Sam couldn't blame Bobby for the animosity he felt from him.
It hurt him to think that he had sadistically tried to kill his beloved surrogate uncle. It hurt him to realise that it had been him that had destroyed his brother's chance at happiness with Lisa and Ben. It hurt to know that he had somehow made Dean so desperate that he had even risked contacting Death to get Sam's soul back.
And he was keenly aware that Castiel would have only told him the parts of the last eighteen months that the angel knew.
So what else had Sam done? Who else had he deliberately hurt?
And how would he ever put it right?
He had so much to put right.
And the start and the end of all of it, was his brother.
Sam sat at the table in Bobby's kitchen and pretended to be researching on his laptop. But really he was watching Dean who was sitting on the couch in the other room, being grumbled at by Bobby for not helping him research the ancient book they had discovered, that had been gruesomely written on pages formed from human skin. "Aw, come on Bobby, you know how useless I am at reading all that geeky stuff!"
"Then it's about time you learned, ya idgit."
As their good-natured banter went back and forth, Sam watched Dean. And noticed how many new lines he had on his face; noticed how weary he looked, how drawn; how his smile was no longer truly reaching his eyes; sighed at how fast he was going through yet another bottle of whisky. And he wondered how much of that he had caused since he had fallen into the pit.
Because he already knew how much damage he had caused before it.
How had it all gone so wrong?
Because of him, his own mind supplied. Because of Sam fucking WInchester. He had had everything that he had ever wanted… and he had stupidly thrown it all away.
He had all but thrown Dean away.
And he would never forgive himself.
Tears pricked at Sam's eyes as he remembered the last four years… well, what he could remember of them…
Four years. Four years that seemed like a lifetime: several lifetimes. Four years, when Sam had thought all his dreams had come true, and he had never been so happy. Four years that had happened after everything he thought he had known, for his whole life, had been proved to be totally and completely a lie. Because his father had died… and the truth had come out.
The truth that Sam's 'big brother' Dean…wasn't his brother. In fact, he had been John Winchester's slave, and upon his death had been passed onto Sam.
And all of Sam's long-buried fantasies involving his brother had charged to the forefront of his mind, for the first time unhindered and made possible by the simple fact that they weren't, in fact, blood related. He could look at Dean and see the beautiful man he was, feel tremendous desire for him, and not feel ashamed.
Not anymore.
Although unfortunately, Sam had all too quickly realised that he wasn't the only one who looked at his brother, (for Dean would always be his brother no matter what), that way. In fact, his brother had had more than a few… 'admirers'. Extremely powerful and wealthy admirers: ones who weren't bothered about keeping within the law. Ones who were prepared to pay or do anything to get what they wanted. And his father had used that… used Dean… as a living commodity, as a method of payment for expensive, rare or simply illegal items. He had forced him to use his body, in whatever way was required, to settle the debts.
And… John had forced Dean into his own bed.
Sam had been sickened to his stomach when he had realised just how much abuse his brother had suffered throughout his life: he never thought he could ever feel such hatred for his father. But he had made it his personal mission in life to look after Dean from then on; to keep him safe; to try and keep him out of the hands of the men who seemed to always be there; and to assure him that he was worth love.
Because Sam did really, truly, deeply, love Dean.
And it had taken Dean a long time to start to believe him: to begin to trust Sam's assurances that he meant it when he said that. That Sam wanted them to have a relationship and a life together as a couple, not a forced one as a master and slave. And, slowly, it had happened: Dean had started to see that he had meant it.
And he had slowly begun to look at Sam as more than a brother… or a master… and felt desire for him as well. And that first time, when he had reached for Sam, with those amazing green eyes gently smiling at him, and those strong arms pulling the younger man down to cover him, and their clothes somehow being removed so they didn't get in the way… Sam would always remember it as the most special day of his life…ever.
And he had never been so happy.
How had it all gone so wrong?
Because of Azazel: the yellow-eyed demon. And Sam had been killed… looking back, Sam couldn't believe it even now, that he had been killed! But Dean had saved him. He had sold his own soul to another demon in exchange for Sam being returned to life.
Because Dean had really, truly, deeply loved Sam.
And the payment was due in precisely one year.
His beautiful brother had only one year to live, and Sam's dreams all but fell apart.
Dean had simply wanted to make the most of the time he had left: he had wanted to party, to enjoy what he had. He had wanted to be with Sam.
And Sam?
He had proved just how exactly like his so-hated dad he actually was! He had got obsessed with saving Dean: all his days…and nights… were suddenly taken up with research; and calling everyone he could think of for help or information; and following up leads, anguishing over every slightest chance of getting Dean released from his deal.
And believing a Bitch who said she could save his brother.
Looking back, Sam could see… it was so obvious with hindsight that… no wonder Dean had got so fed up waiting for him to come to their bed, or just go out with him and have a drink, or just… spend any time with his brother… lover… during the last days he had left without constantly reminding him that he was a dead man walking. It hadn't been long before Dean had given up waiting and would go off on his own again, as he had always done, to simply get drunk, or find other company… anyone… sometimes more than one… to spend the last nights of his life with.
And Sam had let him as it didn't matter. Because once he had saved his brother, he would be able to have every single night with him for the rest of their lives. Dean would be his exclusively. Just as soon as Sam had managed to save him…
How must that seeming indifference have looked to his brother's eyes?
Sam's tears began to slide down his cheeks as he remembered. How could he have been so stupid? He should have taken Dean to see the Grand Canyon; they should have had vacations; they should have spent the rest of his brother's year of life together in bed…
But he had put all his trust in Ruby. And his own blind obsessive stupidity. Even though Dean had tried desperately to warn him about her, and had ended up eventually wasting his last few months with fights, and angry words, and tears…
He had been dragged down to Hell still warning Sam about Ruby.
By the time he had returned…his flesh reformed by Castiel around his buried remains… Sam was in full John Winchester 'revenge mode'. And a total addict to drinking demon blood, encouraged by Ruby's lies.
And completely addicted to the Power that he had thought it gave him.
How he must have hurt his brother. How Dean had tried to stop him; to make him realise what he was doing. To make him think about what he was becoming.
But… probably Dean would have forgiven him, because he loved Sam so much.
And he had been proved to be right.
Sam had indeed been tricked by the femme fatale demon. Due to his recklessness, he had released the Devil himself from his Cage. And kick-started the Apocalypse: Sam Winchester would go down in history as the kid who had destroyed the whole world.
But still… Dean might have forgiven him. Eventually.
"Sam? You okay?"
Shit, he was crying openly now. But he couldn't stop. And the tears came harder as he felt the strong arms of his brother… of the man he had loved far too much all his life and had let down so badly… wrap around his shoulders and pull him close. And Sam cried harder as he remembered…
All the terrible things he had done. All the people that had died because of him. All the people he had himself been responsible for the death of…
And he remembered what he had been. What Sam Winchester was. Stupid. Arrogant. Obsessive. Power-crazed.
A Monster.
Yet… still Dean loved him so much that he might… forgive him… one day… perhaps? Even after he had released Lucifer?
Because Dean always forgave Sam. Always. No matter what Sam had done…
Apart from the one thing that Dean couldn't forgive Sam for.
The one thing that had hurt Dean too much.
The worst thing that Sam could ever have done to his brother.
Ever.
He hadn't even registered what he had done, at first, in that hospital: Dean had been lying critically injured in Intensive Care, after the demon Alistair had beaten him nearly to death.
And Sam was half terrified that his brother was going to die… again…
…. And he was half-buzzed!
Because he had just killed Alistair. He had just seen that fucking angel Castiel look at him with… incredulity. Maybe a little respect. Perhaps a little fear.
Sam Winchester was no longer just the Boy with the demon blood that the angel had dismissed with such a sneer. He had shown that bastard that he was something to be reckoned with: he had shown Castiel how powerful he was. And Sam was fucking proud of that!
He missed it when the medical staff began to look at him with open contempt. When one pointedly asked: "Are you the owner?" When Dean had finally managed to open his eyes through all the bruises that covered his swollen face, and was being gently cared for by the nurses, and one had been talking to him sympathetically…and he had stared at her in shock at her words...
And cried.
And he had hardly spoken to Sam, or even to Castiel when he come to see him, apart from to whisper brokenly that he couldn't do it anymore, he just couldn't. And he had cried some more.
But still Sam hadn't realised what he had done.
Not until he had returned to his brother's room after going out to stretch his legs, and found Ford, the FBVS agent, sitting there, talking to Dean.
Sam had stared at him in horror. They had made sure… he and Bobby had made sure… that everyone: the FBVS, the AE, everyone, had known that his brother was dead after Dean had been taken to Hell. They had even had what was left of his body to prove it! So how…?
And then… Sam had realised what he had done.
Or…rather… what he hadn't done.
What he had promised Dean that he would do.
The only thing that Dean had ever asked him to do.
Sam had felt sick as he realised: he had been in such a hurry to bury Dean's body before Bobby could burn it… and lose him any chance of getting Dean returned to it… that he had forgotten to cut out the microchip implanted into his brother's spinal cord that designated him as nothing more than a slave. Even though it had been Dean's last request that he did. And Castiel had rebuilt Dean's body around his buried remains when he had resurrected him…
So the chip would have still been in there.
How could he have forgotten? How could he?
Even as Ford was speaking to them both, Sam could only stare plaintively at his brother, and plead beseechingly with his eyes for his forgiveness… and Dean hadn't been able to bear to even look at him. And as for the expression of complete misery and wretchedness on his face…
Sam would never forget that.
"So, anyway." Ford had known that neither of them were listening to him, but he was going to talk anyway. "After your so-called 'death', I set my computer to constantly monitor your tracker and chip transmission just in case: you are a Hunter after all… and we've seen some things over the years…
It bleeped me the instant the moment your tracker came back on line… the scanner they ran down your spine on your arrival here must have reactivated it… but I terminated your 'high risk' alert immediately on the Bureau's general response system, Dean. Hopefully before anybody else had a chance to see it. I've reconfigured your signal now so it should only send information to me as to your whereabouts from now on. And it'll stay that way as far as I'm concerned…"
"Why are you doing this?" Dean could hardly speak, he was so upset and emotional. "Why are you helping me?"
The agent smiled at him, but his eyes were sad. "I know what Hamill did, Dean, I know he betrayed us… and you. And he's probably not the only one in our organisation to be on the payroll of those bastards: I… really don't know who to trust any more. I haven't for years.
You could bring the AE down. You're probably the only person in the world that could, Dean.
But I know you won't. And I understand why. And… I get why you've claimed to be dead all these years. I don't want you back in their hands any more than you do…
But…" and he had handed over one of his cards to each of the Winchesters as he had left "…should you ever change your mind, Dean? You call me. The entire Bureau will be at your disposal… Well. I'll be at your disposal.
I want to take those bastards down. The entire AE. I want to take them down… Hard."
As soon as he had gone, Sam had tried his hardest to apologise to Dean. And to Bobby: because when he had heard what Sam had done, the look of sheer disgust he had given him was something else the young man would never forget…
But Sam had never really understood just how upset his brother had been with him about it.
Not until immediately after he had been tricked into releasing Lucifer and he had expected irate fury and vitriol from Dean for not listening to him, and for being so stupid as to trust a demon. He had deserved Dean's hatred, Sam knew he had: he had deserved everyone's hatred. He was so disgusted at himself for what he had done, and… in some strange way, Sam had needed to hear his brother's anger at him…
Yet instead Dean had just looked at him with… such disappointment in his eyes, and such sorrow…
… but not a flicker of surprise.
And Sam, in his first true un-addicted state since Dean's return from Hell, thanks to some divine intervention that had saved them both as Lucifer had risen, had finally realised how deep his attitude and thoughtlessness had cut through his brother…
And then, when he had heard Famine mocking Dean… taunting him, telling him that he was broken, just going through the motions when, inside, he was already dead… he had finally understood why. Sam had seen the pain in his brother's face at the Horseman's derision: he had felt his shame, and his misery, and he had known that he could have stopped it.
Famine had told them that his strength was fed by human…and angel as well, it seemed… emotions such as want, need, or desire being overloaded until they self-destructed. And the entity had been correct when he had sneered at Dean, because a slave just wasn't allowed the luxury of such emotions. They couldn't have 'wants'! They had no rights to 'needs'! They were possessions… they were owned… they were just things…
They didn't even exist as people: they didn't matter… not at all.
To be a slave was to be a nothing.
So of course Dean was empty inside. Of course he was broken.
Because of Sam. Because of what he had done: because of how he had treated his brother. He had known that Dean had had wants. And needs. And desire.
He had wanted: because he had tried to tell Sam so many times that all he had wanted, was his younger brother's strong, protective arms around him every night until he went to Hell, telling him that it was all going to be alright.
He had desired that Sam would prove to be better than their father: that he had meant it when he promised Dean that he would never let him be abused by anyone again, including himself.
And he had needed him to keep that promise. That one fucking promise. The one thing that Dean had specifically asked Sam to do: to give him his freedom, even if the luxury of being a free man would only ever be possible after his brother's death.
And look what Sam had done.
"Hey. Hey, Sammy! It's okay! You're safe. You're safe! It's okay." And the arms were impossibly tightening around him as Dean tried to console him.
But it wasn't okay. It had never been okay.
Because Sam had finally realised the true extent of the pain he had caused his brother, and he knew the only thing he could do, was try to put it right. No matter what it took: no matter what it cost him.
His mistake in releasing Lucifer had been just that: his mistake. So it had to be him who put it right, even if it came down to Sam having to sacrifice himself to save the world from being destroyed.
To save his brother.
Although, once again, he had miscalculated the strength of his own abilities against that of Lucifer's, and the Devil had taken control of him. But the archangel… all the angels in fact… had never factored into their game the extent of Sam's deep love for his brother, and Dean's always intense love for him as well that had made him refuse to give in even as he was taking another violent beating from Sam's own hands: he had kept fighting to get through to his brother, triggering the memories in the younger man of when they had been happy, right from childhood to the last few good months before it had all begun to go wrong, and giving Sam the necessary strength to hold the Devil back for just those vital few seconds that he needed…
And he had thrown himself into Hell, hoping that Dean might finally be able to find some happiness.
Because he had made his brother promise that he would go to Lisa and Ben, and live quietly, keeping himself well beneath the radar of the AE and the FBVS and anyone who might recognise Dean for what he was. That had been the single consoling thought for Sam as he had fallen.
That Dean might at least have a chance of being happy.
Well away from Sam.
But now, the young man sat in Bobby's kitchen and all but sobbed his heart out because it had turned out that… he had fucked that up for Dean as well. He had been walking around the earth for eighteen months without a soul, doing God knows what.
And he didn't remember a single moment of it.
"Sammy? Hey, are you okay?"
As his thoughts returned to the present, Sam realised that Dean's arms were still tight around him, despite the front of his shirts now being soaked through from the younger man's tears. Gathering his strength, and ignoring the own demands of his heart, he managed to push his brother away enough that he could speak: his voice broken and hoarse with emotion.
"I'm so sorry, Dean. For everything! For Ruby! For being worse than a fucking useless addict! For being pig-headed and stubborn and... stupid! I was so stupid! And self-righteous! And I wouldn't listen. Not to either of you! And look what I did! Look at what came of it! Look at what I've done to you!"
"It's okay, Sam. It's done." The acceptance in the deep, gravelly voice made him feel worse than if the words had been shouted at him.
"But it's not okay, is it? I gotta face what I gotta face, but I… if I did all those things to you two, and I love you two…then what else…? I'm a monster: I've always been a monster."
"No argument from me, boy."
"Bobby!"
Sam felt his heart break further as the two other men glared at each other. In the end it was Bobby who put his hands up and backed away: "I know, I know, don't scratch at the wall! I'm going into town: we need some supplies anyway." And with that he turned and left without looking back.
Behind him, Dean sighed and held his younger brother tightly again, grimacing as he felt the cold, clammy wetness that had been his shirt pressing into his abdomen. "He'll come round, Sam. He knows it wasn't really you."
"But it was, wasn't it, Dean? It was me in the purest form of the sick being that I really am!"
What could Dean say to that? But Sam held his breath, waiting for the rebuttal, the excuse that his brother would make for him, because… that was just his habit. His instinct. To defend Sam from everyone else, no matter what.
The fact that there wasn't one this time made Sam feel worse than anything else could ever had done.
Because Dean just remained silent.
And Sam knew without question that… even though he couldn't remember… he must have done something really terrible.
He wanted to ask, but at the same time… he didn't dare. But there was one thing that he had to ask. Because it was the only thing that really mattered.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Can we try again? I mean…." He pulled his head back and tried to wipe his face clear, belatedly realising what a red-eyed snotty mess he probably was as he looked up at his brother. "You and me? I know it was me who threw us away. I got so out of control and so… out of everything that I threw away what we had. And you were the best thing I ever had.
And I'm so sorry I forgot about your chip: I was just so scared that Bobby would burn your remains and you would never be able to return… I let you down so badly, Dean. And I'm so sorry. But…. Can we try again? I've missed you so much. I wanted you in my arms at night. I always did, I always have. Please, Dean?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, Sammy." The quietness of Dean's voice broke the younger man's heart.
"But…. Why? Why, Dean?"
"Are you ordering me to sleep with you, Sam?"
"No! No! I'd never do that to you, Dean. I never would! You know I never would! But we were good together, Dean. And I know I… I know what I did… But…"
"We're brothers, Sam. Let's just keep it as that. Or if that's not enough for you, then I can be your slave. Well… I am your slave..."
"You're more than my slave, Dean!" And Sam was staring up at him. "Don't you get that? That's what the problem has always been between us: You're… everything! I love you so much! Please. Please can we try again?"
He watched as his brother hesitated momentarily, chewing absent-mindedly at his lower lip as he tried to find the words to reply: "And I love you, Sammy. I always will. You're my reason for being alive, and you're my baby brother, and you're my master, Sam….
But… I can't be… I'm… If you want me to come to your bed, then that's what I'll do. I'm your slave, Sam. That's what I am. But… I can't be more, Sam. I tried. I… hoped… I… I can't let you do that to me again, Sam."
The younger man could hardly make out the last, barely whispered admittance, but it still seemed to freeze his blood solid in his veins anyway. "I just can't, Sammy."
And with one last tight clasp of his arms around his brother's shoulders, Dean was straightening up, releasing his hold… and walking away without another glance.
Leaving a distraught Sam to cry on his own behind him.