A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, story alerted/favorited, etc! I really appreciate your support. :-) I'm so sorry for the hiatus. I promise to update next week. And my guilt over my lateness may even be so great that I update before then. Feel free to kick me for this because I know that there is nothing more irritating than a person who promises to update and then doesn't. No more hiatuses. Promise this time. :-)
Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of no plot and be made entirely out of chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not. Therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.
AU after episode 7x04
A few days ago, killing the leviathans had been top priority. Because really? shape-shifting, big-mouthed psychos that had been locked up in Purgatory for thousands of years with nothing on which to unleash said-psycho-big-mouthedness? That was definitely at the top of Dean and Sam's Most Wanted list.
But then Sam had disappeared and honestly, the word "leviathan" was about as far from Dean's mind as it could possibly get. Because since when did anything big, bad, and nasty take precedence over Sam? Never had before and never would. Still, as he sat in the room he and Sam were sharing and allowed his mind to wander, Dean almost felt bad that he didn't... well... feel bad about pawning off the leviathan issue on Bobby. He wasn't really in the mood to save the world. You could only do that so many times before it lost its shiny, metallic appeal. And besides, the world was an evil place.
It and the leviathans deserved each other.
Besides, Dean had another problem to worry about right now. Sam was not going to be tortured in his mind for the rest of his life. There was no way Dean was going to let him go to Hell every time Lucifer got bored. And really, if that was the only issue there, Dean was more than willing to invest in some outside entertainment for the cage. He'd hook them up with cable, flat screen television, alcohol, hookers, anything. The means in which those things were acquired would probably be sketchy, but hey, at least Lucifer would have to go find his own life and would stop screwing with Sam's.
And he really wished it was that easy because Sam wasn't supposed to be there anymore. It was supposed to be over. He had said it was, promised Sam that it was. "You got away. We got you out, Sammy." And that was one thing that Dean had never intended to lie about. He was acclimated to lying, had done a lot of it in his time, to his Dad, to random people in bars, to random people on the street, even to Sam. But this lie was so much worse than all of those and to his conscience, it apparently didn't matter that at the time, he hadn't known he was lying.
He had to talk to Sam. Together they could fix it, could fix everything. So with that in mind, Dean stood and made his way out of the bedroom.
He hadn't said anything after their living room revelation. And now that he thought about it, that probably hadn't been the best way to handle the situation. Sam had most likely jumped to the conclusion that he was pissed and as much as it looked that way, he wasn't pissed. Not really, at least. Well... he was a little but it was manageable. Completely manageable. Because really, the fact that Sam knew why Dean had found him bloody in an alleyway and had decided not to share was definitely worthy of some pissiness. And if Dean had the brain power to waste on it, he would probably have been angrier than he was. But then, the only situation in which he would have that brain power to waste would be if none of this had happened at all and he therefore, would have no need to be angry. Therefore, Sam apparently got a pass. This time.
Still, regardless of the circumstances in which he would allow himself to be pissed, he hadn't hastily retreat to the bedroom because he was angry. As much as he hated to admit it, as much as he would never, ever admit it to anyone, he was terrified. And he had never reacted well to being terrified. He liked to control things and when he couldn't, he became panicked. When he became panicked, he tended to break lamps. Or peoples' faces. Whichever was closer. That happened a lot between him and Sam - the lamp breaking, not so much the face breaking. Though there had been a fair share of that as well... Anyways, it scared him that he couldn't control his brother, couldn't control every aspect of his life. Because that meant there was a margin for error and when there was a margin, it was only a matter of time before the error came around. And an error was not acceptable. Not in hunting, not in life. Especially not in Sam's life.
His steps slowed and quieted as he neared the living room, Dean trying to tune into the sound of his brother's and Kathleen's voices. Hearing Sam sound far steadier and stronger than any other person's would be in this situation caused a pang of sadness to shoot through Dean's chest. It was almost as if Sam had been subject to the dumping of so much crap, had had that crap dumped on him so much, that he was just numb to it. It was like he had been given so much bad news that he had reached the point where it no longer fazed him. Or rather, he had reached the point where he no longer let it faze him.
And as much as that hurt to know, Dean actually wished it were true only because he had seen what happened to Sam every time a new pile of shit was dumped on him. He had been there, witnessed how much it hurt his brother to be the punching bag of the entire friggin' universe. And Dean knew, from everything he had gone through, everything that he had seen in Sam's face throughout the years, being numb was far better than being in that kind of pain.
"Why did this just start?" Sam whispered and Dean continued forward, peering through the crack in the door. And yeah, he was eavesdropping. Sue him. "I mean, I've been out of Hell for a while now. Sure, I had run-ins with Lucifer but… nothing like this. I mean… he was there but… not, y'know? He might as well have been a hallucination. I thought he was a hallucination."
And so had Dean. Back in the good 'ole days when his main concern had been keeping Sam grounded in reality, when his main concern had been fixing Sam's broken psyche (Okay, so he listened when Sam talked sometimes. Again, sue him). Sure, he had been planning on using duct-tape to patch the thing up. And sure, it probably would have ended up warped with little cracks running through it, but hey, at least it wouldn't have been shattered. And at least all of that duct-tape would have ultimately made Lucifer go away, would have completely and totally freed Sam from Hell.
"He was a projection," Kathleen said. "Since then, he's managed to strengthen the psychic connection. You had something… that was keeping it weak, keeping it from taking over. And that's fading now. And Lucifer's attacking. And he's going to keep on attacking until you willingly pull him fully out of Hell. Or you agree to let him pull you fully into Hell." Dean involuntarily shivered, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that settled over him.
"What was keeping it weak?" Sam asked, looking up at the woman. And that was something Dean wanted to know because strengthening things? Dean could do that. Maybe with superglue as a reinforcement, but he could do it. That way, not only would he stop feeling so damn useless, Sam would stop dying in front of him. And the latter was the important part. As long as that got done, Dean would do anything and everything he needed to.
"Dean?" The voice caused Dean to reflexively jumped backwards into the shadows, but from the smirk on his brother's face, he knew he had been caught. He also knew that skulking and eavesdropping were no longer options. Which kind of sucked. Skulking and eavesdropping were easy ways to find out what you didn't want to ask yourself. And now Sam had gone and blown his cover. Damn little brothers. "You wanna come in or you wanna hang out in the hallway?" Dean tried to keep his snarling internal but it turned out that that was a lot harder than it should have been. If he had wanted to hang out in the hallway, Sam drawing attention to it would have made doing so incredibly awkward. Maybe he liked standing in hallways. Sam had apparently never thought of that.
"Hallway... Oh! Sorry about the hallway. Y'know...? You having to stand in it?" Kathleen interrupted as Dean debated how to get into the room without making it look like his doing so was Sam's idea. Because he really didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction. "But… Well… I thought… well… I saw Hell all around you and I thought you had some… demonic connection so…" Dean sighed, giving up. He couldn't find anyway to get inside without Sam thinking he had won. Which was annoying because Sam hadn't won. No matter what it looked like. Pushing the door open, he leaned against the doorjamb, eyes immediately locking on his brother.
...Who was smirking at him.
Little bitch.
The room was silent and it wasn't a good silence. It was one of those uncomfortable ones that made people clear their throats awkwardly and shift on their feet. It was the kind that made people fake phone calls in order to get out of the room. But unfortunately, Dean had left his cell phone back in the bedroom so it was of no help whatsoever. And he didn't cook so he couldn't pretend something was burning. And he didn't iron, so he couldn't pretend he had left that on. So in all honesty, he was pretty screwed in regards to escaping. And Sam kept staring at a picture on the fireplace mantle, being completely oblivious and unhelpful. And Kathleen was staring at the floor. Which really wasn't making the situation any better either. Socially, Dean had decided that the two of them were relatively inept.
And then there was the proverbial elephant in the room. The proverbial massive elephant in the room that had taken up permanent residence between him and Sam. Seriously, it had probably pitched a tent and everything there. And he had no idea how to get it to go away because simply shooing it out the window didn't seem to work.
It was a stubborn elephant.
"What do we do about it?" he finally asked, cringing at the sound of his own voice. And that in and of itself was a shame. He normally liked the sound of his voice.
Kathleen sighed. "Well, there are some techniques he could learn to weaken or temporarily sever the bond but… I don't know anything permanent. Especially not since Lucifer's been welcomed into his head."
And wasn't that just great news? No. It wasn't. Not at all. Temporary fixes were just that: temporary. And Dean knew how well those worked. Or rather, how well they didn't work. Hell, if the first temporary fix had been effective, they wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place. Though, this time there wasn't anyone around to speed up this temporary fix's destruction... Maybe it would last longer than the wall.
"Okay," Dean sighed, gaze drifting over to Sam who was still staring at the wall, not reacting to anything being said. "Teach him." And Dean supposed that there was nothing left for them to say. So he turned and left the room, heading back to the safe-house he had created in their temporary bedroom.
He was in the room for over an hour before Sam came in, looking like he had just gone ten rounds with a brick wall. And lost horrifically. For the record, that was not something Dean suggested doing. Brick walls could be vicious when provoked.
Sweat ran down Sam's face, bangs plastered to his forehead. And he was holding a tissue under his nose, mopping up what seemed to be a pretty bad nose bleed.
Damnit. He had told the woman to teach him, not to make him bleed!
"You okay?" Dean asked, propping himself up on his elbows. He asked, even though it was completely obvious that Sam wasn't okay. And that was made doubly obvious by the fact that Dean's voice made Sam jump. And Dean mentally cursed himself because when Sam wasn't okay, you were supposed to tell Sam so. Because he generally couldn't figure it out on his own. You weren't supposed to ask because all that did was waste a bunch of time that couldn't be wasted when Sam wasn't okay. God, he was out of practice.
Sam nodded and turned back to his duffle, riffling around in it. And yeah, as much as Dean wished Sam was telling him the truth, it was really hard to believe that when said-Sam was shaking like a leaf. "Really? You don't look it."
Sam sighed, pulling a shirt out of his bag. "'m fine," he answered. "Just gonna go take a shower."
"'kay-" And Dean had intended to say something, had fully intended to say something reassuring that would make the haunted look on his brother's face go away. But Sam had already fled, swallowed up by the bathroom. And Dean tried not to feel offended by the quiet snick of the door closing, but that turned out to be far harder than it should have been. It echoed in his head and generally he wouldn't be so paranoid... except for the fact that Sam had a very specific way that he closed doors. At least, when he was upset or angry. Dean had heard it all the time with their dad. Sam didn't slam doors shut. No, when he was pissed, he closed doors as calmly as he could manage, far calmer than he managed even on a normal day. And Dean supposed he should be a little freaked out that he could tell his brother's mood by how he didn't slam a door shut. But he wasn't. It was another of those things that was just a part of them. And if anything, it was actually a relief that some of his brother-reading methods still worked, because it meant they weren't irreparably broken. He needed that reassurance because every time Sam looked at him like he used to look at their dad... it got harder and harder to believe that they were going to be okay. Because Sam had never looked at Dean like that. Dean had always been the awesome big brother, the one Sam ran to whenever their drill sergeant had cracked down too hard. Sam was never supposed to run from him, especially when there wasn't anyone for him to run to.
Dean slid under the covers and just lay there, listening to Sam move around in the next room. It was familiar, comfortable. It was every night growing up and every night after Stanford. And it sucked that Dean had to be lying in bed, pretending to be asleep for things to be like that. Because Dean could honestly close his eyes right now and pretend that they were in another no name town in another no name motel room back when things were so much simpler. He could pretend that they were just waiting for their dad to come back or just waiting for the next lead on where he went. He could pretend like that at night, pretend that their lives hadn't gone to hell. And he often did. The problem was though, that the morning always came.
He was drawn out of his thoughts when the bathroom door creaked open, spilling light across the room. He could see it through his eyelids, could see it go dark again when Sam flicked the switch off. And he waited for it because this was supposed to be familiar. This was supposed to be routine. And that meant that Sam was supposed to walk across the room, get into bed, make noise. But from what Dean could tell, unless he had suddenly become a ninja and could move silently without disturbing the air or the rusty springs on the beds, Sam hadn't moved.
And Dean had no idea what that meant but it couldn't be good.
Peeling one eye open, he could just make out Sam's shadow through the dark. He was standing completely rigid in the bathroom door, frozen in place. And Dean could feel the worry start to grow in his chest because this wasn't normal. This wasn't how this went down every other night of their entire lives.
The silence was deafening, almost to the point where he could hear it ringing in his ears. But... There! The sound of a hitched breath shattered the quiet and Dean would have been thankful for the proof that Sam was breathing, would have been if he wasn't so freaked out. So in order to put his mind at rest, he was going to say something, just to make sure Sam hadn't fallen asleep standing or fallen into Hell or something else equally detrimental to his health.
But that was when his brother moved and turned the bathroom light back on. And yes, that was confusing because lights went off when a person went to sleep. They always had before and Dean would greatly appreciate it if they went off now. As in, now now.
That apparently wasn't an option though because there were those sounds he had been looking for prior to the light going back on. Sam was moving across the room, the bed squeaking under his weight. And that would have been okay - a relief even. Except for the fact that the damn light was still on and Sam wasn't turning it off. Against his better judgment, Dean opened his eyes to the obnoxiously bright light shining in his face. And really? what right did it have to be so perky at this time of the night? He honestly didn't think it had any at all. So therefore, in order to teach it a lesson, he felt the distinct desire to shut it off. Though, Sam was closer and Sam was the one who had turned it on. So therefore, in order to teach both the light and Sam a lesson for leaving said-obnoxiously, glaringly bright light on, Dean decided that Sam could get up out of bed and turn it off himself. Because this whole thing was just ridiculous.
And he had planned on saying so. Fully intended to glare the light into submission and order Sam to shut it off. But that was before he rolled over and faced his brother's bed. That was before his gaze landed on Sam who was lying curled tightly in on himself, deliberately facing the bathroom light.
"Aw, Sammy," Dean whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as his brother's muffled sobs filled the otherwise silent room.
A/N 2: Thank you to everyone who's reading! See you (hypothetically) next week!