They Call Me Monster: Chapter 4

"A man is the sum of his misfortunes. One day you'd think misfortune would get tired but then time is your misfortune"

-Faulkner, 'The Sound and the Fury'

Dean cut a line in his palm, hand held over a bowl to collect his blood. The spell, ritual, whatever you wanted to call it, called for his blood and Sam's blood to be mixed. There was some incantation in old french/Occitan language. Apparently cauchemars were an old creature. Bringing the bowl over to Sam along with the knife, Dean thought about what Bobby had said. For each time the cauchemar had fed there was a fear that Dean would have to help Sam face. The cauchemar had fed three times so Dean was going to have to face Sam's three worst fears.

Dean looked down at his brother's closed eyes and clammy features, wondering about who his little brother was. It was hard to see the features so vulnerable and drawn up like the past. Dean didn't want to face who Sam was now, he never had really. He had never wanted to face his brother's feelings about leaving, about normal. He hadn't wanted to face his brother as they had struggled through their fathers death. He hadn't been willing to face the truth about how his death would affect his brother and worse he had not been able to face Sam as he had made his slippery way down to drinking demon blood and starting the apocalypse. Their issues between each other were far from new, before this Dean had just been able to ignore them. It was hard to do that now that the apocalypse was looming at them because of a bad relationship between the two.

Dean took his brother's limp hand and held it over the bowl, he made a similar cut to the one he had on his hand and let the blood drip down to collect with his own. After enough was in the bowl he set Sam's hand back on the bed and dropped in an herb that he'd already forgotten the name of. Gripping his brother's hand with his own he looked down at the piece of paper and began speaking out the words written. He tripped a bit over the unfamiliar language but was able to complete it. Nothing happened and Dean frowned down at the paper wondering if he'd said it wrong.

He blinked and when he opened his eyes again everything was gone. He was standing in the motel room, except everything was different. In the middle of the room sat Sam. His brother had been tied to a chair, legs and arms tightly held in place by a thick rope. Dean's eyes widened as he took in the battered body of his brother. He knew torture when he saw it. Whoever had working his brother over had been at it at a long time and knew what they were doing.

Dean was paralyzed as he stood watching Sam take in short shuddering breaths, chin resting on his chest and hair obscuring his face. There was something eerily familiar about the torture, something which left a disquieting knot in his stomach.

"Sam?"

His brother flinched at the cautiously intoned word, body seeming to curl closer to itself. Dean was confused, torture was something they were both used to-at least on some basic level-it wasn't something they feared other than in a latent and rudimentary way. It didn't sit right with Dean that Sam's greatest fear was being tortured, it didn't seem correct. Albeit he could tell that the torture was of the most efficient and excruciating kind. But something else told Dean that this wasn't all, that there was something more than just torture which made this scene terrifying for Sam.

The rattle of the door had Dean turning his head. Who walked through the door had Dean completely surprised. It was himself, flecked in blood and a knife in hand. With sickening realization, Dean understood why it had seemed so familiar. His time in hell as a student to Alistair had taught him the fine points in torture, no living person could deal out this kind of torture. No one, that is, except Dean. To top it all off, Dean thought, was the fact that Dean knew that he knew his brother better than any other person. He would know exactly how to torture Sam in the worst ways.

The other Dean didn't acknowledge Dean, instead smiling predatorily as he approached Sam.

"Sammy" the other Dean started in a mock tone of affection.

"I told you I'd be back before you knew it."

Sam lifted his head slightly, pure terror in his eyes as he watched his brother advance toward him, knife a the ready.

"I'm so glad you haven't passed out. You know more than I do how much you deserve this."

Dean blanched as he watched Sam make no move to deny what had been said, instead he kept his gaze trained on his fake brother, looking at him eyes wide with fear.

"After years of pretending-"

The other Dean said, knife beginning to trail along Sam's arm, the point only grazing the skin.

"I can actually do what I've wanted for so long. I don't have to act like I care about you, pretend that I love you."

Sam let out a small choked sob. The other Dean's face flashed with anger and the knife bit into the skin of Sam's bicep, fresh blood beginning to pour from the new wound.

"Don't make a sound Sammy, that was the rule, remember?"

Sam gave a tiny nod.

The real Dean was watching in horror, frozen to the spot. Sam was afraid of him. That was his little brother's greatest fear. Dean felt as if the floor would fall out from under him. No way was Sam afraid of him, was he? He could only watch as the fake him continued.

"You have no idea how much I hate you."

The other Dean took the knife and began slowly digging it into the fingernail of Sam's thumb. Dean saw Sam's left hand, bloody, shredded by the knife, and missing every finger nail. He knew what was going to happen to the right one.

"To think that I sold my soul for something as worthless as you."

The knife began to flay the finger nail away from the finger and Sam bit his lip so hard blood began dripping slowly down his mouth and chin.

"Stuck with that sense of duty, following the rule of 'take care of Sammy' because I loved dad."

A small whimper made its way out and the other Dean dug the knife in with more cruelty.

"The only thing redeemable about going to hell was learning how to make you suffer as much as possible."

Dean knew he was supposed to do something, this was Sam's fear and he was supposed to helping his brother fight it.

"That's not true."

For the first time Sam and the other Dean seemed to notice Dean's presence in the room. Sam's wide eyes looked at Dean in confusion and the other Dean paused in the ministrations to Sam's hand.

"I've never regretted taking care of Sam." Dean looked at Sam, green eyes meeting the terrified ones of his brother.

"I care about you Sam, I went to hell because I loved you."

The other Dean narrowed his eyes and stood up, attention no longer focused on Sam but rather on Dean.

"That's real cute, but the truth is that I've always hated Sam. He's always been a worthless screw up. Got mom killed, got Jess killed, got dad killed, got-"

"None of those things are Sam's fault." Dean said forcefully, interrupting his evil counterpart.

"Even if they were, I'd still love Sam."

The other Dean laughed cruelly at that. But Dean didn't care, what mattered was Sam. Keeping his gaze locked with his little brother's Dean felt hope rise in him as Sam's eyes seemed to shift, becoming less disbelieving.

"I never regretted taking care of you as a kid, you weren't a burden. I didn't hate you for going to Stanford, I was proud."

Dean's throat tightened with emotion.

"None of those death's were your fault. Mom made her choices, Jess was killed by a demon, and if anyone is to blame for dad's death it's me. I don't hate you for any of those Sam."

The other Dean was getting made, lip curling in anger and disgust.

"Shut up."

Dean glared defiantly at the thing pretending to be him before looking back at Sam. His brother still looked so lost and hurt, but at least now he was holding Dean's gaze as though it could ground him, as though he could be saved by his brother. It hurt to know that one of Sam's greatest fears was that his brother hated him. Sam shouldn't fear him, in any way. He was supposed to be what Sam ran to when he was afraid.

"I could never hate you Sam, I-"

Dean was cut off as the other Dean interrupted.

"You're a monster Sam! You tried to kill me and you slept with Ruby, I'm pretty sure that's a form of bestiality. One more thing that-"

Dean was the one interrupting this time.

"You were trying to do your best, I don't blame you for that Sam, I don't hate you."

The other Dean sneered.

"Drank demon blood like the monster you are and then killed Lilith letting the devil get free. You're a monster Sam!"

Dean was getting ready to shoot his counterpart.

"You killed a demon Sam, that's what hunters are supposed to do. You didn't know that that would set the devil free. We both got played, that wasn't your fault."

The other Dean growled in anger, hands tightening around the knife in his hand.

"Shut up!" It screamed. The other Dean turned and rammed the knife into Sam's shoulder, eyes kept on Dean and twisting in pleasure as Dean felt the air rush out of him when Sam screamed.

The fake Dean pulled the knife out and stared venomously at Dean. Dean jumped to action, he wasn't going to just sit and watch Sam be hurt. Fighting himself felt strange, the thing moved like him and was just as skilled. They were equally matched except for the fact that Dean had no weapon while the other had a knife. He dodged a lethal swing of the knife and struck out with his fist. The other Dean moved so that the fist glanced off of him and brought the knife back to try to sink it into Dean's chest. Dean caught the hand and they fell to the floor grappling for leverage over each other.

Dean was concentrating on not getting stabbed so he didn't hear Sam's panicked cry. The chair toppled and Sam went with it so that they landed on the other Dean. Dean used the moment to his advantage and rolled away, jumping to his feet. Sam was now on the ground, the back of the chair and consequentially Sam's back facing towards Dean. The other Dean rose, the knife in his hand covered in blood. Dean frowned as no wound was on his counterpart and he himself hadn't been hurt. With a sudden tug of panic he realized that Sam must have been hurt. Anger surged through him and he threw himself at his counterpart. Anger fueled his movements and he quickly got a hold of the knife and sunk it into the chest of the other Dean.

It's eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before the light in them died. Dean let the body fall while he rushed to where Sam was still tied to the chair. With shaking fingers he began to untie Sam. Sam had been stabbed in the stomach. Dean felt his heart drop, the wound was fatal. Grabbing his brother from where he was collapsed on the ground, Dean cradled him to his chest. Sam's eyes were wide and glazed with pain.

Dean's hands were trembling and his eyes starting to water.

"It's okay Sam. You're alright, everything's alright."

Sam's head moved at the sound of the voice and his eyes locked onto Dean's.

"Dean?"

Dean gave him a watery smile.

"Yeah Sammy?"

Sam seemed to fight to put out the words.

"You don't hate me?"

Dean shook his head as he rocked Sam back and forth.

"No Sam, never. I could never hate you."

Sam gazed at him, judging the truth of his words. Finally he gave a small smile.

"Okay Dean."

Dean smiled again.

"I love you Sam."

Sam nodded.

"Love you too Dean."

A beat passed and everything began to dissolve into darkness. Dean had helped Sam face his first fear. Now he had to get ready to face Sam's second.

Is it too mushy? I think it might be too mushy. Maybe I should get rid of the 'I love yous'. What do you think?