. The information they do have is vague and doesn't offer a solution of how to get rid of it.
"If I read one more sentence about how the Mark isn't supposed to exist, I'll punch something." The eldest Winchester mutters darkly and Sam chuckles.
Still, there's hope because there has to be answer out there somewhere.
They just need to find it.
On Tuesday, Dean taps his foot constantly.
"Dude, would you quit it?" Sam snaps, eyes never leaving the old tome that he's currently flipping through.
"Oh." His brother doesn't even seem like he's aware he was even doing it, judging by his bewildered face. "Sorry."
There are a few minutes of the silence, and then the tapping begins once more.
Sam does his best not to scream in frustration.
On Wednesday, Dean paces the bunker like an animal in a cage.
The anger seems to roll off him in waves, though his eyes are clear and it's evident that he's still in control.
"You wanna sit?" Sam gestures to the chair, but Dean shakes his head.
"We need to get out." Dean practically hisses. "Aren't you sick of this place?" He turns around, arms outstretched. "We've been here forever!"
"It's been two days, Dean." Sam points out and Dean shakes his head, clearly unhappy with that answer.
"I need to get out." He whispers. "I need to get out."
He doesn't leave though.
Sam counts it as a win.
Thursday, Sam wakes up to find his brother sitting in the front seat of the Impala, keys in the ignition.
"I was going to go hurt someone." Dean admits softly as his brother sits shotgun. His big brother's voice wavers; his eyes are bloodshot. "Sammy, you have to stop me. I can't—"
"It'll be okay, Dean." Sam assures him.
Liar, his mind retorts.
Friday, the recognition in his brother's eyes is gone.
Some part of him has prevented him from leaving the bunker, but the rage is there and Sam knows that all it will take is one slight push to make him snap.
"Dean?"
No response.
His brother moves for the door and Sam realizes in that moment what needs to be done. If he lets Dean walk out that door, someone will die. The Mark of Cain will make him kill and that's something he can't allow. The only solution would be for Sam to give the Mark of Cain what it needs and hope that his brother would snap out of it before it was too late.
"Dean!"
He grips his brother's shoulder and tugs him away from the door. There's a snarl as his eyes meet his big brother's. Wherever his brother is, there's no way to reach him right now.
The force his brother's fist connecting with his head sends him spiraling backwards into the wall. There's a sickening thud, but Sam doesn't even have the time to push himself up, because Dean is there—no, it's not really Dean, is it? Dean wouldn't be doing this, would he?—and his fists are plowing into him.
Unconsciousness claims him only a few moments later.
When he comes to, Dean's passed out alongside him, fists covered in blood.
Sam pushes himself up, groaning as his body protests. His head feels like it's been run over by a semi a couple of times and judging by the way it hurts to breathe, one of his ribs must be bruised. Carefully, he stands and takes a few steps towards the bathroom. His knees almost buckle a few times and by the time he makes it to the bathroom, he wants to collapse, but Sam counts it as a win since he's made it. He hesitates before looking in the mirror, afraid of what he'll see.
The face in the mirror doesn't even look human. Bruises of all sizes litter his face, all ugly shades of purple and blue and it's amazing his eyes aren't swollen shut and that a few of his teeth haven't been knocked out. Dean gave him one hell of a beating, that much is obvious.
He turns on the sink and washes the blood away that is by his nose and then lifts his shirt up to assess the damage. It's better, though there are a few clear imprints of Dean's fist. Still, it would seem the Mark of Cain is more concerned with bashing someone's skull in than going from his or her body.
"S'm?" Dean slurs, sleep evident in his tone.
"I'm okay." He calls out, keeping all traces of pain out of his tone. He hopes is brother is still too out of it to realize where he is and figure out what's going on. "Go back to sleep."
There's a mumbled reply, then nothing and Sam counts it as a win.
"Okay." He breathes, forcing himself to be objective. He needs to get the bruises hidden and then take something for the persistent ache in his head. Once he's done that, he'll need to get Dean into bed and then return back to the texts. And of course, he'll need to hide any evidence from his brother. He can't tell him about this now—not after he just got him back. If Dean knew what the Mark of Cain was doing to him . . . it would break him.
Sam can't take that risk.
Feeling reassured by this plan, Sam pulls out of the small bottle of foundation they keep on hand. It brings a worn smile on his lips. This bottle of foundation has been with them so long that Sam can barely remember when they first got it. They've used it plenty of times—to fool CPS, to prevent prying eyes from making accusations of abuse—and as he dabs it on his bruises, it almost reassures him.
It's almost like it didn't happen.
Almost.
When he looks normal again, he reaches for the bottle of Motrin and quickly dry swallows a few pills. Carefully, he prods the area around his ribs, hissing in pain as fingers push on a tender spot. Still, he forces himself to endure the pain to verify that no break occurred. It's bruised and will string for a few days, but no hospital trip is needed. It's a miracle that he didn't get a concussion or anything either. Perhaps . . . perhaps Dean had restrained himself? That, even under the influence of the Mark of Cain, he'd somehow managed to pull back before things became too serious?
It's something the youngest Winchester would like to believe in.
"Okay." He whispers. "Time to get back to work."
He's going to figure out a way to fix this.
He has to.
"Dude." Dean wakes up late the next morning, running a hand through his hair. He's disheveled and flinches at the light, like he has a bad hangover. "I feel like crap."
"Yeah?" Sam does his best to keep his eyes on laptop, forcing his voice to sound normal. He's glad Dean's back to normal, really, but he can't help but feel a little on edge. After all, he was beaten into unconsciousness by some piece of his brother; he figures he's justified in being a little more cautious around him for the moment.
"Yeah." Dean confirms, coming to sit at the large table. "And my hands ache."
"Really?" Sam mumbles, scrolling down the web results.
"Yeah. It's weird."
"Uh huh."
There's a pause and Sam can feel his brother's gaze on his face, boring into him. He's hoping that his big brother's spider-sense is off for the moment because if Dean figures out he's lying, Sam will have no choice but to admit what's going on.
And he doesn't want to see the pained expression grace his brother's visage.
"You find anything?" Dean yawns and Sam shakes his head.
"Not yet."
"Can I do anything—?"
"Breakfast." Sam interjects; Dean regards him oddly. "I'm hungry."
There's a moment of silence as his brother scans him, searching for any sign that might indicate something is wrong.
"Yeah, okay." His brother replies, reaching for the keys. "I'll be right back."
When the door closes, Sam can't help but sigh in relief.
Over the next week, Sam studies his brother and notes that the high from each almost kill last for exactly one week. By day seven, his brother is beyond recognition and seems motivated to find a target—any target—to take his all consuming rage out on. It almost reminds Sam of the Hulk, but somehow this is scarier.
On day seven, Sam ties his brother to a chair with chains and runs through a basic list of cleansing rituals and blessings, hoping to ease the symptoms or even better, remove them. All he gets is his brother shouting at him, like something possessed. Holy Water doesn't work here though and by sunset, Sam's exhausted all his avenues to help Dean that didn't involve violence.
Well, except one.
It's actually easier to summon Crowley than he anticipated. One second Sam's alone in the spare guest room, drawing a Devil's Trap and the next, Crowley is there, a bemused grin on his lips.
"Moose," He greets, somewhat amused. "What a surprise! Whatever could you want? Wait, don't tell me. Dean got himself killed again, didn't he? Can't you two—?"
"The Mark of Cain," Sam interrupts, not in the mood to do this song and dance with the King of Hell. "Tell me what you know." He grimaces. "Now."
"Ah." Crowley mutters, face darkening somewhat. "I take it Dean hasn't been exactly friendly, these past few days?"
"He told me you said he had to kill to keep it in control."
"That's true." The King nods.
"How do I remove it?" Sam's desperate and judging from the smirk on Crowley's lips, he knows it. He can't live like this. After all, how long could he manage? A month? Maybe two? And that was if Dean had enough control not to finish the job!
"Afraid you can't, Moose." The demon replies softly. "Or at least, I don't know how to do it."
"You're lying." Sam growls through gritted teeth, unwilling to believe this.
"Look, as all powerful as I am, even I have my limits." The King moves to the very edge of the trap, almost close enough to touch Sam. "And I can't remove something that ancient."
Sam knows that.
Deep down, he knows that, but just didn't want to admit it.
Silently, he wipes the chalk line out and Crowley moves out, brushing past Sam. The youngest Winchester doesn't face him, just listens to his footsteps, until they stop at the doorway.
"I know you Winchesters like to think you operate on a moral high ground, but there's only one way to keep the Mark of Cain from destroying your brother." Sam turns his head, meeting the demon's gaze. "He has to kill."
And then Crowley is gone.
When Sam returns to the other room, Dean's broken out of the restraints and the last thing Sam registers in the wooden chair colliding with his head as it breaks from the force of the impact.
He comes to with Dean standing over him with wide, horrified eyes.
"Oh fuck, I did this." His older brother breathes. "I did this to you, Sammy."
"D'n." Sam tries to push himself up, but it feels like his brain has shut down and he can't send any commands to his body. It's like his mind is floating above it all, perceiving what's going on, but being unable to do anything to change it.
"I can't." His brother shakes his head, on the verge of tears and Sam can only imagine what he's seeing. "I could've killed you!"
"You didn't." He whispers.
"I have to go." His brother pulls him up and Sam hisses in pain. Dean lets him go suddenly and practically jumps to the other side of the room. His eyes are as wide as saucers now, full of sheer terror mixed with all consuming guilt.
"Dean, don't—" Sam reaches a hand to him, but if anything, it makes his big brother back away more.
"I can't stay here."
Dean grabs the keys and sprints out the door.
His phone rings a few hours later and Sam places the phone to his ear with one hand and holds an ice pack to his temple with the other.
"Dean, come back." He's never been one to beg before, but there's little he wouldn't do for his brother's wellbeing. "We'll figure something out."
"I almost killed you."
"It wasn't you." Sam protests, half-heartedly.
"My fist . . . I gave you all those bruises." His brother's voice breaks and Sam grips the phone tighter, wishing his brother were here. "I can't be around you, Sam. I can't risk you."
"So, what? You'll risk civilians?" The youngest Winchester challenges.
"Better them than you." Dean retorts quickly.
"You don't mean that." Then softer, "Dean, come back. It'll be okay. We'll find a way to get this under control—"
"I can't control it!" Dean roars. "Christ, Sammy! I can't even remember beating you up! All I know is I woke up and for a second, I thought you were dead! Do you understand what that feels like? To have almost killed the one person that you need more than anyone else?"
Sam does. There have been plenty of close calls that were his fault and each time, Dean had managed to talk him down from the proverbial ledge.
"Just . . ." Sam sighs softly, frustrated. "Come back, Dean. If I have to lock you up in the dungeon, then that's what I'll do." He waits for his brother to chuckle at the reference to the panic room they have in the bunker. He doesn't. "Just come back."
There's a long silence.
"I can't, Sam."
That's when the line goes dead.
Castiel arrives two days later, his angel follower Hannah in tow. The brunette eyes him curiously, but remains by Castiel's side, face neutral.
"The GPS on his phone is off. He must've ditched it." Sam, for his part, knows he looks like crap. He hasn't sleep these past few days, living on sheer adrenaline and caffeine. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair is sticking every which way, but he's sure Castiel won't care.
There's so much at stake now.
Sam can't allow himself to rest until he has Dean back by his side.
"And you said Dean left two days ago?" Castiel's eyes are full of concern, the cerulean orbs taking in every aspect of Sam's appearance, but Sam doesn't care. All that matters is getting Dean back before he does something that he'll regret.
"Yeah." God, all he wants to do is sleep. His eyes are burning and it feels like there's sand in them.
"He beat you." Castiel practically whispers. "To help him keep control, you allowed it."
He doesn't need to ask about how the angel knows. He just nods his head instead.
An unknown look flashes in their friend's eyes before he steps forward and place two fingers to Sam's forehead. Warmth washes through him, pain slowly evaporating as his injuries are healed.
"Cas?" Sam ventures. "What about your—?"
"The Mark of Cain will make him slip up." Castiel deduces, ignoring his concern. "As the time passes by without a kill, Dean's rational thought processes will decrease, making it easier for us to find him."
"We can't wait that long though!" Sam shouts, rising from the chair and swaying. A hand shoot outs and steadies him.
"Sam, you must rest." Castiel chides softly.
"I can't." The youngest Winchester shakes his head. "I can't until I get Dean home."
"We shall find him." Hannah pipes up, voice serious, though she wears a slight grin. "So, allow yourself to have a few hours of rest."
"Cas, if he kills—"
"We'll find him before that." Castiel promises. "Now," It's a blur as Sam soon finds himself in his bed. "Rest."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
"Sam."
His eyes flash open as Castiel stands over him.
"Cas?" His mind is still foggy from sleep, but seeing the urgency so evident in the angel's eyes, he sits up and tries to wake up fully. "You find him?"
"We have him." Hannah informs him, leaning in the doorway. "He's in the library—"
Immediately, Sam's out of bed and racing down the hallway to the main library. At the huge desk, he can see his older brother, twitching and appearing once more like a caged animal.
"Dean?"
Fearful green eyes meet his.
"Sammy?" His voice is hoarse, like he's been screaming for hours. "I told them I didn't want to come here. I can't hurt you."
"You won't." The younger Winchester brother takes a step forward; arms held upwards as a show that he means no harm. He doesn't want to spook his brother and the last thing he wants is for Dean to run again.
"I need to kill." Dean confesses, hands wrapped around his chest, like he's trying to contain that feeling. "If I don't, I'm going to lose it."
"We'll figure something out."
"If I stay here, I'll kill you." His brother mumbles. "Next time, I might lose it completely and—"
Sam just pulls his brother to him, arms holding him securely in a hug. They've never been one to comfort each other so blatantly like this, but sometimes a hug like this can convey much more than words ever could.
"Sammy." His brother's voice cracks; his body shakes as sobs start to rack him.
"We're going to be okay." Sam tries to make his voice sound as confident as their father's used to, but if Dean notices him faltering, he doesn't react to it.
"I can't hurt you." The eldest Winchester cries and the younger brother just holds him.
"It'll be okay." He whispers. "You'll see."
But deep down, Sam doubts that.
"He needs to kill." Hannah states bluntly after Dean's fallen asleep. "So, we bring him targets that need to be eliminated. Angels that followed Metatron, for example—"
"No." Sam shakes his head tiredly, practically slumped over on the table. He's been put through the emotional wringer and is still running on only a few hours of sleep. His mind is starting to shut down, begging for a few more hours of blissful nothingness.
But they don't have time for that.
Dean's slowly deteriorating and unless they find a solution soon, someone is going to end up dead. Plus, Sam isn't sure if he'll survive round three with his brother. Chances are, Dean's next assault will kill him.
"Why not?" Hannah protests. "They are beings that deserve punishment!"
"There has to be a way to control this without killing others!" Sam snaps. "We can't just go around and just decide to sacrifice people to keep this thing under control."
"Crowley was right in his assumption that he couldn't fix it." Castiel states quietly. "It was God who put the mark on Cain and I fear it is only He that can remove it."
"So what?" Sam hisses, beyond frustrated. "We go find God?"
"There is another option." Hannah says.
"No." Castiel interjects sharply. "That's not an option."
"What?" Sam asks, interest piqued.
"It's not a good idea." Castiel dismisses, shaking his head.
"It's the only one we have." Hannah retorts.
"What is it?" The youngest Winchester questions once more.
Castiel sighs.
"Cas?" He presses.
"There is a possibility." The angel finally admits. "God cursed Cain for killing his brother. Perhaps, the only way for the bloodlust to be sated would be for—"
"For me to die." Sam completes softly. "Is that what you're saying?"
"Indeed." Hannah chirps, clearly not taking the emotional cue.
"But we don't know for sure!" Castiel protests.
The youngest Winchester takes a breath, forces his wildly pounding heart to calm. This solution—can you even call it that?—will save countless lives. It should be a no-brainer for him. But . . .
Sam wants to live. He wants to be by his brother's side. While he's willing to die to end his brother's suffering, part of him is terrified to do so. He'd finally gotten Dean back and now, he's about to lose him once more.
"Sam?" Castiel calls and he forces himself to meet the angel's gaze.
"Okay," He breathes. "Let's do this."
Castiel sends him to bed, with the promise that he and Hannah will comb through the archives to make sure this would work and see if there might be another way to circumvent his death.
Sam spends the night staring upwards at the white popcorn ceiling, wondering why life always did this. It always reunited the two brothers, only to take one of them away. Is that their fate? Is that what they've been dealt?
He finally falls asleep just as dawn begins to color the sky.
"There might be a loophole of some sorts." Castiel informs him as Sam enters the kitchen. Hannah holds up a book and smiles proudly, though Sam can't make out the faint archaic text.
"Modern medicine makes it possible for you to be 'dead'," She uses awkward air quotes, clearly just having learned them for the first time and Sam stifles a chuckle. "And yet, alive at the same time."
"What?" He mutters, because it's too early for him to being with all this cryptic nonsense.
"I believe you have what is a called a defibrillator?" Hannah mutters and Sam nods his head. Then, realization sinking in, his eyes widen.
"Let my heart stop and then jolt it back to life." Sam pieces it together and then his eyes dart to Castiel. "You think it will work?"
"All that is written is that the brother's heart must stop for the bloodlust to be sated." The angel replies. "I'm fairly confident that this will work."
That's a better probability than a lot of their plans so Sam nods his head.
"We'll need to go and get one—"
Hannah points to the counter.
"We've procured an automated external defibrillator." Hannah explains. "Should that fail, I will step in with my grace."
"Thanks." He tells her and the brunette nods.
"Sam, there's still time if you want to—"
"No, Cas." Sam shakes his head. "This is the only way and you know it."
But in the angel's eyes, he can still see the hint of doubt.
He might not make it out of this one alive after all.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean shouts as Sam sits on his bed. His older brother paces the room, arms shaking as the bloodlust courses him. A few more days and it would consume him whole. "You want me to kill you?"
"Temporarily." Sam feels the need to interject, though judging from his brother's furious expression, it clearly doesn't make a difference.
"No."
"You can't say no, Dean." Sam sighs.
"The hell I can't!" He turns to face his brother, hands desperately digging into his brother's shoulders. "You don't even know if this will work! You want to kill you, but what if—?"
"It will work." Sam tries to assure him, but Dean isn't buying any of it.
"You don't know that!"
"I'm fairly certain—"
"No, Sam!" Dean growls, voice low and deadly. "No. Fuck that. I'm not risking you. Do you hear me? I'll leave—"
"You can't leave." His brother replies matter-of-factly. "You can't control the bloodlust. You'll kill someone innocent. You don't want to do that—"
"I don't want to kill you!" Dean snaps, releasing his brother and returning to pacing. A few moments later, he practically roars as he slams his fist into the wall. There's a sickening crack and blood begins to drip from his knuckles.
"Dean." Sam rises from the bed and comes to stand next to his brother. He pulls out a tissue from his pocket and places it on his brother's hand, holding firmly to stop the bleeding.
"I don't want to kill you." Much softer now, much more fragile.
"I'll come back." Sam promises.
"You don't know that."
"I know that if we don't do this, you'll end up not only killing me but a lot more other people as well."
Dean grimaces.
"So, what? We wait until I go psycho?"
"Basically." Sam huffs a laugh, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably. "Let me go get you a bandage, dude. That was stupid—" He moves towards the door, only for his brother's strong arm to pull him back.
"Don't go." There's a vulnerability in his voice that Sam's only heard once before, when the deal had been coming due. It signals a Dean that's totally out of control and completely terrified by that fact. "Not yet."
Sam smiles and sits back on the bed.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean. I promise."
And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, Dean beams.
Three days later, they're ready.
Dean's been locked in the dungeon and the AED is securely within Hannah's grip. As they stand out the door, Sam bites his lower lip, slightly nervous, despite knowing that this is the only way. You'd think with all his experiences with death that he'd be prepared to face it once more?
He's not though.
He's still fucking terrified.
"You can still turn back." Castiel informs him softly, clearly not liking this solution any more than Sam. "We could try to find something else—"
"There is nothing else." The youngest Winchester brother replies. "We're out of time, Cas."
His hand shakily reaches for the lock.
"No turning back now." He mutters darkly.
He opens the door and steps into the room.
"Dean?"
His brother has done some damage already. The small cot they set up in the room is upside down, the mattress practically shredded and the metal frame in pieces.
"Dean?"
His brother's wild eyes lock onto his and Sam steels himself.
"Look, if you can hear me, we're going to end this now, okay?" One way or another, today the Mark of Cain would be squared away.
"Sorry about this."
Sam pulls his fist back and then punches his brother square on the jaw.
That's all it takes for his brother to snap. Dean slams him against the wall and Sam swears that he almost felt his neck snap. His brother's hands are squeezing his windpipe and the youngest Winchester gasps, trying to breathe. Logically, he knows he shouldn't do anything, but his survival instincts kick in and he frantically shoves at his brother.
The iron grip just increases.
Darkness creeps in at the edges of his vision and soon, Sam can feel the fight drain out of him. He feels like he's floating and he doesn't exactly remember what's going on, but he can see Dean's face and something's wrong, he knows.
"S'kay, D'n." He manages to gasp.
And then there's nothing.
"Sam?" Jessica frowns at him, her golden hair nearly kissing her shoulders as she tilts her head to the side in confusion. "What you got there?"
"I'm just going through my contacts." He lies easily and Jessica comes to sit beside him on the couch, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.
"I should do that too." She admits. Then softer, "But then, it would mean saying goodbye to a bunch of people that I used to know." Her nose wrinkles up in that cute way it does whenever she gets upset. "I guess part of me still wants to hold onto them, you know?"
"I know." He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back, offering her support.
"You should call him." She tells him softly.
"Who?" He plays dumb, but the exasperated look he gets in response quickly tells him that she knows exactly what he's trying to pull and she's not buying it.
"Your brother." She replies. "If you miss him, you should call him."
There's a pause as he stares at the phone number he's memorized by heart.
"I will." He assures her.
He never does and he regrets it even now.
He comes back to life with a gasp.
"Sammy!" Dean's hovering over him, eyes misting and before Sam can even say anything, his older brother pulls him up and his arms crush him as Dean hugs him. "Jesus Christ, Sam, I thought—" His voice cuts off as emotion clouds it and Sam returns the hug, relieved and somewhat surprised he's back with the living.
"Did it work?" He finally manages to get out.
"Yes." Castiel answers him, beaming. "As soon as your heart stopped, the Mark of Cain lit up and then vanished."
"So, it's gone?" Sam questions, needing to hear it once more.
Dean lets him go, though keeps a hand on Sam's shoulder, as if he needs to maintain this connection to assure himself that Sam isn't dead.
"Yeah, Sammy." Dean grins. "It's gone. It's over."
"It's over?" He echoes in disbelief.
"It's all over." Dean confirms.
His brother is back once more. There's no more fear of the Mark of Cain rearing its ugly head, no terror in his big brother's gaze. The Winchesters were back—finally put back together after what felt like a millennia of difficulty.
Things were finally good again.
"Sammy?" Dean asks. "You okay?"
Sam just laughs, tears streaming down his face as the relief hits him like a ton of bricks.
The Winchesters are back.
Author's Note: Longest one-shot by far, but also one of my favorites. It really put me through the emotional wringer, but it was so worth it. I hope you all enjoyed. Please review if you have a moment! I'd love to hear what you thought.