CHAPTER TWO: DIFFERENCES

"Wait a minute, what do you mean?" Sam asked with a nervous laugh. "Mom's not an angel, okay. Remember Lawrence, our old house and that poltergeist? Mom's - Mom's." He looked to the side, hiding his pain. "She's gone, alright, Dean."

The blond sat up with a glare. "Yeah, and apparently she's gone straight to heaven, because I know what I remember and I know what I saw. It was her and she was an angel."

"Dean, what you went through - it plays with the mind." Bobby began skeptically.

"I KNOW WHAT I SAW!" Dean shouted. His eyes blazed and then he blinked - saw that awful vision again - and then the brilliant green gaze mellowed into a calm. "I know what I saw." He whispered softly.

As silence descended on the trio, Dean tried not to ponder the possibility that every time he closed his eyes he would be back in Hell. He would take it over the real deal, but if the simple act of blinking caused him to regress into those memories then he wondered how he would ever get back to "normal".

"You should try to get some sleep, Dean." Sam suggested.

Dean felt fear course through him, causing his body to shake in tiny tremors. He felt as if his very bones were frozen with the fear that he might wake up back in that place - that this was all a damn dream. He knew in his mind that his escape was real, but his heart still needed convincing.

"No, I'm good." He said, surprised when his voice came out strong and calm. He felt anything but that on the inside. "I think I'll just…" He cast about in his mind for a diversion, some excuse to stay awake. "Eat. Yeah, I'm real hungry - Hell's menus suck."

Dean tried to laugh at his own joke, it fell flat, but Sam brightened a little. The corners of the younger man's mouth twitched upwards.

"I'll see what I can find."

Bobby took a step towards the end of the bed. "No, I'll do it. You stay with your brother, besides there are some other things that I need to take care of."

Sam nodded and watched as the older Hunter left with a farewell nod towards Dean.

--

Seven days. He had been back in the world seven days and already it was beginning to feel as if he had never left. In those times between bouts of pure, mad terror. The nightmares had been expected, but they always left him feeling drained and broken. Dean wished once again that he could turn back the clock.

"Yeah, alright, Dean. Whatever." Sam chuckled in good humor.

"Seriously, you should give it a try sometime. You might like it." Dean suggested with a shrug. "All I'm saying is that the blue ones are better if you eat them separately. Trust me on this - I'm an authority on the subject."

"Of M&M's?" Sam raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Since when is anyone an 'authority' on M&M's? They're junk food."

"You have no appreciation of fine cuisine." Dean popped a couple of the blue candies into his mouth and moaned in pleasure. "You might want to open up more to the possibilities."

"Enough, with the candy already."

"Fine. Your loss." Dean grinned ear to ear.

Sam felt himself lose it at the sight of the goofy, childish smile that had haunted him the past year. He had dreamed of that smile and of the times they had shared together - good and bad. Now here they were together again, smiling and talking about candy. Vertigo swept over Sam and he sat down heavily on the edge of his motel bed.

"Dude, you alright?" Dean asked, his words harsh with concern. "Hey, are you okay?"

Sam nodded. He buried his head in his hands and let his tears fall. All of the innocence he had lost trying to embrace the side of himself that boasted the demonic powers had been lost for that smile. Everything he had done - all the crimes he had committed - had been to see that smile, hear that laugh, share one more hug. It had all been for nothing. He had sold his soul to the Dark side for nothing. Dean had not needed his help to escape, that much was painfully obvious.

"Dude, you're scaring me! What's wrong, Sam?"

Dean saw his younger brother's pain, but felt helpless. He had never been good with feelings. It had always been Sam who knew what to say or do to make things better. Dean felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the tears dripping off his brother's chin to fall on the tacky, orange carpet. He wanted to reach over and hug the shaking shoulders. He wanted to take his brother's hurt away, but he could not.

"Sam?" The name slipped out, filling the silence between them with a question.

"I'm sorry."

The words were slurred with thick emotion and Dean almost missed their meaning. He moved to sit beside his brother, turning sideways so that he could face the dark haired man.

"For what, little brother?" He asked quietly.

The muffled sound of sobs and sniffs continued and Dean felt even worse for not knowing what to do. He hesitated, then hoping he was doing the right thing he pulled his younger brother into a tight hug.

"You've got nothing' to apologize for, Sammy."

"You don't know!" Sam cried into his brother's blue flannel shirt. "You don't understand!"

Dean heard the self-loathing in his brother's voice and fear shot through him. What had Sam done? Whatever the younger man was apologizing for meant far less to Dean than his brother's happiness. Forgiveness was a gift he was willing and ready to impart at a moments notice no matter what the trespass.

Dean held on tightly to his brother, never wanting the physical contact to end. It had been thoughts of his Sam, these hugs, those shared jokes that had kept him sane in the pits of Hell.

It was many minutes later before he pulled back, just a little, so that he could see his brother's face.

"Sammy?"

Puffy, red eyes looked back into his own. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" The older Winchester repeated his earlier response.

"For - for." Sam took a steadying breath, one last tear spilling over his eyelashes. "Letting you down."

"Never. You could never let me down." Dean insisted firmly, his grip on his brother tightening as if to prove this. "There's nothing you could have done that I'm not willing to forgive - unconditionally."

Sam prayed that his brother was telling the truth. It was now or never as he worked up the nerve to voice the atrocities he had committed for his brother's sake. Dean's steady, calm gaze coached the words out like a healing torrent. The entire story of Sam's life the previous eighteen months laid out at his brother's feet.

Dean listened, numbing further at each new reveal. He had meant what he had said. It had been a promise. No matter what new evil his brother might present, Dean knew he would forgive him. It was simple. The confessions he was hearing were anything but.

"-Then I found you." Sam finished.

The silence did not even last long enough for Dean to blink another vision of Hell. His reply was instantaneous.

"I forgive you, Sam."

--

Dean was on fire. Red, hot flames licking at the edges of his vision as bright, white light burned through his skull. He tried to scream away the pain, but all that he could manage was a series of pitiful moans and groans. The torture of a million frightened voices filled his ears with a heinous cacophony.

"Dean! Dean, wake up! Dean!"

He was sitting up before his eyes had even opened. The smell of sulfur and smoke still lingered in his mind as the dream faded away to where the dark memories lurked. Sam was standing over him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Nightmare." Dean stated matter-of-factly.

Sam took a deep breath. "Yeah, I noticed." His brow was furrowed with concern. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked hesitantly.

Dean swallowed the impulse to vomit at the suggestion. Living through it had been bad enough, the last thing he wanted to do was turn his nightmares into reality by talking about the experiences.

"Nah." His tone was dark and brooding.

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed.

"Yes, Sam!" Dean snapped. He blinked, shuddered and then brushed Sam's hand gently off his shoulder. "I'll be fine." He said in a softer tone. "I just don't think I can deal with…talking just yet."

Sam nodded in understanding. "It's okay. I understand."

"Hey, Sam?"

The dark haired man squatted next to the bedside so that he could be eye level with his brother.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"I'm glad you're my brother."

--

Seventeen days back from Hell. Dean finally felt strong enough to try the warm water in the shower - he was tired of cold showers. He took a few deep, calming breaths and steeled himself for the onslaught of warm tap water on his bare skin. Without hesitating he reached out and twisted the knob to Hot.

The man had become better at ignoring the memories brought about by different sensations and there was only a brief flash of phantom burns over his back and chest and then he was fine. His tired muscles relaxed under the barely hot water. He felt like a general who had just won his first battle.

"Yes." He murmured, letting his body lean against the wall of the shower stall as the water rained down on him. "Mmmm."

Nearly three weeks since his return and he already felt more in control. The visions were getting less and less with Sam's help. Over the past week he had found Sam's encouragement meant more to him than anything else. It soothed his fears and strengthened his self-confidence.

"You almost done in there?" Sam called with a brief tap, tap on the closed door.

"Just a minute." Dean yelled back over the sound of the running water.

"Hurry up, would ya."

"Fine."

He had already scrubbed his body clean under a cataract of cool water, but Dean had forgotten to wash his hair. Grabbing the tiny bottle of shampoo with the hotel's logo on it he squirted some into his hand and then lathered his short, blond hair. Without thinking, he thrust his head under the hot water, closing his eyes.

The next thing he knew, Dean found himself screaming out in pure agony - the sound he had tried so hard to make in Hell. It brought his brother running. There was a pounding on the door, but Dean could not think, he could only react to the smell of burning flesh and sulfur and the memory of being burned alive in a continual cycle of pain. He screamed again, backing against the shower wall. Crumbling, he slid to his knees, huddling in the corner of the cubicle.

The pounding on the door and shouts of his brother went unheeded as he stared with wide, terrified green eyes at a landscape that was in another place. The water pelted down on him, tiny hot reminders. He closed his eyes and sobbed for the life he had lived and lost. Things could never be the same, he could never be the same. As much as he wanted to, Dean couldn't deny that.

There was a loud crash and then Sam was there, covering Dean with a towel, helping him out of the shower. Dean let himself be led in a numb fog.

"Everything's going to be okay." Sam soothed as he led his brother to the first bed. "It'll all be alright. You're safe - you aren't there any longer."

Tears mixed with water as he sat on the bed, his bare feet soaking their impression into the carpet. It had been a fools dream, that he would ever be "normal". Hell had sucked all the "normal" out of him and now there was just beaten, weak Dean Winchester.

"I'm pathetic." He said stoically.

Sam shot him a shocked look. "No you're not, Dean. You're the strongest person I know. No one else could have lived through what you did."

"Hah. Lived." Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Lived."

Sam grabbed his brother by the bare, wet shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "We'll get through this, I promise."

Dean wiped the dampness from his face and gave a half-hearted laugh. "How, Sammy? Every step forward seems to take me two steps back. You too - don't think I haven't noticed the nightmares and brooding. All the things you did to try and save me…all the things that I needed saving from." He tried to find the right words, but nothing seemed right. "Never mind. It's just - I don't see a way back from this one, little brother. We're lost and we might as well admit it to ourselves."

"No." Sam denied firmly. "No." He shook his head. "I'll never admit that and neither will you."

Dean smiled softly. That was his Sammy. Never taking the easy route, never giving an inch under the watchful sight of authority. Dean tapped his brother's chin lightly with a closed fist.

"Well, aren't we the little rebel." He commented proudly.

The younger man lowered his arms and grinned sheepishly. "Learned from the best, Dean." He looked up from under a fringe of dark bangs. "The best."

They shared the look for a long moment and then Dean looked down, saw that he was only barely clothed in a hastily wrapped towel around his waist, and promptly stood to his feet. He raked a hand through his hair, embarrassed now about the whole situation. Sam watched him back toward the bathroom quizzically.

"Well, enough of that mushy crap." Dean decided aloud, clearing his throat. "I'll just get dress, alright."

With that he disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the broken door as best he could. The shower curtain was ripped on one side and dangled forlornly, scraping against the floor. Dean knew it must have been damaged when his brother had pulled him out of the shower. Naked. Dean moaned and resigned himself to the act of dressing.

"You okay in there?" He heard his brother call from the other room. "Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" He called back loudly.

It was bad enough he fell to pieces at the drop of a hat, but to be so out of it that he couldn't even take a shower…Dean shook his head and tried not to think about ever washing his hair in warm water again. He had become pretty good at not blinking for long periods, but he could not keep it up forever

"What am I going to do?" He asked his reflection in a low voice, so Sam would not hear.

The promise his brother had made earlier played through his head and he nodded. Together they had to make it through this - his trauma and Sam's moral tug-of-war. All they had was each other and it would just have to be enough.

He pulled a blue t-shirt over his head and went back into the main room. Sam was still perched on the edge of the bed with a worried frown and furrowed brow.

"How about we get outta here, huh?" Dean suggested with forced lightness in his tone. "Maybe a road trip, without a destination or hunt in mind."

Sam nodded. It was as good a plan as any, after all, they could not stay in the same hotel room forever. The change of scenery might do them both some good. He stood to his feet and began to pack his scattered possessions into a battered, green duffle bag.

"Let's do it."

--

"Hey, Sam?'

Sam looked over at his older brother, behind the wheel, a reminder of the good old days.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Mom. Saving me. What do you think that it means?"

"I don't know." Sam answered honestly.

"But it does have to mean something, right?"

"Maybe, man, I don't know."

"Well, we should find out." Dean's words were firm and final.

Sam knew his brother was right, he verbalized this agreement as he looked out the window of the car. Town after town, forest after plain whipped by on their trip to nowhere. He tried not to think about what it could mean if their mother, Mary Winchester, had somehow been turned into an angel. He frowned at a sudden thought and turned back to his brother, his coat rustling against the leather seats.

"Hey, I thought you didn't believe in angels."

Dean kept his eyes focused on the blacktop. "That was before I saw one, Sammy."