A/N: First, I am so sorry that it's been so long since I updated. I had a pretty rough November in terms of illness and stress. Then of course the Christmas season was pretty busy and hectic. I do hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas! If I didn't answer anyone's reviews from last chapter, I apologize. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I adore them. I am going to try to get caught up on replies now that I have some time off. I will also be posting a new S10 Christmas fic shortly.
A/N 2: This chapter was very difficult to write because Dean isn't such a nice guy in it. I think on the show that Dean wasn't so much a demon as he didn't do anything truly evil. However, I chose to make Dean very much a demon in this fic and if you are missing regular old Dean, fear not. He will be returning soon. Please let me know what you think.
"I don't want the pain
But I rather hurt than not feel"-Skillet
"Sam? Sam?"
He found himself being jostled awake by the doctor who was accompanied by Melanie and realized he must have passed out. For a fleeting moment, he was almost sure it was Dean's voice he heard. The sense of safety he felt for that brief second was immeasurable but now he felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him.
He struggled to get up but the doctor pushed him back down, shining a penlight in his eyes. Sam weakly batted his hand away, moving around his arm to get up in a sitting position.
"It's just my shoulder," Sam said.
"I can tell you have other injuries. Your face is a mess. Those cuts on your eyebrow and cheek could use some stitches and you most likely have some broken ribs."
"I just need my shoulder working, that's all," Sam asserted.
"We'll get you to X ray," the doctor said, exasperatedly.
The orderlies came for him with a wheelchair but Sam opted to walk instead. He knew the doctor was right. He had injuries everywhere, each step was a reminder but they'd heal eventually, maybe not perfectly but all he needed was workable.
Sam found himself sweating profusely once he was back in his hospital room, the x rays so painful as they manipulated his arm in ways he didn't want to think about.
Melanie once again offered him pain medicine as well as a slew of other things to comfort him that he couldn't even remember.
The doctor returned a short time later, holding his x rays in his hands. He put them up on the board.
"You see this?" He asked, pointing to two of his ribs that they had x-rayed. "Broken."
Then the doctor took out another set of x rays, this time of his shoulder.
"What about this?" He asked, gesturing to an area between Sam's collarbone and shoulder. "It's broken. You need surgery to fix this"
"Surgery?" Sam asked incredulously. He knew he had messed up his shoulder pretty bad but he didn't think he'd broken anything. He'd taken care of the dislocated limb on his own several times but after it repeatedly sliding out of place, he knew he had to seek help.
"Yes, assuming you want to have any use of your arm. Even with surgery, it's not an absolute that your arm will ever be the same."
"What can you do now so I can get out of here in the next five minutes," Sam responded.
Melanie visibly blanched at Sam's attitude. He gave her a sympathetic look but he wasn't changing his mind.
"Nothing that you won't probably sue me for malpractice for," the doctor said, shocked.
"Look I don't have time for this. My brother, I need to be there for him. He needs treatments and I'm the only one who can provide them to him. Can't you just slap a band aid on this and I'll come back?"
The doctor hesitated for a moment.
"I can probably slide it back into place again. It's out if you hadn't noticed. However, without the surgery, it will just pop out again."
"Do it," Sam said.
Sam couldn't contain the guttural scream that escaped from his lips as the doctor gently pushed his arm back into place. He was embarrassed at his behavior but he couldn't help it. He tried to mutter something to the doctor about the pain but then suddenly everything went black.
He came to on the gurney with Melanie nervously hovering above him, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead.
"You passed out."
"Again," Sam said, meekly.
To say that it smarted was the understatement of the century. Sam knew it was in place though because he could move his fingers ever so slightly. The doctor then wrapped his ribs and affixed him with a large brace that strapped across his back like a crossbow. His shoulder was firmly locked in place but he at least had some dexterity in his fingers, hopefully just enough to draw the symbol.
There was no way he could stay at the hospital for surgery. It would waste too much of his time and he couldn't imagine waking up without Dean by his side. Waking up in a hospital was always an awful feeling of disorientation but his greatest remedy for any ailment was seeing his big brother's relieved face and knowing no matter what it would be okay.
He recalled fondly when he'd broken his wrist that fateful day. Hadn't Dean just brought up that story to him? They were just kids and Dean had been dressed as Superman. Sam watched him jump, so gracefully, the red cape billowing out behind him. He believed he could do it too. He was dressed like Batman. He always chose this superhero because of his past. He was an orphan and he didn't need powers to save people. More than anything, Sam longed to be someone normal yet heroic like Batman.
His jump was not so graceful, as it was painful. He remembered the pain vividly, although compared to now, that pain was probably minimal, plus Dean had helped. He scooped him up in his arms, putting him on his handlebars and getting him help. He was pretty sure Dean was Superman that day. Dean had retired the cape shortly thereafter, his guilt getting the better of him, but Dean didn't need that costume for Sam to see him as the hero he was.
"Take these for the pain," the doctor said, handing him a script. "Once you get things settled with your brother, you need to come back and have that surgery."
Sam just nodded.
"Take care," Melanie said, patting him on his good arm. Sam still couldn't understand why she was being so sweet to him.
"Thank you Melanie," he said as he left. It was the least he could do.
He was grateful that the doctor hadn't been stricter with him. He had hardly explained the reason for his injuries to the staff and he suspected the harried environment of the ER was on his side. He was barely out in the parking lot when his phone rang. Once again the caller ID said Dean but he expected it to be Crowley again.
"Sam," the voice said, simply.
"Dean?" Sam asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.
"Don't sound so happy to hear me. This isn't a courtesy call. Seems Crowley had my phone so I went back for it. Then I found a few text messages. Seems the bastard gave me up."
"You surprised?" Sam asked, seriously.
"Not really. Have to say I am surprised that you're looking for me though."
Sam was taken aback. Did his brother really doubt he would? He'd said, "same circumstances" in regards to not doing the same thing as Dean before but he only meant he'd find another way if faced with a similar situation.
"You know where to find me," Dean said, before hanging up.
Sam knew. He did know where to find Dean and nothing was going to stop him now.
ooooo
Sam returned to the bunker then, arming himself with the demon handcuffs and reluctantly, some holy water. He didn't like when Jackson did this but he knew it could be necessary, even though he really hoped it wouldn't. He also grabbed the demon blade, the thing he wanted to take with him least of all. He knew beyond a doubt, he wouldn't be using this weapon, at least not on Dean anyway.
He then pulled out his cellphone, confident that the bunker would prevent it from being traced and called the area hospital in Phoenix.
"I'm calling to check in on a patient," Sam began. This was the last thing he needed to do, needed to know, before he brought his brother home. "His name is Jackson and he has a head injury." He was reaching here but it was the hospital closest to where he had hurt Jackson.
"Who is this?" The receptionist asked. "We can't disclose that information over the phone. Are you family?"
"I am."
"Well I'm sorry. I still can't tell you this."
"Please," Sam begged. He knew he had called the right place. "I know they found him in an alley and he's hurt bad. I'm his cousin and my other cousin just died so I need to know he's okay." Sam figured if he threw in some pertinent details, they'd be more likely to believe his story.
Sam heard silence in the background and he wasn't sure if she had hung up on him or perhaps she was considering giving him the info.
"Holding his own, in the ICU, but that's all I can tell you," she said. "The only reason I'm doing this is because I can see how distraught all of you are. His mother told me about Riley. Hard to believe one son was just murdered, only to have something like that happen again. I heard Jackson and Riley were really close too, inseparable really. Must feel like one of your limbs is missing, losing family like that."
"Ye..eah," Sam stuttered, his voice catching. It did feel like that. "Thank you," he said, before hanging up.
He knew it was bleak, that in all likelihood Jackson might die. However, he couldn't let his guilt overcome him, not again. Jackson hadn't been able to save Riley but he was going to save Dean.
ooooo
The Stop and Snack. He pulled the car in front of it, trembling with anticipation that Dean was in there, waiting for him. It was the greasiest and grossest, if you asked him, diner in the area but Dean loved it. Even Dean had admitted the food options were unappealing, but if you wanted the best pie, this was the go to place.
He entered the restaurant then to see it deserted. There were signs of a struggle and a body with a gaping hole in its neck in a pool of blood was on the ground.
"Can you believe the service in here," Dean said, staring at him from across the room.
Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been staring at the dead guy on the ground, transfixed in horror that his brother had actually done this.
Dean was seated in a booth, a big helping of apple pie in front of him. However, it was barely touched.
"You cut one guy for taking too long and everyone runs," Dean continued, pushing the pie away from him.
Sam just stood there, frozen in shock. He wasn't even sure how to feel. He was both relieved and repulsed.
"One thing I miss about being human is the pie. I just don't like it anymore, can't savor the flavor. Know what I do like though? Cutting a guy's throat and feeling the warm blood seep through my fingers as I use it to make a demon call. It's better than AT&T."
"You need to come with me, Dean," Sam said simply but he knew deep down that Dean wasn't going not without a fight.
"And I have a lot of calls to make," Dean continued, ignoring him. "I have amassed quite a few followers. Surprised that your solitary brother has friends, Sam? Other than you."
"Dean, just come with me," Sam repeated, dismissing the obvious jab.
"That really doesn't sound like something I'd do. Maybe the old me would blindly follow your ass but not the new me. The new me makes his own rules. Ask Crowley."
Sam inched closer to Dean's table, pulling out the demon killing blade.
"What are you doing with that Sam? We both know you won't use it. We also both know that you can't take me on. You've seen better days," Dean said, eyeing his injuries. "I saw that guy get you pretty good in that alley. I found it…amusing."
Sam knew it was true and he even doubted he could take Dean on but he kept moving closer until he was parked in front of Dean's table.
"You here to take my order? I'll have dead Sam served up cold," Dean said banging the table and laughing that same hollow laugh, sending shivers down Sam's spine.
"Come with me," Sam pleaded again, trembling.
Then Dean jumped up in an instant, his reflexes amazingly fast. He then flung Sam telekinetically across the room. Sam had nearly forgotten that Dean had powers now, just like any demon. Despite this, Sam still couldn't see Dean as a demon. He was his brother, first and foremost.
Sam flew backwards and struck his back on the counter. He grunted as the pain radiated down his upper back and through his shoulder. The demon knife fell from his grasp and was just inches from his fingertips. Dean stood over him then, grabbing his throat.
"Dean, don't do this," Sam gasped as his vision grayed out. However, Dean didn't let go as his eyes flashed black again. Sam found himself staring into nothingness and the same feeling of disassociation threatened to take him over. However, he tried to grab the holy water with his good arm from his jacket but Dean grabbed it and threw it across the room. He clutched blindly on the ground for the knife. Then he had it in his hand and he sliced at Dean's arm.
Dean let out an unearthly yell and let him go, falling to the ground, clutching at his limb. Then he collapsed, lying there, still on the ground.
"Dean are you okay?" Sam rasped. He crawled over to his brother, stunned that he had to resort to using the knife on him. He had only sliced him drawing a small amount of blood. Maybe because Dean was newly a demon, the small cut had been enough to kill him. He leaned over his face, trying to rouse him.
However, Dean was faking it. He leapt up from the floor and was suddenly towering over him. Dean had not been able to do that for years but here he was, standing over him, a formidable foe.
"Misjudged you Sam about the knife. But then again I didn't because I knew you'd go all dewy eyed on me when I pretended to be mortally wounded."
Dean grabbed him again by the neck, lifting him up off the ground with inhuman strength. His feet dangled just off the floor. He weakly swung out his good arm to try to fend Dean off but his grip just got tighter. In that instant, he knew he was going to die and never, ever, not once, had he ever pictured Dean's face as the one delivering the killing blow.
Then just when he was sure Dean was crushing the bones in his neck, he dropped him.
"Too easy," Dean said. "I think I'd like a challenge. I mean who else knows my every move like you? All of the others were so easy."
Sam sucked in mouthfuls of air, not sure he was hearing correctly but Dean wanted to fight him and he knew he was hardly a challenge at all.
Dean didn't play fair though. Sam did know Dean's moves but in essence having one hand tied behind his back hardly made it a fair fight. They squared off but instantly Dean started landing punches, one after the other. Sam felt his nose break and tasted coppery blood in the back of his throat. He knew he had landed a few punches of his own but Dean didn't feel them. Dean punched him again, sending him sprawling backwards against a tableset, taking it down with him.
"You know what Sam? I didn't want a challenge," Dean laughed. "I wanted to make you suffer. A little bit of payback for all the times you left me to suffer. Do you think I forgot those times? I never forgot them. I just stuffed them down but being a demon has finally given me so much freedom that I don't care if you know anymore. I never wanted to take care of you. I had to. It was a duty, a job, nothing I wanted. You were a burden and you still are."
Sam just lay there, not wanting to believe it was his brother talking but it sure looked like him. The words stung more than the blows he had received.
"All that wasted time saving you when I should have ended you like dad said. I didn't have the guts before but I do now," Dean finished, advancing on him again.
However, Sam was ready. He pulled the other bottle of holy water out of his jacket and threw it on Dean. Dean once again yelped in pain.
"Guess I can't let you go, Dean. Didn't you always say to have a backup, just in case?" Sam said triumphantly as he got up from the ground. He inched his way over to Dean's booth.
"Always my little shadow Sam, huh?" Dean said, recovering. "More like a shadow looming over me, darkening my whole life."
Sam ignored him and reached for the first blade which was resting on Dean's table.
"Now, now. Get your own toys," Dean quipped, recovering. "But you never learned that either, did you? You're so God damn selfish! I never could have anything of my own," Dean continued, with much more malice in his voice.
Sam put up his hands then in supplication, holding the blade out to Dean.
"What? You giving up?" Dean said, walking over to where Sam stood. "That's cute, Sammy," Dean spat.
Sam noticed it was the first time Dean had used his nickname but there was nothing affectionate about it. It was said as a sneer.
Sam handed Dean the first blade.
"Want it to be quick huh? I was having fun too. Damn," Dean said. He took the blade in his hands and Sam watched as Dean's mark began to glow.
"Something biblical I think in this, huh? Me killing you with the first blade?" He said, savoring the power he felt, clutching the blade.
Sam reached into his jacket where he had stowed the demon knife after initially cutting Dean with it. He clutched the hilt in his hand. He knew what he had to do. This was his only chance because his brother was a demon and he had to stop him.
Sam reacted to Dean's ego trip. He lunged at Dean with the knife while he looked on stunned. However, instead of stabbing his brother, he threw the knife behind Dean who watched it fly behind him, lodging in the wall. Sam took advantage of Dean's sudden vulnerability and grabbed the handcuffs, placing one on Dean's wrist, the one that held the blade. Dean screeched, dropping the weapon. Then Sam affixed the other handcuff to Dean's other wrist. It was done. He had him.
Sam sat there for a moment, falling back into the booth, breathing heavily, letting himself feel the pain of his injuries, the physical ones but not the mental ones. Those ones he had to put aside.
ooooo
The drive back to the bunker was painful. Sam knew he was badly injured and even moving was an arduous task, let alone driving. In addition, he had to listen to another onslaught of Dean's hurtful words. He also found it incredibly painful to use the demon bonds to chain his brother to the chair, as if he was some common monster. He was so much more than that. Dean had grown quiet then and Sam wasn't sure if he was realizing that his days as a demon were over or if he was up to something. He found it incredibly damaging to not trust his brother like that because he was someone he trusted more than anyone in the world.
Once he had Dean settled, Sam went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He was a mess. His face was bruised and in the process of swelling. His nose looked deformed and he was on the verge of sporting two black eyes. Technically, he only had one good eye at this point as the other had swollen shut. He cleaned whatever he could of the dried blood. He then went into the Bunker's chapel, a recently discovered room in their endless home which seemed to have a place for everything.
"Bless me for I have sinned," Sam began, entering the confessional and doing the sign of the cross. He kneeled down and couldn't stop the grunt of pain that escaped his lips. His ribs were killing him. "I know what you're thinking. Him again?" Sam attempted a laugh, but then grew serious. "I really need your help. I messed up again, not that I haven't before, but this time, it's..it's…" Sam stuttered, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I let Dean down. Again," Sam continued, regaining his composure. "I'm sorry for never being able to do anything the right way and that even when I try to be righteous, I can't be and so many people get hurt. I remember all their faces: Kevin, Sarah, Robin, Jackson and that poor possessed man. I feel really guilty they are dead, and it's all on me. The words 'I'm sorry' are hardly enough and I should have been stronger. I know I will never be on the right path and am incapable of forgiveness." Sam felt like he was fumbling for words, somehow messing it up. "Please forgive me for not being able to express everything correctly to you, and to Dean. He thinks I don't care. I beg that you please grant me mercy and forgive me so I can help Dean. Dean doesn't deserve this punishment. I do. Please forgive Dean too because this isn't his fault. It's mine. Please help me to save Dean because he's one of the good guys, the best guys. You really need Dean fighting on your side," Sam finished.
I really need him too, Sam thought privately as he left the room, but he suspected he was heard anyway.
Next he began the process of obtaining the vials of blood he would need for the curing ritual. Waves of dizziness washed over him as he drew his own blood and he wasn't sure if it was the blood loss or the searing agony of his other injuries threatening to rip his insides apart.
He pulled the amulet out of his pocket then, the one he had given Dean for Christmas all those years ago, the one that Dean used to never take off, the one that Dean had eventually thrown in the trash. When he gave it to Dean, it was a symbol of their bond, a way to show Dean that he knew he was the only one he could count on, not their dad, not anyone. Dean was everything to him, father, mother, brother, friend, and soulmate.
He found himself choking back a sob remembering Dean's words.
I love it, Sammy.
They were spoken with the utmost affection and love, so unlike the way Dean was speaking now. When Dean had thrown it out, he had retrieved it from the trash. He could never throw it away because it would be like throwing away their bond. He completely understood why Dean had done it. It was such a dark time in their lives but he'd hoped eventually he'd earn Dean's trust back enough for Dean to want it back. So many times, he was going to give it back to him but it was just never the right time. It seemed there was constant conflict between them lately and now he wondered if there'd ever be a "right time."
He took out the book and began using the sharp edge of the amulet to draw the symbol on his arm. It was excruciating. He barely had the mobility in his shoulder to carry out the task. However, at last it was done. He also inscribed the Latin under it: Num custos fratris mei sum. He inspected it in the mirror. It was a rudimentary drawing and the writing looked like scribble but he only hoped it was enough. It had to be enough. He pulled down his sleeve gingerly to hide his crude tattoo and then he slipped the amulet around his neck as a reminder of who Dean really was. Then he went back to Dean.
"You going to shoot me up with those?" Dean asked, when he saw the vials. He snickered. "Might make me more of a demon if you use your blood, tainted as it is."
Sam walked over and plunged the needle into Dean's neck.
Dean sat there stonefaced.
"Am I supposed to feel something? Are we supposed to have a huge chick flick moment now or what?"
"It takes time," Sam said simply.
"Might not be enough time before I break out of these chains and slaughter you."
Sam visibly trembled.
"Scared? You're afraid to admit it to yourself but you are afraid of me, your big brother, the one who once made you feel so safe."
Sam was too ashamed to respond, even though he knew there was truth to those words. He had to stay strong. He left Dean in the room and walked out, closing the door behind him.
He stood there trying to level out his breathing but it was difficult with his injured ribs and shoulder. Again he used the physical pain to distract himself from his mental anguish.
Sam returned several times, delivering dose after dose to Dean. Each time Dean had something more damning to say.
"Sure this is purified blood Sam? Did God even accept that confession you gave him? I mean after all you've done? I know about the demons you tortured, but more importantly the people those demons were wearing that you hurt. You'd be surprised the way word spreads in the demon world."
"I didn't mean to hurt them."
"Spoken like a true psychopath. Tell that to their friends and family. I'm sure that will come as some cold comfort that you 'didn't mean it,'" Dean mocked. "I'd do airquotes and all that but I'm kind of occupied," Dean continued, elevating his hands as far as they would go off the chair.
Sam walked over and administered another dose. This time he thought he saw something, maybe a flicker of the old Dean flash in his eyes.
"I saw you with Jackson you know," Dean grunted.
Sam shoulders sagged and he felt his insides deflate like a balloon. Any small glimmer he saw of Dean was gone.
"I stayed behind for the whole show and the encore performance. I have to say, I was surprised at how quickly he whipped your hide but then I saw the true Sam come out," Dean continued, relentlessly.
"Stop," Sam said quietly.
Sam gulped nervously, feeling the guilt causing his heart to palpitate, as if it was pumping through his veins along with his blood.
"You were one callous son of a bitch, you know that?"
"Stop!" Sam exclaimed, louder this time.
"Left his brains splattered on the concrete like it was nothing."
He knew it was true so he didn't even protest. He was such a hypocrite. He had become angered by Jackson using the holy water on Dean, yet he had done the same thing. Now what was he doing? Was he even helping Dean at all?
"Know what the sickest thing is?" Dean went on. "The fact that you don't feel guilty about it, at least not completely."
Was Dean right? Yes, he knew he felt guilty but he had to admit that there was some part of him that was able to bury it down, to let go of the guilt, and focus on the task at hand. The whole thing was making his head spin and the dizzying feeling made him want to be sick. He held on to the amulet around his neck, trying to center himself.
"You okay there?" Dean asked, not an iota of compassion in his voice. "What are you doing with that?" He asked, noticing the amulet. "Didn't I throw that in the trash?"
Sam ignored him and jetted for the door.
"See you in a bit Sammy," Dean hissed again, as he ran.
Sam ran across the bunker to the nearest bathroom, his boots hitting the floor and jarring his ribs. His stomach churned so wildly, like waves sloshing over the sides of a wall. Once he made it, he viciously vomited up his stomach contents into the toilet but the pain was unbearable. He had no idea if he had internal injuries from the beatings he took but he didn't know how much more he could take physically and mentally. He slid down to the floor, panting in exhaustion.
After he had recovered to the best of his ability, he tried to administer the next few doses as quickly as possible and get out of there. Otherwise he was sure he'd fall apart and that was the last thing Dean needed. He saw it was taking more doses than usual and Dean was barely showing any signs of humanity at all. He had to draw more of his own blood and he felt his strength waning considerably.
When he returned for a 13th dose, he could tell Dean was feeling something.
"Dean, I know you're fighting it. Please I'm trying to help you."
"Why?" Dean asked, sincerely. "You didn't seem to care about protecting me before," Dean said, flatly. Then he let out a guttural scream as if he was waging war within himself.
"Dean, Dean listen to me," Sam said, grabbing Dean's arm. "Look at me."
Dean's eyes locked with his, actually establishing a connection this time.
"I know I haven't been there for you like I should but I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
"We were so close Sam. What happened to us?" Dean asked, just a hint of sadness in his voice.
Sam didn't have an answer except to say himself, as in, he was what happened to them. He had messed up their bond.
Dean screamed again but Sam held on to him. However, this time Dean looked like he was in the throes of some kind of seizure. Sam debated letting Dean ride it out in his bonds but he didn't know if Dean might hurt himself.
Sam undid the locks, helping Dean to the ground as he thrashed. He was still yelling, sweat pouring down his forehead.
"Dean? Dean!" Sam yelled in alarm. He looked like he was dying.
Then just as suddenly as it started, the shaking stopped and Dean looked at him. However, Sam knew something was wrong. Before he could react, Dean lunged for him, squeezing his shoulder so hard that Sam screamed in agony.
"Please Dean. This isn't you," Sam pleaded. "You're my big brother. You love classic rock and pie," Sam rambled.
Dean had let go of his arm but then he began hitting him again, one punch after another square in the face. Sam didn't fight back, not sure if it was the fact that he was defenseless or he didn't really want to hit his brother.
"You don't like to admit it but you are the king of the chick flick moments. You love helping people and you..you love me," Sam stuttered and coughed, spitting blood. He couldn't see now, blood dripping steadily into his eyes. "I…I love you too Dean," he said it, unashamedly. It was something he hadn't said to his brother since they were kids, since it became uncool to express their feelings, since they mutually decided "bitch, jerk" was their universal way to say I love you.
Dean had finally stopped, looked like there was something happening within him, like some part of him had heard him. However, his mark was glowing and the blade was mere feet away. Sam knew he had to get up, had to stop Dean from getting the blade. He was stupid. In his rush to cure Dean, he hadn't thought of concealing the blade.
Sam crawled backwards away from Dean, over to the table, to try to get another syringe. If he could just get one more dose into him, it might be enough.
While Dean went in one direction, Sam went in the other. He grasped at the syringe just as Dean approached the table where the first blade was. With one last burst of energy, Sam got up, ran and plunged it into Dean just as he picked up the blade and swung it forward in his direction.
Dean screeched again, resisting it and Sam could see that between the demon within him and the unrelenting power of the blade that it might not be enough. However, he had the mark, Abel's mark, drawn by the symbol of their bond. He pulled up his own sleeve, exposing it, then latched on to Dean's arm, covering the mark of Cain with his own mark. Sam watched as both began to glow. He felt the energy flow through him, draining him but the connection was so strong, he couldn't let go. He wasn't sure he could release his grip even if he tried. He saw Dean's eyes change, saw the mark dissipating but where was the first blade?
Sam was so caught up in saving his brother that he didn't notice it, didn't even feel it. He looked down and he saw it, embedded in the middle of his gut. Dean had stabbed him. When he brought the blade down, he had made purchase. Once he was able to release his arm from Dean's, Sam stumbled backwards, grabbing at his stomach, his hand wrapping around the blade. He moaned in torment, the pain calling to him, beckoning him to oblivion.
TBC
