A/N: This is a continuation of the previous chapter Doctor's Visit. This chapter is a lot darker than all the other chapters so far. Warnings for explicit self-harm.
"You can save them," Sam willed his voice to be steady despite the distant throbbing in his skull and the weakness of his limbs. "They don't have to die."
"I know," Dean ran an trembling hand over his face. His scars looked especially swollen and red under the harsh light in the infirmary. "But Sammy, I can't…" his eyes bored into Sam's soul. He knew how much effort it took his brother to keep the Darkness locked away. Every day he fought so he did not have to fight. Every day he resisted made it that much harder to push back the next day, but he kept doing it anyway.
"You can," Sam hated himself for saying it, but there were hundreds of helpless colonists on the planet below. What was the cost of his sanity and his brother's soul compared to that? "You can control it, Dean. I saw it." Sam had seen the exact opposite, but his brother didn't need to hear that right now. Even if Sam told him the truth, Dean would still go, because that's who Dean was.
"Yeah?" The hope in his brother's face was almost Sam's undoing. But he held firm, because this was the only comfort he could give his brother now.
"Yeah," he lied again, the syllable bitter on his tongue. "You ganked those wong ba duhn and then you came back, Dean. You come back."
"Gotta keep my pain-in-the-pi-gu little brother out of trouble, now don't I?" Dean tried to tease with a smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes.
"You wish," Sam feebly tried to elbow his brother. He would have missed-the medication that was keeping his brain from exploding had the crappy side effect of playing merry havoc with his muscles-but Dean surreptitiously moved so that the blow connected. "Now stop emoting over me and go out there and save some people and hunt some things. The family business, remember? Jerk."
"That's my line, bitch," Dean shot back. This time his lips didn't move, but Sam could see the smile crinkle in the corners of his eyes.
"Are you out of your gorram mind?" Mal shouted at him. Dean could feel the crew silently agreeing with the Captain's sentiment.
"You hired me because I can take down a Reaver ship. Now let me do my gou cao de job!" Dean shot back. He could feel the Darkness pulse underneath his scars, making them itch. It wanted out, wanted to taste blood… and he wanted to let it out. He wanted to taste blood. And he would. Soon.
Soon.
"We'll think of a different plan," Mal said authoritatively. "There's got to be another way." Behind him, some lights on the pilot's consol began to flash. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Dean had already programmed the ship so that they couldn't follow. He needed Sam to be safe, and safe is what Sam would be. Dean was no genius, but he was smart enough to rig Serenity in such a way that even all the geniuses on board working together couldn't override his passcodes until it was too late.
"Fine," Dean threw up his hands in mock surrender. "You do what you want. I'll be in my bunk." It wasn't exactly a lie, but close enough. Compared to what he was about to do, it was hardly even a sin. No one followed as he stomped out of the cockpit and towards his Baby.
"You come back," Sam leaned heavily against the sleek black door and smiled through watery eyes. "It's not easy, but you come back."
"Of course, Sammy," Dean bundled him into a hug. "I always come back for you." This wasn't goodbye: Sam had just said so himself. Dean wouldn't be going if Sam hadn't promised he'd come back. But the kid was looking a little shaky from all the excitement and Dean figured a little physical reassurance couldn't hurt anything.
Sam closed the door behind him with a familiar squeek-slam of metal. Moments later, Baby's radio crackled to life as a furious Mal screamed obscenities at him for locking down Serenity. Dean muted the speakers before undocking and turning his prow towards the planet. For a few moments, he let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of piloting his favorite ship.
Then he spotted the smoke.
The Reaver ships were hovering over the town, their ragged outlines masked by dust and fumes. It took a lot of fuel to hold a big ship in one place like that, but when you didn't care about running on unshielded nuclear you certainly weren't concerned with fuel efficiency. There was an occasional flash as a particularly idiotic bastard tried to take a shot at the hulking craft. Dean almost laughed. You couldn't shoot a Reaver ship down with anything smaller than an anti-asteroid cannon. They'd keep flying with half a ship and a third of their own body missing. Trying to kill them that way only drew their attention and wasted ammo.
No. The only thing that could consistently kill a Reaver was another Reaver.
It was time. Dean punched in a last few commands into the ship computer before going to his bunk. There was a box stashed in a hidden compartment underneath. Dean opened it with reluctant anticipation. The Darkness in his veins throbbed demandingly as he stared at the sharp slivers of metal. It wanted to be set free. Dean wanted to set it free. He pulled out the first knife and lovingly traced the right angle of the puckered scar on his right forearm. The blood burst out like it had been pressurized, and it felt like release. After so long resisting, it was such a relief to finally relinquish control. The thin blade slid into it's old place through his arm with delicious pleasure.
Once he started, he couldn't seem to stop. Didn't want to stop. How had he held off from doing this for so long? Why had he even wanted to?
With every slice and stab, he revealed more and more of his true self from beneath his fleshy prison. It was punishment and reward for everything he'd done in Hell, and it felt like heaven. The Darkness sang around him, and everything smelled like blood.