It was a temptation he could not resist. The expression on Sam's face when he had seen him was haunting Dean's every waking moment. If he could gain this power, he could take control and avenge Sam.

"Do it," he said to Cain.

Cain chanted, fast, like Dean might change his mind. The mark slid across Cain's skin and into Dean where he grasped Cain's hand. Dean shuddered. It was a rush he hadn't felt in years, not since he was under Alistair's tutelage.

The mark felt red hot against his fingertips. Dean left Cain, headed for home in a strange daze.

He walked into the bunker and froze. Cas was standing over Sam, needle imbedded deeply in Sam's neck.

The mark sang for Dean to help Cas, take the needle out and stab it through Sam's eye. His heart roared out in protective anger, that Cas could be hurting Sam, and that part of him was strong enough to shout, "hey, what are you doing?!"

To his rage, Cas didn't even stop.

"We are removing the remainders of Gadreel's grace," he said. "Sam does not wish anything to remain of the angel."

"And what's it doing to him?"

Cas finally turned a little, hands steady on the needle still in Sam's delicate skin. "It is reversing some of the healing," he admitted. "I am not sure how much."

"Then stop!"

"No," Sam said." He didn't look at Dean, keeping his gaze focused on Cas. "Keep going."

"Sam, how could you—"

"This is my choice." Sam reached up, wrapping around Cas' hand. "Finish this."

Dean wheeled around, putting a fist through the drywall. He walked back out into the cool air before he could do something he would regret. After a few minutes of pacing, he walked back inside. Sam was sitting alone, pale, lines of pain at his mouth.

"Where'd Cas go?"

Sam didn't open his eyes. "He plans to find a way to regain his grace so that he can heal me," he murmured.

"That's something, at least," Dean muttered. He tugged his sleeve down over the mark. "So Gadreel's grace is gone?"

Sam nodded. His face was cold and closed off.

Dean wanted to retreat to his room, but he had to know. "And your legs?"

Sam glanced down, shaking his own leg a little. "Useless. At least I can piss on my own power."

The crudeness was unexpected, from Sam. Dean looked away. "I'll be in my room."

"Sure." Sam's voice was bitter. "Go on, leave."

"I'm trying here, Sam," Dean bit out.

Sam's flat eyes met Dean's. "It is taking everything in my power to keep myself from putting a bullet in my head," he said. "What I did to Kevin . . ."

"That one's on me," Dean said thickly. "Sam, that was Gadreel."

"You don't have to watch your own hands ripping his soul from his body," Sam replied.

Dean had no reply.


Sam rubbed futilely at his aching arms. The wheelchair they had stolen from the hospital wasn't the greatest quality, as it was only meant for pushing patients down the hall.

Cas had departed, telling him he would find more grace, enough to heal Sam. That left him with Dean pacing the halls, unwilling to spend more than two minutes in the same room with Sam. It forced Sam to be independent.

He wheeled himself around the table to get his book, an annoying movement that wouldn't have been necessary before. Once he finally turned around the corner, he was able to reach out and take it; he turned, and the book slipped from his hands. Grunting, he leaned over to pick it up, but his weight tipped too far and the wheelchair slid out from under him, depositing him painfully on the floor. Sam cursed under his breath. He turned over, tugging his legs around and staring at the contraption.

"You betrayed me," he muttered petulantly to the wheelchair.

"Sam?"

Dean's voice was far away. Sam swore again, pulling the wheelchair over close and using the table to pull himself up. He just managed to seat himself by the time Dean entered the library. He stared at Sam, sweaty and disheveled, and shook his head. "Right, Sam, if you're busy making out with the books, I'm going to go to the store. You need anything?"

Sam, still catching his breath, shook his head.

The little part of his brother that still focused on taking care of Sam must have raised its head at Sam's denial.

"Have you eaten anything today?" he asked suspiciously.

Sam honestly didn't know. What came out of his mouth, though, was, "what do you care?" He bit his lip. The frustration and embarrassment was obvious in his reaction, and Sam hated it.

Dean stiffened, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" he said.

"Nothing, forget it."

"No, what is it?" Dean had started becoming belligerent. There was no way this would end well.

"If you want to leave, then leave!" Sam burst out. "I see it every time you look at me. You want out, then just go."

Dean's eyes flashed in anger. "You want me gone?"

Sam could have screamed in anger. As usual, Dean heard what he wanted to hear. "You don't want to be around me, do you?" he challenged.

"That's not true," Dean growled. "I've been here to help you."

Sam gestured expansively. "How are you helping? Do you plan on getting me possessed again so you can have a partner that walks?"

His brother took a step forward, face thunderous. "That isn't fair," he hissed, "I did that to save your life."

"You had no right."

"You would've done the same for me."

"No." The instant the syllable left his mouth, Sam knew he had lost his brother. He tried to make it clearer. "No, same circumstances, I would not have done that."

Dean's face was flat, emotionless. "I see."

Clearly, he didn't. As angry as he was, Sam was forced to try and save the situation. "Dean, what you did to me was—"

"Enough. You want me gone? Fine, I'm gone."

If he had legs, he would have chased after Dean, held him down, and tried to get him to see his side.

As it was, he helplessly watched Dean leave. Sam was alone.


A/N: So much angst, it's wonderful, right?