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Summary: The moments immediately after the end of 6.13, "Unforgiven".

Acceptance

I know what's happening. I know, and God I wish I didn't.

"Sammy, come on… Don't do this."

He's not hearing me. He's somewhere in his own head, somewhere Lucifer and Michael are doing horrible things to him, and he's not hearing me.

"Sammy, please."

There's no response, no sign of recognition. All of a sudden I'm praying to a God I don't really believe in.

Please. Don't do this to him. Please. Just let me have my brother back and that's it. I'll never ask for anything again. Please.

Sam's shaking, convulsing, and I get myself back against the wall so there's something to support us. He's freaking huge – all that muscle he put on doesn't come light – and it takes some effort, but eventually I settle him. I've got one hand holding his head on my shoulder and the other pressing down on his back, keeping his arms trapped between us so he can't flail and hurt himself.

Please.

"Sammy, I'm here. Got that, kiddo? I'm here. You're safe."

I keep the litany up, not feeling anything except the weight in my arms, until, what seems like hours later, I can feel the convulsions becoming less intense. I hope it's not my imagination.

"Sammy?" There's a mumble that doesn't sound like words. I know from years of experience that it's a semiconscious Sam trying to get his tongue around my name. "I'm here, Sammy."

Sam's first reaction – the kid hasn't even stopped shaking yet – is to try to sit up, but he's as weak as a newborn colt and after a couple of aborted attempts he gives up and slumps against my shoulder.

"Sorry."

"That's OK, Sam."

"You told me so."

"Yeah. I did."

"You love saying that."

"Not like this," I snap, harsher than I intended.

Sam shrinks back against my arm. I sigh. It would be ridiculous that he's trying to get away from me by burrowing his head into my shoulder if it weren't perfectly natural for him to expect me to protect him from everything.

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Sam, what happened?"

Silence, Sam's hair tickling my chin, and then, "I was back there."

He pushes up again, and this time he manages it. I let him, because I need to be able to look him in the eye. Sam doesn't go far, just leans on the wall next to me. He pretends his fingers aren't still curled around the hem of my shirt. I pretend I don't notice them there.

"The wall?" I ask.

"It's still there. Just… just a leak, I guess. A little one."

"What did you see?"

I'm expecting evasion, so I'm surprised when Sam says, "Fire. Lots of fire. I was… burning alive."

"Sam…"

"That wasn't the worst of it." I shut my mouth at once, not saying a word. He's willing to talk, and I'm not doing anything that might screw it up. "I mean, it was bad physically, you know, the pain and all that, but that wasn't the worst of it. It felt… I felt… hopeless. Like… like there was nothing left to fight for. I was alone and it hurt and… I wanted to – to stop existing. Just – totally – stop."

I remember what Castiel said. Sam's soul felt like it had been skinned alive.

I am not going to throw up. I am not going to throw up.

I reach out a hand. Sam doesn't pull away, which is another surprise. I ruffle his hair and then slide my hand down to squeeze the nape of his neck. It seems to calm him. It sure as hell calms me to feel the pulse under my thumb.

"You're not alone, Sam."

"I know."

"You have to stop this. It's too dangerous."

"I know it's dangerous."

"Do you?"

"You were right," Sam admits. "I can't – it isn't remembering the pain that's so bad. I remember how I felt. I thought I was going to be there forever, I was never going to see you again, and –"

"Stop, Sam. Don't think about it. It's going to be OK. You're going to be OK. Trust me."

"Dean, even if I never touch it again, it's not going to stay up forever."

"Doesn't mean you have to hurry the process." I squeeze Sam's neck again. "You just try not to poke at it. If something happens, we'll deal with it, I promise. We'll take time off if we have to – get a place somewhere and I can do some construction crap again, maybe hustle pool on good nights." Sam looks at me, and I manage a smile. "I know, I'm the world's most awesome big brother, right?"

The biggest surprise of the night is when Sam just nods. "Yeah."

"Sammy? You OK?"

"Just trying to be nice." A heartbeat, and then, "What now?"

"How about a few days off?"

"No job?"

I'm about to say yes, but then I stop and think about it. No work, getting dead drunk and taking a girl home would work for me, and it would've worked for Soulless Sam, but for my little brother? I can just see him nursing one beer for three hours and brooding without meaning to. We take time off, we might as well just blow up the damn wall.

"We'll find a job," I say. "Something simple, you know. Regular salt-and-burn." Sam flinches at the word burn and I curse myself. "Sorry, kiddo. What I meant was… How about a Wendigo? Or maybe we could try to track down Bigfoot? Shouldn't be too hard; he'll probably think you're a long-lost cousin."

Sam cracks a smile, and I feel like the best big brother in the whole freaking universe.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I should've listened to you."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," I tell him, "but… Well, I'm glad you didn't. The other Sam, the one I had for six months, that Sam would've done what I wanted. He wouldn't even have needed me to tell him. But you – you could never worry about keeping yourself safe when innocent lives are on the line. I'm not saying you didn't scare the crap out of me, but that's you. Just… Don't do it again, OK? I know you feel guilty, but you don't have to." He hesitates. "Think about it, Sam. You were in the Cage. You can't be in two places at once – if you were down there, then the guy up here wasn't you." He still doesn't look convinced, and I go for the trump card, "Come on, Sam. What about me? What do you think I'm going to do if I lose you again?"

"Dean! That's not fair." But I know it's a token protest. I have him. He sighs, squirms, and finally says, "You want me to just give up, not even try to set things right?"

"Yeah."

"I wouldn't do this for anyone else, you know," Sam grumbles.

"That's my boy."

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