Post 4x22 into the very beginning of 5x01. Sam and Dean deal with their initial reactions to Lucifer's release and address the voicemail.
xxxx
Sam couldn't move. His brain was racing so fast that he couldn't keep up with his own thoughts, his heart was pounding so hard and fast that he was pretty sure it was going to beat straight out of his chest, flopping to the dirty floor with a loud splat, blood splattering everywhere as it made contact. The air felt thick around him and he couldn't draw in enough oxygen to properly fill his lungs. His stomach twisted agonizingly in a mixture of dread, guilt and sorrow and if his body had been working properly at all, he probably would have been on his hands and knees losing whatever he had eaten earlier in the day. Instead, though, his feet were stuck to the ground as if encased in cement, his eyes unable to move from the light glowing on the floor in front of him. Dean's voice was in his ear, distorted and nonsensical, but even given the close proximity, it sounded like he was underwater and Dean was far above the surface. The ground was beginning to open, but Sam couldn't tear his eyes away. Dean was tugging on him, trying to get him to move, but the task of moving was too arduous, he couldn't even remember how to tell his limbs to move. The smell of blood, coppery and dense, filled his nostrils and sent impulses to his brain, but the circuits in his mind were already overcharged and maxed out and he couldn't make sense of anything going on around him. Lilith. Ruby. Dean. Lilith. Ruby. Dean. Lilith. Ruby. Dean. Lilith. Ruby. Dean. Lilith, dead. Ruby, dead. Dean...alive, and persistent, but not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Dean was not safe. Dean thought he was a monster, Dean wanted to hunt him. They weren't brothers anymore. Dean was done saving him. Lilith. Ruby. Dean. Lucifer.
His breath caught in his throat and he coughed, gasping for air and unable to breathe deeply enough to pull any in. Dean was shouting at him now, urgency clear in his voice even if Sam couldn't make out the words being said, and he was being pulled towards the door, his feet finally uncemented although he was barely able to control the movements on his own. Bile burned his throat, his heartbeat was pulsing loudly in his ears, blocking out all other sounds and his vision alternated rapidly between staticky with silvery specks and greying around the edges. What had just happened here? What had he done? The doors slammed shut, the light growing in intensity and blinding him. He threw an arm across his face to cover his eyes, the brightness and noise that followed instantly throwing him into a migraine. He fell to his knees, only vaguely aware of his brother doing the same, and covered his ears in an attempt to block out what was happening. He was going to die. Dean was going to die. This was his punishment. He destroyed the world and now they were going to die. Dean was going to die. Again. Because of him. Again. Chest heaving, pulse racing and head pounding, Sam waited for the inevitable. Lucifer was going to appear, and he was going to kill them. Kill them. Lucifer. Sam had singlehandedly started the apocalypse. The angels were right, he was an abomination. They should have killed him when they had the chance. Now Lucifer was going to do it, and if by some miracle they were able to escape, Dean was going to finish the job. Sam had started the end of the world and now he was going to die.
As quickly as it began, the light was gone and Sam opened his eyes to find himself on an airplane. He wasn't sure what was happening, but his brain wasn't functioning well enough to ask, not functioning well enough to even know if this was real or the afterlife. He looked to Dean, who always had the answers, but Dean was just as confused as he was. Sam had started the apocalypse and Dean, for once, didn't have the answers. Sam had started the apocalypse and was now alone. While the events of the night were hazy at best, he could remember the events leading up to Lilith's death clearly. The nurse. The voicemail. The blood. The world was completely screwed because of Sam, and now Dean was going to kill him if Lucifer didn't find them first. He had kick-started judgment day with bad choices, demon alliances, disturbing addictions and the general wrongness of his mere existence. It didn't matter that Castiel had raised Dean from hell. It didn't matter that Sam had thought he was doing the right thing. It didn't matter that he had finally gotten retribution for Dean's death by killing the demon that had taken him away. None of that mattered anymore, because now they were all going to die.
Light shot through the sky and the plane jerked violently, air masks dropping and the passengers panicking. Without even thinking, Sam slipped his on, hardly aware of the other passengers panic. It would be best if they crashed. They were all going to die anyway. He had started the apocalypse. Lucifer was free. A firm hand on his knee brought his eyes from the window to his brother, who was wearing a look of absolute terror. Dean hated to fly in general, and now they were on a plane that may crash, a plane where emergency oxygen masks had fallen. Someone or something had taken them from the chapel and placed them on this plane, and now the plane was probably going to crash and they would probably die anyway. Laughter erupted from somewhere deep within, starting as a tiny smirk and quickly morphing into all-consuming, total-body laughter. They had been saved, only to be killed. How was that for irony? The hand on his knee squeezed harder, fingernails digging into the fabric of his pants and gripping his skin tightly. His hysterical laughter ended as abruptly as it began, replaced by waves of silent, intense apprehension that made him want to pull out his gun and eat it before the universe found an even worse way to end him. Because it would. He had to die, because he was an abomination. The freak, the monster, the douchebag to started the apocalypse and let Lucifer run free. He didn't deserve to live, nor did he think he would.
He didn't think he would survive killing Lilith, he hadn't expected to walk out of that battle. But with Dean telling him if he chose Ruby, they were done, and the voicemail further verifying that Dean was done...there really hadn't been much to live for. Dean had died for him, he had literally gone to hell for him, and had been repaid by his monster of a little brother jump-starting the end of the world. His stomach lurched and he swallowed back the acidic bile that burned into the bottom of his throat. Sam didn't deserve to be here, on this plane, safe from Lucifer himself. He didn't deserve to be sitting next to Dean, breathing and surviving. He deserved not only to die, but to die a miserable, painful, awful death. He had trusted Ruby and dismissed Dean's valid concerns. He had been so wrapped up in his addiction and thirst for revenge that he lost sight of what was important. He had been so consumed with sorrow and rage that when his brother, the cause of those feelings to begin with, returned he had been unable to bring himself back from the darkness and appreciate their second chance. He had driven Dean further away and ended the world.
Something brushed against his hand and he looked down to find Dean had slid the puke bag from the seat pocket under his hand. Perhaps he looked as wretched as he actually felt, or perhaps Dean still could read him like an open book. The idea that he had lost touch with himself, with who he was, but Dean could still pick up on the smallest detail ripped out another little piece of his soul. He didn't deserve Dean. He never had. Dean deserved a brother a million times more amazing, loyal and strong than Sam would ever be. Dean had always done his best to do what was right for Sam, and Sam had repaid the favor by being the worst person to roam the face of the Earth. Sam's hands clenched into fists, the paper from the bag crinkling as he gripped it tightly. He wasn't going to be sick, he wasn't going to be any weaker than he already was. Dean didn't need to look out for him, he didn't deserve it. He started the end of the world. He started the apocalypse. He was going to burn in hell for eternity not only because there was demon blood running through his veins, but because he deserved it.
The plane dipped again as it descended towards the Baltimore airport and Sam glanced in Dean's direction at his brother's slight gasp of panic. He wanted to say that Dean didn't need to worry, that they were fine, but he couldn't make his mouth move. They weren't fine. The plane wasn't about to crash into a fiery pit of death, but they still weren't fine. No one was fine. The world was ending. Lucifer was free. The battle between Heaven and Hell had just been ignited and Sam had been holding the zippo to the fuse. He glanced down at the bag curled in his fingers, feeling like perhaps he may make use of it after all. Just the idea of Revelations beginning made him want to throw up, to purge all of the evil and rottenness from within him. Even as he thought it, though, he knew it was impossible. The plane dipped once more, causing Dean to further tense, and Sam sighed, looking out the window. He could still see the light in the distance coming from the convent. The light that shown where Lucifer had, by now, ascended to walk the earth amongst the rest of them. The light that proved that Sam had ignited the fire that would burn the earth whole.
He buried his face into the blue and white bag, his whole body trembling as he gagged, choking on his own shame, self-hatred, guilt and horror. Acid surged up his throat, burning as it rose, and before he could try to regain control of himself, his insides seized and constricted and he found himself nearly choking on the surge of thick, foul, tangy coppery liquid that forced its way out. He knew it was the blood, the nurse's blood, the dead nurse's blood, and he knew that once he pulled the bag away, it would be on his teeth, his lips, maybe even his chin. Dean would know. Logically, he knew Dean was already well-aware of what it took for Sam to use his powers, especially on someone like Lilith, but he was mortified for Dean to see it now; now, when Lucifer was no longer in his cage and instead probably planning a widespread elimination of mankind.
He vomited again, his eyes pressed tightly shut in an attempt to pretend like he wasn't on an airplane where people could see him, where Dean was sitting beside him, his hand on Sam's back in an age-old show of comfort. Why was Dean doing that? It had to be an act for the other passengers, who were probably staring at the freak who was heaving his guts up into a paper bag. Dean didn't want to comfort him; Dean was doing saving him. There was no going back. Sam was a freak, a monster, a vampire. A vampire. He had drained that nurse of her blood. He was a vampire, in every sense of the word. He shouldn't be allowed around people, around good and honest people who were all going to die because he made one bad choice after another.
His shoulders shook and his breath came as shallow bursts, his body barely functioning as his brain still cycled entire too fast, muddled and overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. He felt Dean remove the bag from his hands and he wanted to say that he wasn't done, that he wasn't ready, that he didn't want Dean to see, but instead he was mortified to find that there were tears spilling into his cheeks. Another bag appeared in front of him and when Sam didn't reach for it, Dean took Sam's fists, prying his fingers open and securing them on the small bag. His older brother was speaking, but Sam couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears. He was worried he was going to pass out, he certainly felt unsteady and lightheaded enough where a dip into unconsciousness wasn't out of the question. If only he could get some more air, if he could just breathe maybe his brain would start processing again and he could make some sense out of everything.
He hunched over again, more demon blood spilling out of his mouth and into the bag, leaving him sweaty but shivering, rapidly alternating between boiling hot and freezing cold. Was he going into shock? Could monsters even have a human reaction like that? Dean's hand was on his back again, though it felt like a million knives digging into Sam's skin through the itchy fabric of his shirt. He didn't deserve comfort, love, support. He deserved to choke to death on this bitter blood, to get an express ticket to hell, where he belonged. By the time he had filled the second bag, the plane was touching down on the runway. He was only vaguely aware of a flight attendant talking to Dean, but couldn't hear or process the conversation over the pounding in his head and the rush of blood echoing through his ears. Dean handed him a third bag, but by now Sam was only plagued with dry heaves.
This wasn't withdrawal, Sam was pretty certain at least. This was guilt. Guilt for Ruby. Guilt for not listening to the angels. Guilt for not saving Dean in the first place. Guilt for not listening to reason. Guilt for ignoring the warnings his brother, Bobby, the angels, everyone had given him. Guilt for being tricked into thinking Ruby was an ally and not an enemy. Guilt for Lilith. Guilt for Lucifer. Evil and guilt tainted his soul like a disease, poisoning every ounce of his mere existence and staining his hands, his mind, every fiber of his being red with the blood of mankind. Of blood that will be spilled because of his mistakes. Those lives were on his head, those lives were going to end solely because of him. He had made plenty of mistakes throughout his lifetime, but none this big, none this significant. Certainly none that would impact so many people in such a profound way.
He spit into the bag, needing to get the taste of blood out of his mouth. On the side of him, Dean extended a water bottle that he must have gotten from the flight attendant. Sam took a bit of liquid into his mouth and swished it around, spitting it into the bag. He couldn't imagine ingesting any of it right now, even if this wasn't withdrawal, because with the way his body was betraying him there was no way to be sure he would even be able to command himself to swallow. His brother hauled him to his feet, gently pushing him into the aisle and down the rows of seats to the front of the plane. Dean was speaking quietly, but Sam was still having trouble understanding what the words were and what they meant. He didn't remember leaving the airport, where they had boosted a car from, or if anyone had stared at or whispered about them as they walked by, but by the time Sam became aware of his surroundings again, they were driving and Dean was angrily mashing buttons on the radio.
Dean let out a growl, slamming his hand angrily against the steering wheel, the end of a Celine Dion song echoing throughout the tinny speakers. Sam reached over, flicking the radio channels partially because he needed to do something and partially because he knew the crooning Canadian wouldn't improve Dean's fury any. There was one news story after another telling of disasters taking place in every corner of the country from threat of wars to illness to a furious mother nature. He turned off the radio, unease gnawing at his gut as his brain continued to chant that he was a monster. A monster who was responsible for this, all of this. A monster who his brother was done saving. A monster that needed to be put down before it caused any more trouble. Sam was already dead. Sam had died alongside Dean in the dining room, the life had leached out of him as the hellhounds ripped Dean to shreds, the last ounce of pure goodness fading away at the same time Dean's eyes went dull. The person who had been walking around for the past year was not Sam. It was a monster, a vile and disgusting freak. Sam would never willingly drink demon blood. Sam wouldn't trust a demon. Sam wouldn't use his powers at all, much less strengthen them. Sam had hated getting visions, he had hated being in the same room with a demon after Meg had possessed him, he had nothing but loathing for the hell-spawn. He had been willing to work with Ruby while trying to weasel Dean out of his deal, but only because he was willing to do anything to save his brother and there were no other options. But drinking blood? That wasn't Sam. That wasn't something that hunters, that the 'good side' did. That was reserved for monsters, the things they hunt and kill.
Panic and remorse blossomed within Sam once again, swelling to a crest and spilling over the surface. Dean had to forgive him, even if his actions were unforgivable. Dean had to know that Sam hadn't meant for this to happen. He didn't know that Lilith was a seal. He didn't know Ruby was going to betray him. He didn't know that demon blood was addictive. He didn't know that he was going to start the apocalypse. He just didn't know. Of course, Dean wouldn't care. He'd say that Sam should have known, that they warned him what would happen if he continued down the path he was on. He'd say hurtful things about wanting to hunt him, about him not being part of the family anymore, that he was a monster. And he'd be right, which would make the pain even more unbearable. How could he possibly live in a world where he was completely alone? In a world that he had completely screwed over, where the only family he had left were bound to hate him because they'd know this was his fault, they knew what he had done. They knew what sort of monster he had become.
"Dean, look-" he started, not really sure what he even planned to say, but knowing he had to say something in order to hold on to the last few delicate shreds of his sanity. Apologizing didn't seem like enough, and Dean wouldn't want to hear excuses for his actions. He had never screwed up quite this badly before, and there was no way to fix it. No way to undo it. No big brother to turn to for help, because Dean had made it so very clear on the voicemail that he was done with Sam. Why the oldest Winchester had even shown up at the church was beyond Sam, though he could only assume it was to take Sam down if Lilith didn't get to him first.
"Don't say anything." Dean interrupted harshly, causing the last remaining pieces of Sam's heart to shatter into a million pieces. Tears prickled, but Sam refused to let his eyes well up with moisture. Crying wouldn't do any good, it wouldn't change what happened and it certainly wouldn't win over his brother's good favor. If Sam turned this into a chick flick moment, there was a real chance that Dean would abandon him on the side of the road or take him into the woods to finish the job. He shuddered violently, staring down at his lap in despair.
"It's okay. We just got to keep our heads down and hash this out, all right?"
Dean's voice was firm, and Sam thought, just for a fleeting moment, that if they worked together, really put in the effort, maybe they could figure something out. But just as soon as hope had filled him, it deflated, leaving him feeling empty and alone once more. Sam and Dean could have put their heads together to figure this out. But the two people that Sam and Dean had become had absolutely no chance of even being able to work together effectively, much less to stop the world from ending. Sam was a monster, untrustworthy and not worth the air he breathed. Dean was still dealing with his time in hell. They were a wreck, both of them. Work together? Hash this out? Most times they couldn't even agree on where to eat breakfast, much less work together to solve, literally, the world's biggest problem. Not wanting to argue and feeling more hopeless by the moment, Sam agreed, "Yeah, okay."
"All right, well, first things first. How did we end up on soul plane?"
"Angels, maybe? I mean, you know, beaming us up out of harm's way?"
"Well, whatever. It's the least of our worries. Come on, we need to find Cas."
Silence fell over the car, Dean tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in a way that he only did while he was anxious or stressed. Of course, he did have the right to feel both of those emotions and so many more. How did they end up on the plane? If it was an angel who beamed them up, why did they include Sam? He was the abomination, the demon-blooded freak who just flipped the switch, the big switch. Why rescue both of them? Why not just Dean? Was it because they knew Dean had a more gruesome way to deal with his brother's transgressions? Was it because they knew Dean would want to handle killing Sam himself?
No, Dean would never...Dean could never...Sam's breathing quickened, panic surging through his veins. Could he? Could Dean really take him out? The message had been so clear; "I'm giving you fair warning, I'm done trying to save you.". Dad had said so many years ago that Dean had to either save or kill his brother. Logically, if he was through saving, it was time to move to a more permanent solution. But could he? Could Dean really do it? In the past, he had been so resistant to even the notion of having to eliminate his kid brother. Now, Sam saw so little of who his brother used to be, of the values he used to hold near and dear to his heart. Sam couldn't honestly say one way or the other if Dean had it in him to hunt him down and put him out of everyone's misery. Sam clenched his hands tightly into fists, his nails digging into his palms reassuringly. As long as he could feel his nails pressing into his skin, he would know he was still here, still alive. The sensation was distracting enough to keep the tears from welling further, and he could only hope that they'd arrive wherever Dean was taking them soon, because he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold himself together when his entire life was rapidly unraveling.
He looked up as the car pulled off onto the shoulder, glancing around at their surroundings and finding nothing that would indicate why Dean had decided to stop here, of all places. There were no other cars around, no streetlights, just dense trees and a narrow shoulder. Horror gripped Sam's chest, squeezing tightly and suffocating him under a blanket of panic. This was it. Dean was going to kill him. He was a monster, and Dean had stopped the car because it was time. No witnesses, no surveillance cameras, no neighbors to hear any screaming. Lucifer was free because Sam was a monster, and now it was time for Dean to do what should have been done years ago.
Sam reached for the door handle, but was interrupted by Dean's voice, "No. Stop. Stay here."
Sam let his hand fall, dread filling his body from head to toe as Dean stepped out of the car and walked to the trunk, pulling out his gun and setting it on the closed trunk. While watching Dean reload his weapon, all Sam could think was 'Please don't let Dean shoot me, please don't let Dean shoot me, Please don't let Dean shoot me.' Sam struggled to draw in a satisfactory breath, his chest tight and achy as air refused to flow properly. Maybe he was having a panic attack. Or maybe monsters didn't breathe the same way as humans did. He couldn't help but wonder if monsters bled the same way humans did. When Dean shot him, would his blood be red? Black? Would he need his head chopped off or would a bullet to the heart do the trick? Perhaps salt and holy water, maybe an exorcism? After all, he was drinking demon blood. What if it was actually turning him into a demon? He doubled over, resting his head against his knees while he struggled to get adequate air into his tight chest. Everything was falling apart so quickly, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to welcome death or prolong the inevitable. He just wished Dean would say what he had planned so he could know what to expect.
xxxx
Dean slammed his gun down against the trunk of the crappy Taurus they had boosted from the airport parking tower. His head throbbed unmercifully, rage occupying every ounce of space that wasn't already filled with betrayal and regret. Emotions swirled around inside of him like horses on a carousel and he wanted nothing more than to get off of this ride and let someone else handle the damn apocalypse. He couldn't believe Sam had done it, killed Lilith and freed Lucifer. He couldn't believe that his chick-flick voicemail hadn't been enough to even make his younger brother pause, hesitate for just a few minutes, before effectively dooming the world to end.
He was at a loss. Sam was falling to pieces, that was clear enough to see, and he had no clue where to find Cas. The world was falling apart around them and he had no clue where to begin, what he could even do. How could he stop Lucifer, of all people? How could he trust Sam when his kid brother was the one responsible for this mess to begin with? How could they even pretend that they were capable of working together when Sam had made it perfectly clear that he would rather work with a demon than his brother, when Sam had proved he was the least trustworthy person in Dean's life? The man that he had practically raised was a demon blood junkie who made one bad choice after another, who was so hellbent on revenge that he was unable to see the facts that were laid out in front of them. How could he ever trust Sam again? Broken trust...that was the part that hurt the worst. The secrets, the lies, the feeling like he couldn't trust his brother for the first time in their lives made his heart ache just as bad as the time he held his brother's lifeless body in his arms that one night in Cold Oak. Sometimes he felt like it hurt even worse, since Sam was still there, living and breathing, yet so incredibly far away.
The words he had left as an apology for Sam echoed back in his mind, making his heart twist painfully with the realization that maybe he just didn't mean the same to Sam as Sam meant to him. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You know, I'm not Dad. We're brothers. You know, we're family. And no matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change." How could Sam go through with it after Dean had apologized? Had Dean been clear that they were on the same side, that they were family? Did Sam even hear the message? Did he even care?
And looking back on what just transpired, could Dean really stand by those words?
Apologizing and saying that nothing would change their bond was easy to say when Sam hadn't just pushed the start button on the end times. It was easy to say before Sam completely obliterated his chance at redemption, before Sam left Lucifer rise and walk among the earth. How could that be forgiven? How could that be overlooked? How could he still call Sam his brother when he had done something to heinous? But how could he not?
If he had to be completely honest with himself, Dean would have to conclude that Sam didn't know that killing Lilith would unleash consequences this severe. Logically, Sam was still Sam. Misguided and paving the road directly to hell with his good intentions, but underneath all of the vengeance and mistakes was the snot-nosed little twerp that he had spent the majority of his life caring for and worrying about. It was so hard to think logically, though, when he was looking over his shoulder for demons and Lucifer. More than anything, he wanted to pull his wreck of a brother out of the car and give him that beatdown he was promised. He wanted to hurt Sam the way that Sam's actions had hurt him. He wanted to punish Sam for the way things had turned out, for the mistakes that had been made. He wanted Sam to suffer the same way he had been suffering since he had been raised from hell and placed back into hell-on-earth.
He ran his hand through his hair, then braced his hands against the trunk of the car, lowering his head with an exhausted sigh. Maybe their father had known, maybe this is what was meant when he was told he had to save Sam or kill Sam. He had assumed it was all about yellow eyes and the visions, but what if it was something more? Something Lucifer-sized? He was angry, sure, but not angry enough to take Sam out. He didn't think there would ever be a time where he could eliminate his baby brother. But he surely didn't want to sit next to him in the car, he surely didn't want to talk to him, to reassure him, to support him, to listen to apologies that literally meant nothing since the situation couldn't be changed no matter how sorry Sam was. He wanted to rage, to rant, to scream, to throw punches and swear. He wanted to take Sam by the arms and shake him until some sort of sense found its way into Sam's head, since apparently when he had gone to hell, so had Sam's brain cells.
He knew Sam was going to want to talk. He was going to want to apologize and explain himself. Underneath the apologies and the excuses would be the undercurrent of silent begging for support and reassurance. Dean was dreading that part; he had no reassurance to offer, he couldn't say that everything would be okay because he didn't think it would be. Who were they to take on Lucifer? How could two men, three including Bobby, fight a force that strong? They'd be stupid to try, squashed like ants before they could even blink an eye. They were fantastic hunters, but this was unprecedented and there was nothing to go on, no lore or mythology that would help shed some light on this situation. This hadn't happened before, there was no guidebook for shoving Lucifer back into his hole. He didn't want to face this. He didn't want to clean up Sam's mess. Why should he have to, when Sam had betrayed him and ignored his warnings every step of the way?
He exhaled slowly, running his fingers through his hair and forcing back the waves of desperation and despair. They would make it through this; they could make it through anything. Even if he couldn't trust Sam, even if every ounce of his soul hurt, even if they had no rules and no plan, they had to try. Sam owed the world that much, and Dean was a man of his word. He had told Sam that no matter what, they'd be brothers. And brothers watched out for each other, even when it seemed like there was no hope left. Who knows? Maybe there was no solution and they were just screwed, but even so, they were going to go down swinging. There was no other option.
Dean pushed away from the car, not wanting to waste any more time before getting back on the road. There was no way of knowing who was looking for them and how quickly their enemies would catch up. They needed to find Cas, talk to Bobby, come up with a game plan. Maybe not even in that particular order. The only thing he was certain of was that they couldn't be caught with their proverbial pants down in the middle of nowhere with no way to defend themselves and no plan of action.
He wasn't surprised to find Sam sitting silently in the passenger seat, not having moved an inch from where Dean had left him, and he couldn't help but look at the younger Winchester in concern. Perhaps their bond wasn't completely severed, or perhaps old habits just died hard, but he couldn't help but worry about Sam and the impact tonight's events would have on him. Sam could be badass, lethal and terrifying at times, but at the end of the day it was no secret that Sam was more fragile than Dean was himself. Not fragile in a way that he couldn't defend himself or do what needed to be done, but he held himself, typically, to a higher moral code and he took things more personally than most hunters they had come across. He knew that Sam must be devastated that things had turned out so badly. Just because he was angry with Sam, just because he felt like he had been stabbed in the back by the person he depended on the most, it didn't mean that he stopped caring about the kid. Perhaps a large part of the problem was that he cared too much, despite everything that had gone down between them. If it had been anyone else, they would have been dealt with much sooner and things wouldn't have gone this far. Sam, though, was his weakness. The things he was willing to do for his brother, even when they were out of sync and wandering separately through their own dark places, was terrifying. There were very few lines he wouldn't cross, very little that would possibly stand in his way. He had always thought Sam felt the same way, but apparently Dean wasn't as much of a priority to Sam as Sam was to Dean. Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe the only reason Sam had chosen Ruby over his own brother was because that codependence wasn't actually co-dependence as much as just dependence. Somehow, that thought hurt worse than the demon blood, Ruby or Lucifer ever could.
"We need to go back for the Impala." Dean said quietly, focusing on the job at hand instead of his brother. It was easier this way. There would be plenty of time to fix things between he and Sam later, if anything could be salvaged, but they needed to deal with the Lucifer situation first. 'The Lucifer situation'. Dean laughed dryly, without humor, at the irony of that label. As if Lucifer could be compared to a regular hunt, a rogue wendigo or an angry spirit. As if the whole world wasn't screwed and they were the only people who knew about it. They were completely in over their heads. Not for the first time in recent memory, he wished their dad was still around. If dad was around, none of this would have happened in the first place. Sam wouldn't have gone off the rails because he wouldn't have been alone, dad would have been there to ground him out...or perhaps dad would have killed him ages ago at the first sign of trouble with Azazel. Either way, the apocalypse wouldn't have started under John Winchester's watch.
Sam didn't respond for awhile, and by the time the younger man did speak, Dean wasn't quite sure what it was in reference to. "Are you going to do it there, then?"
"Do what?" Dean asked distractedly, not really following the conversation and not particularly wanting to talk to his younger brother. The pain, the anger, the betrayal was all still to raw and fresh to deal with a chick flick moment or a round of apologies that wouldn't mean jack shit in the grand scheme of things. Silent, freaking out Sam was painful to watch, but it sure beat rambling, regretful Sam that seemed to be simmering under the surface.
Sam was quiet again after Dean asked for clarification, and Dean glanced in his brother's direction. Sam's face was ashen, his entire body trembling slightly. He opened and shut his mouth several times, leaving Dean to wonder if Sam was having a nervous breakdown, if he was going to start hurling blood again or if he just didn't know what to say. The silence stretched on for several minutes, and Dean turned his attention back to the road.
"Kill me."
Dean jerked the wheel to the right, the car on the shoulder and in park before Sam could even continue speaking. He turned to face his brother with an incredulous look, certain that his pure shock was reflected on his face. "Excuse me?"
"You know, kill me." Sam said quietly, looking anywhere but at Dean's face. His hands were twisted in the hem of his shirt, reminding Dean of a time when Sam was much younger, way more innocent and worried over something out of his control. Dean continued to stare at the taller man in surprise, waiting for elaboration and trying to be sure he heard correctly.
After a few moments had passed and Sam did not speak, Dean was certain he was going to get nowhere further without pressing for the information. "Kill you?" he asked sharply, the words sounding acidic and vile coming off of his tongue. Even though Sam had metaphorically ripped his heart out and stabbed him in the back, there wasn't a single ounce of him that would ever consider killing the kid he had been protecting for his whole life. "Why the hell would I do that?"
"You know why." Sam mumbled. He was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat and looked away, staring out the window into the darkness, "You should really do it now. I haven't seen a car in ages and there would be no witnesses."
"Why the hell would I kill you?" Dean repeated, grabbing Sam's shirt and roughly shaking the younger man when Sam didn't respond immediately, "Damn it, Sam! Talk to me!"
"I'm a monster. A freak. A vampire." Sam replied, his voice level and flat, "You couldn't save me. You have to kill me."
"Like hell I will!" Dean snapped, giving Sam's sleeve one hard yank to try and draw his brother's attention away from the window. This time, Sam did turn back towards Dean, though his eyes were still downcast and purposefully avoiding, "Listen to me, Sam, and listen up good. You did this. This is your mess. You broke the last seal, you slummed around with a demon and trusted her over your own family. Over those who actually loved you. And you were wrong, yes, and you made some mistakes. Some major mistakes. The biggest mistakes you could possibly make. You made a mess and you're going to clean it up. You're going to get Lucifer back into the pit or you're going to die trying; and dying isn't an option, Sam. Dying is never an option. Now put your damn head on straight and start using that enormous brain of yours for once in the last friggin' year!"
"But you said…" Sam trailed off, finally meeting Dean's gaze. Dean wasn't too surprised to see wetness glistening in his brother's eyes, and the urge to fix the situation was just as strong now as when Sam gave him that same look at age six.
"What did I say? I never once said I'd kill you, Sam. I would never."
"You said that dad told you that you'd have to save me or kill me, and you're done trying to save me."
"I'm never going to be done trying to save you." Dean retorted instantly, and after speaking the words he realized that was completely true. It didn't matter what Sam did, who he left free from hell and who he chose to ally with and ignore, he didn't have it in him to cut Sam out. "You're my brother, Sam. Family doesn't quit on each other."
Sam was silent, and Dean pressed on further, "When did I supposedly say this?"
"In the voicemail." Sam responded quietly, rubbing his hands against his eyes before letting them fall to his lap, fidgeting slightly, which told Dean that his little brother was nervous and possibly not even believing what he was saying.
The voicemail? Dean tried to remember exactly what he had said, but he couldn't remember the exact wording. He was certain, though, that he had not said anything that could be construed as a death threat. "My voicemail said I owed you a beatdown, but that we were family and nothing would change that."
"No, it didn't." Sam replied hotly, his temper flaring up instantly in a way that only Sam could do, his eyes narrowing accusingly, "You said I was a monster! A bloodsucking freak! You said there was no going back, you were done-"
"That's not what I said!" Dean shouted, needing to drown out Sam's voice because he couldn't stand to hear the words that were spilling forth from his younger brother. He felt even more betrayed by the idea that Sam could ever believe he'd say something like that after all they'd been through. "Sam, listen to me because I'm only going to say this once. You aren't a monster. You're a person, a person who has made...a lot...of mistakes. But you're my brother, and that will never change. Do you understand me?"
"But…"
"Do you understand me?!" Dean repeated, raising his voice and slamming his hand into the steering wheel, "How could you think, even for a minute, that I would actually say those things to you?"
Sam remained silent, and Dean shook his head sadly. He knew things had gotten strained and distorted between them, but he didn't realize it had gotten quite this bad. Looking back, it was obvious, but the deterioration of their relationship had happened so gradually that the true span of it had been obscured. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and then held out his hand, "Give me your phone. It's still there, right? The message?"
Dean waited, wiggling his hand slightly as several moments passed without Sam moving at all. Finally, Sam pulled the phone out of his pocket and Dean dialed the number for voicemail, needing to hear the so-called message Sam had gotten from him. Sure enough, his voice came through the speaker, cold, hard and angry. "Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. You're a monster, Sam. A vampire. You're not you anymore and there's no going back."
Dean's stomach clenched in confusion, hatred and fury and he gripped the phone tightly in one hand, the other slamming into the steering wheel so hard that he was surprised the airbag wasn't triggered by the impact. He wanted to smash the phone into pieces, to throw it out the window and drive over it just to get rid of the deceitful device. He looked at Sam, who had shrank back a bit upon hearing the message again and Dean's subsequent outburst, and forced himself to calm down. No sense in acting like a lunatic in front of a person who thinks you're about to do him in, after all.
"First things first. I never left this message. I called you and left a message, but this was not it. The message I left was an apology, I told you we were family and nothing would change that. I would never leave this kind of message for you because I don't think you're a monster and I'm never going to be through trying to save you. I've been watching out for you my entire life, and that isn't going to stop just because you made one hell of a mistake." Dean stared at his brother, his solemn expression showing how serious he was, "Look, I'm pissed and I'm stressed and it's going to take some time, maybe a lot of time, to get past this. But don't ever think that I have it in me to kill you. I went to hell for you, I couldn't last a day without you. You never have to worry about me being the one to take you out."
He patted Sam's knee, perhaps a bit harder than necessary just to make it less of a chick-flick moment, and then added, "And we're not going to talk about this anymore. We have too much to do, we don't have time for sharing and caring and there's nothing to say anyway; you're sorry, and I know you are. Being sorry doesn't fix anything, so we need to move on."
Sam nodded, and Dean turned his attention back to the car, putting into drive and glancing over his shoulder to make sure there was no traffic before he pulled out. He glanced back at his brother, asking quietly, "We good?"
"Yeah, we're good."
Dean pulled out into the dark highway, feeling a bit more grounded now that they had addressed the situation, but unable to stop the nagging feeling of doubt buried deep in his brain that, despite his reassurances to the contrary, perhaps this wasn't as forgivable as he hoped.