Disclaimer: Let's all repeat it together, class. 'I do not own Sam and Dean except for in my own private dreams.' Good. A+ for everyone.
"Yeah, it's not that much fun being strangled, is it?" Sam pushed harder, and Dean grasped desperately at the hands curled around his throat.
Dean found his air supply brought back for a few seconds as Sam pulled him roughly to his feet. The spots in front of his eyes prevented him from full clarity of his situation. He was brought roughly back as he heard a great shatter and felt his head hitting the glass, the blood trickling down his temple slowly. Sam slammed him against the wall nearby for good measure.
Dean tried to think of a way to get out of this situation, but his mind was hazing over. He wondered if he really was going to be killed by his younger brother. For a second he was mad, and then he told himself that anger was not going to solve his problem. He had to think.
He had to get out of this. For Sam. If he died, Sam wouldn't have anyone to get him through this. Sam needed serious help. This was not his fault that this had happened to him. John might have been able to help, but Dean doubted it. He would end up shooting Sam if worst came to worst. Dean knew if he couldn't do this, then there wasn't any hope after all.
Ignoring the ruthless look on his brother's face, he tried to concentrate. Only one idea came to mind. Sam was too close to punch but far enough away for his new plan to work. He used the solid surface the wall provided for leverage, pulling his legs up close to his body and kicked out with all the power he could muster given his lack of oxygen.
Sam fell back, and while he regained his footing Dean got a few good gulps of air in. He was desperate and did the first thing that came to his mind. He tackled Sam to the ground while he was still recovering in a crouching position. Dean tried with all his might to hold Sam down, but Sam landed a good right hook and kicked him off. Sam smoothly leaped to his feet without using his hands. When Dean tried to pull himself up, Sam viciously kicked him in the stomach, sending him down again, winded. Sam placed a boot on his chest and pushed, securing Dean in place while he gasped. Sam leaned down to his level.
"Is that the best you can do, Dean? I thought you'd put up a better fight than this." Dean knew what he had to do. It was childish, but it just might work. He saw Sam's surprised expression as he reached up, grabbed a good bunch of Sam's hair, and yanked him to the side. To stun him, Dean slammed his head into the side of the table, not as hard as he would for a normal person, but enough to make it hurt like a bitch. He twisted Sam's right arm around behind his back, and shoved him to the floor face-first.
"Well, I guess my 'theory' was right," Dean muttered smugly, keeping Sam firmly in place. Sam struggled but was unable to get himself out of his position. Dean could tell he was really pissed off now. "Wow, that didn't take long, did it?"
"You're not going to do this to your own brother, are you?" Sam said. Dean ignored him and looked around the room for a form of restraint.
"I don't have time for this..." Dean muttered. Sam had raised his head to speak, and Dean shoved it roughly down, starting a new wave of struggling from Sam.
"Why can't you accept me for what I am?"
"Oh, give it up. Suddenly you're all 'don't do this, Dean. I'm your brother'? Maybe he's not possessed, but they did something to screw with his mind. And maybe you have always been in there, but he's still in there too. And he needs my help. There's still hope for him. He would never do this."
"Your Sam is gone. That switch is permanently off. Jesus, Dean, it's not like they forced me into this. When you think about it, they were trying to help."
"Oh, yeah, they were trying to help! They were trying to help by killing mom! And Jess! And all those innocent people! It's comments like that that convince me you're not really him!"
"I wanted meaning, I wanted answers to why I was born the way I was. I can finally get them. They were there the entire—"
"Oh, will you SHUT THE HELL UP?" Dean yelled. Taking a deep breath, he spoke. "Well, then," Dean muttered, pulling out the Colt "if he's gone," he held the gun to Sam's head "then it won't matter if I shoot you?" He tried as hard as he was capable to stop his hand from shaking, not wanting Sam to call his bluff.
"Go ahead," Sam sneered, turning his head to face Dean, who looked away. "But are you really able to ignore the tiny bit of your mind that's telling you I'm lying? You're going to let me go because you can't live with yourself knowing that Meg wasn't the one that killed me, the Demon wasn't the one that killed me. You wouldn't make it knowing that you killed me. Not when you knew there was hope." He saw that this Sam understood Dean's weakness, so similar to his father's: his family.
"Dean." He looked up. The voice sounded almost normal, almost like the real Sam. "I want you to look me in the eyes and see if you can still pull that trigger."
Dean slowly turned his eyes to Sam's. And there was something in them, though, something Dean didn't quite understand at first, then he recognized it with a shower of hope.
"He's not gone," Dean stated. He saw it in Sam's eyes.
"Right." Sam rolled his eyes. "You just keep telling yourself that. Can we just get this over with? Your constant denial is really starting to piss me off."
"You're lying. He's not. He has a chance to pull through this."
"Oh, great. Try to bring me back to the light side of the force, Luke. Look how that turned out for Darth Vader. I've been there, done that, got the souvenir to prove it. 'I sacrificed myself for my older brother and all I got was this f—king t-shirt.' I was going to wear it, but some asshole shot me, which really stung. Darth Vader isn'texactly my role model. I really don't want to die, Dean."
"Nobody is dying tonight."
"You're so pathetic, you always have been. You can't accept it, can you? That I've just simply changed. You never accepted, for example, that I was different. I guess you were afraid it might land you here."
Dean didn't understand what he meant at first. Not until something large and heavy hit him hard, knocking him on his side and forcing him to let go of Sam. Sam quickly regained his footing.
"You know, I forgot what a dumbass you could be sometimes." Dean realized the thing that had hit him was a chair. With a jolt, he remembered it had been on the other side of the room.
"Oh, shit," he spat.
"Yeah, Dean. Did you forget: I'm a psychic? And now I know how to use my powers." Even the whites of his eyes had turned totally black; he was hardly recognizable anymore. Objects had started to hover all over the room, from the phone, chair, even the table had risen a few inches. There was wind blowing from an unknown source, swirling around them. Papers, books, and all other thing that weren't secured to the ground raised up next, shaking violently. Finally, Dean saw the gun he had dropped in the corner rise and point itself at him. But by the time it was aimed directly at Dean's head, he was pointing the Colt at Sam.
It was no use trying to run; Sam would get to him first. But he wasn't going down without a fight.
"You don't have to do this."
Sam laughed cruelly. "Spare me."
"Answer me this first. Please, the truth. Did you agree to this? Did my Sam agree to this?"
Sam looked like he was debating whether or not to simply tell the truth. Dean could tell he decided against it. "I just accepted what I am."
"Did they do something to you? Was this really your choice?"
"I don't have time for this."
"Did. They give you.A choice? I need to know."
"You don't need anything from me. Just like I don't need anything from you. And I don't have to talk to you about this." Dean felt himself shoved painfully down by an unseen force. He pulled himself up and within moments he had the Colt pointed back at Sam. "I came here to say 'hey, goodbye, don't worry about me I'm doing fine.'" Sam smiled and shook his head. Dean was careful not to make any sudden movements as he stood. "Not that I expected it would be that simple. I knew you well enough for that. You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation whatsoever when it comes to me. I've got to say, I'm flattered." He shrugged, and the gun floated back to his outstretched hand.
He gestured to the Colt in Dean's hand. "You can put that down. I promise I won't shoot you unless I totally have to." He raised an eyebrow in question, waiting. "Or if you really piss me off," he added.
"Come on, you know you won't really use it anyway," Sam persuaded. "I know you. But if it makes you feel safe, by all means, go on with your delusions." Dean kept the gun raised.
"Shouldn't you be fine with the knowledge that I'm doing great, that I'm healthy and happy? I have no problem with this life. I feel great. Better than I ever have before. Do you know how great it is to be able to control it?" The gun smoothly rose from his palm. He spun it around, and it grew faster with every turn, until it was merely a swirling blur.
"I have control. I can control my life now."
Dean snorted. Sam looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry, you're just saying that you're in control." He was still laughing as he spoke, and Sam didn't exactly look amused. A window shattered behind Dean, and he ducked down to avoid the glass flying everywhere. From the ground he continued. "And last time I checked, you didn't want your life to turn out with you as a dark lord of the Sith."
"God, I forgot what a smartass you tried to be."
"I'm sorry, Anakin, but did you just say I was the smartass? I must admit, I do flatter myself sometimes thinking—" Before he could finish. Dean felt a sharp pain on his right cheek. He reached up and felt a deep slash. One of the pieces of shattered glass was hovering inches from his face threateningly.
"Can we stop with the Star Wars analogies now?" Sam asked.
"I'll stop with the Star Wars analogies when you let me see my brother."
"Oh, smooth, Dean. Tempting, too." Sam smiled appreciatively. Dean kept his eyes on the shard of glass still hovering inches away from his skin. "I can see you still haven't lost your business sense," he continued sarcastically. "But do you really think it's that simple? I don't exactly have a delete button."
"So he is still in there?"
"It's not like there's a whole other person in here, trapped. Nobody is controlling me. I know my actions, I know why I do these things. I make my own decisions. I have no problem with who I am. I always wanted to be this way."
"Sam, I promise, we can get through this together. I—"
"Together?" Sam said. Dean could tell he had said something wrong. "And how are you planning that? You don't even know what I'm going through! Nobody does. Nobody knows what I went through to get here. Going around, afraid to sleep because next time I might have seen you or dad die! I was scared for you, Dean. I knew that one day I might wake up with you pinned on the fucking ceiling. I'm not afraid anymore. I don't have to be. This was what I was born to do."
"No!" Dean yelled. "This is not what you were born to do, Sam! You don't have to do this to not be afraid. I can help you."
"Trust me," he said coldly. "I'm beyond any help you could give me."
"You don't have to turn into this."
"Into what?" Sam snapped, his eyes ice cold. "A monster?" Dean opened his mouth to contradict him, but Sam cut him off. "No. That's alright, I wouldn't expect any less of an assumption from you. It's all black and white in your eyes." The glass painfully ripped through his jacket and deep into the flesh of his right shoulder. He struggled not to wince as it sank deeper. "It's always kill, kill, kill, you never even bother to get the story."
"This isn't you." Dean pulled the glass out of his shoulder and let it fall to the floor. Sam acted like he hadn't seen.
"And what am I, really?"
"You're Sam Winchester, my geeky, bratty, freakishly tall baby brother. You don't have to rely upon demons to solve your problem. This is a part of you, but it's not a part you want to let control you. You can live without this."
Sam paused, his expression neutral. "Without this?" Sam shook his head in denial. "Do you know what I am without this? I rely upon my old self as a backup, a fall-back just in case. But when I do go back to the weak creature I was, I can't control my powers. Do you know what it's like to have this great power, you can heal, you can kill in the blink of an eye and then have it taken away?" He frowned for a second. "I guess you don't."
"That part of me is telling myself to be guilty about doing this. But you know what? I kept that side of me for a reason. I went back to it for a reason. I needed something to remind me of the pathetic existence I had. And it was in those times where I remembered why I started all this: you. Suddenly I could remember everything: why I loved you so much, why I would do anything for you. But now?" He shook his head, looking Dean over. "I just don't get it.
"I needed it then, but not now." He looked to Dean with a smile on his face. "It's time to let it die. And I think this is the perfect time, what with you here and all. I'll be back after it's done. Goodbye, Dean." He waved in a mock-cheery way. Dean was surprised at the sudden turn the conversation had taken.
"What are you—" Dean started in horror.
Before Dean quite understood what Sam was doing, his eyes closed and the transformation began. Sam cried out once in pain and doubled over as his eyes turned from all black to a glowing white shade. His hair was lightening, the shadows around him dissipating. The floating objects around the room all dropped. A few seconds later, Dean started to see the first of the blood soaking through Sam's shirt, almost unnoticeable against the black fabric.
"Oh my god," Dean whispered as Sam's eyes closed and his knees gave out. He just managed to catch his weight as he fell against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around his baby brother, having no intention of leaving his side ever again, not caring about the blood ruining his favorite jacket. He found himself unwilling to let Sam go, even though he told himself he had to; Sam was hurt, probably fatally so. Part of him was afraid if he did let go, he would find out it was a dream, and Sam would be gone again. He didn't want to go through that. Somehow he knew this was his Sam, the one he had been searching for. He sat there for a few long moments with Sam's head on his shoulder—almost like when they were little and Sam would come into Dean's room, scared by some dream he had—comforted with his rhythmic breathing for the time.
Various cuts and bruises covered Sam's face, some of which, Dean realized with a jolt, he had inflicted. As he gently lowered Sam's limp form to the floor, he noticed that the blood was almost completely soaking his shirt, and his hair was starting to turn red and sticky with the blood seeping over it from a deep wound on his head.
Dean remembered. He realized the reason why this was happening. Sam didn't have control of his powers, so he couldn't keep the injuries at bay. That was what he had meant when he had said "I don't suffer those consequences." Only this Sam did. And he was going to let this part die. The part of Sam that Dean loved.
But how was that even possible? You couldn't kill a part of you. How would a physical death not kill both of them? It was impossible.
Yet Dean found he really didn't care if it was possible or not. All he cared about was that his brother was dying, and he wasn't going to let him go.
He heard Sam gasp one last time, and then stop breathing altogether. Dean muttered a few choice expletives as he leaned down.
"Come on, Sam," Dean urged, trying to coax Sam back to the world of the living. He reached with shaking, blood-covered fingers to check for a pulse. He felt nothing, and Dean felt his own heart stop in his chest. "Don't do this to me."
Author's Note: Hope you liked it. A little bit of a cliffhanger there. I can't really think of a comment I'd like to add except: PLEASE REVIEW! I have the next few chapters done (you're going to really hate me at Chapter 14), and the more reviews I get, the sooner it comes out. That's technically not blackmail, right? Right. That's bribery.
The quote at the beginning of the chapter, "It's not that much fun being strangled, is it?"is a nod to how many times Sam has been strangled and Dean has had to save him.
I need a chapter title for this chapter, and if anyone has any ideas I'm open to them.
P.S. I can't believe I'm already at Chapter 12.
P.P.S. Again, I apologize if this was confusing. If anybody needs me to explain, I will. But you weren't really supposed to know what was going on. Nobody does in this story.
Next chapter is packed with a lot of emotional shit. I guess you could call it an emotional roller coaster for Dean.
P.P.P.S. Oh, yeah. Please review. Remember, the more reviews...
P.P.P.P.S. Hope you like the new summary for the story. It's a little bit of an excerpt from the next bit.
I thank everyone who is following this story. I like to know people are reading this and that I'm not just writing to nobody. I also thank anybody who actually reads my author's notes.
