Chapter Four: I Forgive You

"Hold my hand if you're scared, Sammy," Dean mocks, sticking out his hand. "But it's just a vampire, and it's already dead."

Sam looks back at you before turning to Dean. "I'm not scared! I'm just worried about Y/N."

"I'm not scared, Dean," you blurt, interrupting the brotherly argument. Sam gives you a look; a cross between betrayal and fear.

"Hear that, Sammy? She's fine." Dean swifty takes Sam's hand. "Let's go look at it."

Dean drags Sam toward the vampire's corpse, and you follow, slightly hiding behind Sam, who is stumbling along. As you approach it, you can smell its awful stench and you can see how gruesome the corpse actually is. When John kills a monster, he really kills a monster.

It's head was turned away from you and separated from its body, blood pouring out of the base. Sam becomes sick and covers his face. Dean seems intrigued. You lean closer, trying to see its face.

Suddenly, the head whips around, despite being severed, and stares at you with cold, dead eyes, letting out an unbearable shriek. The vampire is you.

Your eyes snap open and you suck in a deep breath, returning to reality. It was just a dream. A nightmare.

You gradually tilt your head up, relieved to find that you are in your room, no longer in the cell. Sam is next to your bed in a chair, the upper half of his body resting on your mattress, fast asleep. Dean is in another chair in the corner, fiddling with his thumbs. You meet his eyes and he lights up, coming to your side.

"Hey, kiddo," he barely whispers, kneeling down. "How ya doin'?"

As he props up a pillow for you to sit up better, you rasp, "I'm okay."

"How's your head?"

You hadn't even noticed, but when you reach up, you realize it is tightly wrapped in a bandage. Dean must've hit you pretty good.

"Can't feel a thing," you half laugh, studying Dean's face. There are little cuts all over him, but he looks fine for being thrown around so much. Your stomach aches at the thought of being the one who hurt him.

You didn't just scuff him up either. Behind his weak smile and warm green eyes you can see pain and guilt about what happened. He always felt responsible for everything.

"Dean," you say, your voice cracking, "I want you to know that none of this is your fault. I'm sorry I went behind your back."

Dean shakes his head. "I don't want to hear that. Just rest."

"But, Dean," you persist, "I know you feel awful about what happened. It's all my fault. Please don't blame yourself."

Dean takes your hand and squeezes it between his. "I said I don't want to hear it. Not yet." He takes a breath. "I could've lost you today. I just need some time to be grateful that you're alive."

You want to protest, but Dean's eyes plead for you to drop it. You let out a sigh and nod slowly.

Dean smiles weakly before reaching over and ruffling Sam's hair, causing him to jolt awake. You notice he has a bandage around his head too as he flicks his wide eyes around the room, settling on you.

"Y/N," he breathes, pulling his chair closer to you.

"Sammy," you grin, sticking out your other hand. Your brother takes it graciously and gives it a gentle squeeze. "How is your head?"

Sam blinks a few times, momentarily forgetting he had a bandage. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

You smile to hide how much you're hurting. You rammed your brother so hard into the floor that you almost broke open his skull. How could you?

Dean stands, gently releasing your hand. "I'll go make some burgers or something. I bet you're hungry."

You nod at Dean, who returns the gesture, heading out of the room and down the hall. For a second you wonder if he is only leaving to get some air; being around you is still to painful for him.

You turn to face Sam, who is gently rubbing your hand.

"Are you really okay?" you ask, furrowing your eyebrows. "I threw you pretty hard."

"That wasn't you," Sam retatilates instantly. "And I'm okay, really."

"Dean's not here to judge you," you add.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he says more harshly. "I wasn't just saying that to impress Dean."

You stare hard at him for a minute, neither of you saying anything. Sam's eyes burn into yours, yelling at you without him even having to speak. You look away.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?" you ask. "What happened, I mean. Dean sure doesn't want to. He can barely be in the same room as me."

"Hey, hey," Sam says soothingly. "Give him some time. This hurts for him."

"Because he turned into a vampire once?" you interrogate.

"Well, I guess, yeah," Sam says, deep in thought. "I didn't have a soul at the time, so I've never really experienced this either. It hurts to see you turn into something you're not."

"But it was me," you blurt. "I was in control. I could see what I was doing."

Sam looks back up at you, burning you once again with his hard-set hazel eyes. "You know that isn't true."

"Sam," you plead, "why didn't you just finish me off? Why did you let me hurt you?"

"Stop saying that," he scolds, squeezing your hand again. "Whatever you were feeling... That was not you. You could think, sure, but you had no control over your hunger." He cuts you off again before you can defend your argument. "And I would never, ever dream of hurting you, Y/N. I'd rather die."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping over your cheek as you take in a shaky breath. Sam is right. You weren't able to control what you did. That doesn't mean you don't feel terrible for flinging Dean into a wall and smashing Sam into the floor. That doesn't mean you don't hate yourself for ever leaving the bunker. That doesn't mean you don't wish you had listened to Dean and stayed behind.

Sam's sizable paw of a hand gently wipes away your tear, and you open your eyes. This time, the hazel in his is inviting and warm. You smile weakly at him as he whispers, "We'll get through this. It's not going to be easy, but you'll forgive yourself for what you did. I forgive you, if that helps." He sighs. "And I think Dean will too."

It wasn't until a week later that you and Dean finally had "the talk."

Able to walk and move around normally again, you decided it was time you went back to the farm to get the bike you had hidden in the bushes.

You were all bundled up, ready to face the world, and started to head up the steps, when you heard it. Dean clearing his throat.

"Er-hrm."

You turn, realizing he was sitting in the library, and feel your heart start racing. Even before the fight began, you knew it was coming.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey?" He repeats. "Hey? Where do you think you're going?"

"Outside, Dad," you spit. "You don't need to get all worked up. I'll be back in an hour or two."

"Hold on," Dean says as he rises from his chair and makes his way over to you. "You're not just leaving."

"I'm not going hunting. I learned my lesson, okay?" you put a hand on your hip. "I'm just going to get my bike."

"Oh, that makes it so much better," he scoffs. "How are you getting there? Are you going to hitch a ride with some random stranger? What about when you get there? You do know that vampires can smell you from miles away, right? They'll kill you."

"I'm not going to stick around and chat," you snap back. "Why are you being so hostile? You've barely talked to me for an entire week. Suddenly, now you want to pick fights?"

"Y/N," he starts, but you are quick to cut him off.

"We haven't talked about what I did. Are you ready now? Is that what you're aiming for?"

"If that's what you want to talk about, sure," Dean yells. "Come on. Say it."

"Say what?" you glare at him, harder than he already was glaring at you.

"'I should never have stopped you,'" Dean mimics your voice. "Or maybe: 'If I had just let you come in the first place...'"

"Is that what you think I'm angry about?"

"Well you're angry about something!"

You cross your arms. "What about you? Mister 'I hate vampires' and 'my sister can never go on a hunt'?"

"Excuse me?" Dean growls. "I'm not the one who threw a fit and ran off! I'm not the one who snuck out! I told you that you'd be able to go on a hunt someday, when you were ready."

"I am ready!"

"No," he snarls, stepping closer. "No, you're not. That's why you got hurt. That's why he turned you. You weren't ready."

You scowl. "If I knew how many there were-"

"But you didn't. You didn't know!" Dean rolls his eyes. "I thought you'd be grateful that we saved your ass. You'd be some nasty vamp right now if we hadn't fixed you."

"That's the thing," you scream in his face. "You've been treating me like I'm still 'some nasty vamp.' I'm your sister, Dean! I'm not a monster anymore!"

"That's not-"

"Don't even pretend you can still look at me the same," you interrupt. "I'm still that thing to you, and that's not going to change. I don't even know why I try with you."

"Y/N-"

"Don't!" you shout. "Don't give me some lame excuse! I thought we could talk this out like civilized people, but your ego is obviously too big for that to happen." You push past him, heading back into the bunker. "Goodbye, Dean."

"Y/N," Dean yells firmly behind you.

"Leave me alone," you retort, storming into your room and slamming the door heavily.

Your life is falling apart. You feel unclean because of what you were, you're losing Dean, and you're basically on lockdown in the bunker until you and Dean can makeup. But, knowing Dean, that would never happen unless you apologized first. You were not about to give in.

Twenty-four hours went by, and you didn't come out of your room. You didn't open the door when Sam came to check on you. You didn't open it when he offered you food. After a while, you were left alone, as Sam said he was going out to visit some hunters who had leads on the vampires that escaped the nest. Dean didn't go with him, but he didn't bother you either, so you had some time to stare at the ceiling and contemplate your life.

Conclusion: life is too short to be angry at Dean. If you gave in, it was likely he would too, and you could go back to being siblings again.

When you emerge from your room, you hear a smash coming from the kitchen, making you jump. "What the-" You rush toward the noise.

Surprisingly, the noise was the sound of pots crashing to the ground. Strangely enough, Dean had tripped and knocked them over. He is on his hands and knees, trying to stand up.

"Dean?" you call, trying to get his attention. "You okay?"

Dean hoists himself up and spins around, squinting at you. "Eh?"

You tilt your head in confusion as he lifts his beer bottle and takes a swig. Wait a minute... Dean stumbles over to the table and plops down, continuing to drink.

"Dean," you say gently, walking toward him, "are you... Are you drunk?"

Dean furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. "Uh, me? No. No! I'm just drinking. But I'm not drunk. Just drinking."

"Yeah, right," you groan, slightly smiling. "I think you've had enough."

"Enough of what?" he asks, genuinely confused as you take the bottle from his rough hands. "Hey!"

"I'm sorry," you reply in a monotone, pouring it down the sink. Dean groans, and you return to his side. "Alright. Who's ready for bed?"

"I'm not a baby," he hiccups as you put his arm around your shoulder and raise him up.

"Ugh," you grunt, tugging him along. "Lay off the pie, will you?"

You pull him into his room and toward the bed.

"Thanks," Dean mumbles. "My little brother and sis should be here to pick me up soon."

You nearly burst out laughing, raising a brow. "Oh really? And who does that make me?"

Dean scoffs like it was an easy question. "The bartender."

"Right." You sit him down onto the bed. "So, you have a sister?"

"Yep," Dean replies bubbly, laying down. "She is six years younger than me."

"I see. I bet she's annoying," you continue, laying a blanket over him.

"And moody," Dean adds, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.

"How sweet," you mutter. Even when he's drunk he hates you. You walk toward the door, reaching for the light, when you hear him murmur behind you.

"I thought she was going to be just like me when she grew up. But she's not."

You stop in your tracks, listening to his quiet, course voice. Of course. You're not like him, you're worse. You'll never live up to his expectations.

"She's not like Sam either. I thought she'd grow up to be like at least one of us."

Too bad, in Dean's eyes, you didn't grow up to be a good person like at least one of them.

"I don't take credit for raising her, for that reason. There is no way that Dad or I could've raised her."

You've had enough of his ridicule. You start toward the door again.

"She's too perfect to be a Winchester."

You freeze again. Did you hear that right?

"She's better than all of us."

You turn to face him, utterly confused. Then why did he always taunt and mock you? Was it out of love or jealousy, rather than hatred?

"I just wish she could forgive me," he yawned, turning over. "I didn't want her to get hurt. I didn't want her to grow up. I should've let her come with us."

That's what he had been thinking? All along?

"She got hurt because of me. I feel bad, but I can't tell her that I'm sorry. She's angry at me."

You run to his bedside and practically jump onto him, giving him a big hug. "I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you, Dean. I should've listened. I never meant for you to feel guilty. You were right to hold me back. I was wrong."

Dean is quiet for a long while before he quietly mumbles, "Uh, I think my siblings are here to get me... You can get off me now..."

You slowly retreat from his room, calling out quietly, "Goodnight, Dean."

"Goodbye, ma'am."

You smile to yourself. You can't wait to tell him about it in the morning. Bonus; he'll be hungover. He'll be too weak to not accept your apology.

Does seeing that as an advantage make you a bad sibling?