Story Title: In His Eyes

Author's Note: Hello everyone, my name is Brianna Michelle. This is my first published Supernatural fan fiction, reviews are welcome and much appreciated.

An Important Story Notice: This story is my take on Demon!Dean in a set of consequences of my own making. He is struggling with the effects of the blade in a way that hints at canon events, but disregards them in service to the storyline. This is NOT a canonical story. Many aspects remain the same, but are manipulated to fit the scenario I've envisioned. Metatron is imprisoned, but Gadreel is alive. The angels have heard Metatron's big spiel (as seen in the finale) but it was a ploy put in place by both Cas and Gadreel. How they won, does not matter, but will be revealed as they find their way into the story.

Enjoy!

Chapter One

The witch had been more powerful than they thought.

And crazier than hell.

Dean grimaced as he wiped her blood from his hands. She lay dead before him, and yet he still felt a chill. Her eyes were still so dazzlingly bright – a triumphant grey, even as blood oozed from her severed jaw line. He could hear the laughter she so freely indulged in before her end still bouncing around the room. It had been directed towards him, but her eyes had been focused entirely on the other man in the room.

Oh God. Sammy!

Dean turned to his right, frantically. Eyes searching for Sam, who should be towering above him. He had been vertical when Dean knifed the madwoman; he had been relieved when the blue light she had sent in their direction died out along with her. It had not affected him, and Sam had been standing. He thought that they were both fine.

But Sam was on the floor, unconscious and writhing. Dropping the bloody rag from his hand, Dean rushed to kneel at his brother's side. He reached an arm out, his hand still steadily pulsing, to steady his brother. But he pulled back, afraid to touch him. His forearm was glowing, the Mark beating along with the throbbing in his hand, in his brother's moment of need, Dean momentarily felt only desire for the blade. It unnerved him, but he was soon torn from distraction as Sam stilled before him.

"Sam? Sammy, hey, come on…"

Dean paled as his brother began to scream. All reserve aside, he moved his arms forward to provide comfort. He placed one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other on the side of his face.

"Hey, shh. It's gonna be okay."

Huh. Guess we're still brothers.

It had been a rocky year, to say the least.

But that doesn't matter now, Sam. Just wake up.

Sam still wasn't moving. Dean's hands shook slightly, but remained on his brother, offering the only thing he could. His presence. Minutes passed, and Sam grew quiet. His eyes opened,

"Dean?"

"Sammy?" Dean's breath hitched involuntarily, "Yeah man, I'm here."

"Dean!" Sam couldn't hear him.

Dean bit back the second plea that jumped to the front of his mouth at the revelation, focusing instead on shaking his brother softly to get his attention.

I'm here, damnit.

Sam remained unresponsive; his words jumbled and out of place.

"Dean! I can hunt… I can."

The argument brought Dean back to a time when that was all Sam insisted. Just a year after he had found out everything, he started begging, "I'm fine!" and "I can do this!"

"I know buddy, I know."

"No! You gotta let me –"

Sam fell silent again, as his skin began to decompress under Dean's touch. Dean held on to his brother tighter, but he felt the skin shrinking and pulling back beneath his fingers. Sam had never looked so young and helpless in his eyes.

"Sam stop it. I'm serious!"

Dean pulled back in confusion, mind reeling. He held his head in his hands, palms pressing against closed lids. He counted slowly to ten. He breathed routinely, all thoughts of the blade gone. He wasn't going to lose his mind. Not over this.

He opened his eyes.

Sitting back on his heels before him, torso sticking out bare above an ocean of clothing material, teetered Sam. His eyes, speckled, large and bright under a messy blonde fringe. Red rose in cheeks suddenly rounded by baby fat, as the now miniature man cried for the second time that afternoon.

I was wrong.