A/N: Tag to Metamorphosis (4.04).

An extension of Now It's Just a Bottom Line, a drabble I wrote for the Enkidu07 and Onyx Moonbeam Drabble Challenge.

For some reason the idea wouldn't leave me alone until it became a more fully-fleshed story. Possibly because I don't believe Sam and Dean would be able to resolve an argument like that so quickly, but more likely this is just an excuse for me to write a heaping ton of angst and pass it off as a piece of fanfiction.

xxx

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." ― Friedrich Nietzsche

Dark Paradise

Sam Winchester walks into a bar.

Sounds like the start of a bad joke, doesn't it? Fitting, since my life is the epitome of one.

Half-human, half-monster, hunted by angels and demons alike. Now I can add my own brother to that list too.

If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you.

No amount of whiskey will chase those words away.

It's like I've spent my entire life sitting in the mouth of a volcano, waiting for it to erupt, burying me beneath the ashes of mistakes I've made, people I've hurt.

Jess, Dad, Mom.

Dean.

Forget monster, maybe no one wants me 'cause I'm a ticking time bomb; cursed. Cursedcursedcursed.

"Sam?"

A voice drags me away from my thoughts.

"Dude, you can't take off on me like that. I've been lookin' everywhere." Surprise. Big Brother's been watching.

But why does he sound worried?

Big brothers shouldn't have to worry about their monster siblings.

He pulls me up and I don't bother fighting – don't wanna hurt him any more than I already have – but the room spins and I reach for a chair to steady myself, somehow latching onto Dean instead.

I flinch back before I have to see the look of disgust on his face and I brace myself for the punch. I deserve it, for touching him.

Don't get your filth on him. You're dirty, tainted. Not human.

He doesn't need you parading your freak show in his face.

Instead he drapes my arm around his shoulder gently – gentleness a freak like me doesn't deserve. Leads me to the car.

"I'm sorry," he says, the words so quiet I must've misheard him. What does he have to apologize for? I'm the one who's going against the will of Heaven.

God doesn't want you doing this.

The words leave a gaping hole in my heart and, despite the copious amounts of whiskey warming my veins, I shiver.

"I shouldn't have said any of it."

"You meant it," I say slowly, the words taking a while to come. "I'd rather know what you're thinkin' than have to guess." I mumble on and on but he must get the gist of it because he turns me around to face him, his eyes locking with mine and I can't move.

I'm frozen, muscles locked, waiting for the hit, the taste of his fist. I dunno what he sees in my eyes, but it's enough to make him step away, hands up in surrender.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Sammy. And I'm not gonna hunt you either. You're my brother."

"S'not fair, you having a monster for a brother."

"Stop it, Sam!" he shouts, startling me so bad I almost fall over. My vertigo isn't the best to begin with at the moment.

"Sorry, sorry. Take it easy." I don't like the way his voice sounds, or the way he's looking at me, like I'm a deer in his headlights, ready to bolt at any second. What he doesn't realize is there's nowhere for me to run, no place I can hide.

Where does one go to escape the horrors of oneself?

He takes a deep breath. "You've gotta stop thinking like that, Sammy. Like you're a monster. You're not. You're not a freak either, okay? And even if you were, it wouldn't matter. Like I said, you're my brother. It goes without saying that I'd do anything for you. Even if it means kicking your ass for wandering off in the middle of the night. Almost gave me a heart attack."

He stops, watches me and waits for a reaction. I still can't move, am not sure I want to. It's taking all my effort to decipher his words, to find the hidden meaning behind them, the affirmation that he's given up on me completely.

"Don't make me say it again," he begs.

This is all wrong. It should be me on my knees pleading his forgiveness, not the other way around.

Freaks don't deserve forgiveness. Freaks don't deserve sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Sam. God, I'm so sorry. You caught me off-guard, okay? And yeah I was pissed, but I shouldn't have reacted like that. You didn't deserve it. I can apologize until I'm blue in the face but it won't do any good unless you talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking. Hell, take a swing at me if ya want. God knows I've had it coming."

My brain is going circles, trying to work this out. Something keeps niggling at the back of my mind but it disappears, wispy as smoke, before I can latch onto it.

"Please, Sam. Talk to me, buddy. Let me know how I can fix this."

The raw emotion in his voice registers with me and breaks through the fog of confusion and drunkenness that has settled throughout my system.

And finally it hits me, the stray thought I've been trying so hard to pin down.

Maybe he was scared, actually scared that something had happened to me. Maybe he still cares enough to feel that much. Maybe he doesn't hate me after all.

I think I've hit the nail on the head, because the tension I hadn't noticed drains from my body and it's all I can do to stay upright, exhausted all of a sudden. Dean can see it too, knows I'm done for the night. I lost count of how much I had to drink; he doesn't ask and I don't say, but there's a mutual understanding that the rest of the conversation will have to wait 'til morning.

I don't mind. I've always been good at waiting.

Dean helps me get into the car, buckles my seatbelt like I'm five years old. My hand brushes against his and I sigh in relief when he doesn't shy away from the contact.

Maybe I'm not such a monster after all.

"No, you're not," Dean agrees, even though I hadn't meant to speak aloud.

Still, his confirmation lifts a huge weight from my chest. With that, I drift off before he even starts the engine and, for the first time in a while, I'm not worried; Dean'll keep an eye out for me. Just like always.

His whispered sleep tight, Sammy, is the last thing I hear and I know that tonight, I will. Sleep, that is.

Dean's voice has always been enough to chase the nightmares – chase the monsters – away.

end