Hello my fellow readers! I have returned! I won't blab for long but I wanted to say I am so sorry it took me this long for another chapter, it has been one hell of a few months. I went through writers block, and then I would get some ideas in short bursts, then would be depleted of any imagination. I also couldn't quite find the right way to help move the story along. But I think I finally got there, and this is the last chapter! I am really proud of how this story has grown, it is my first multi-chapter story and the support I have had from all the readers was insane! Thank you so so much! Writing has been my way to destress, and the fact that so many people have read this story is mind blowing to me! I hope this chapter makes sense, and that you enjoy it!
Warnings: talks of suicide, panic attacks, language, normal spoilers. I don't own any of the characters just the plot :)
Chapter Eight
There were many ways Sam Winchester could have answered the question, "Hello Sammy. Miss me?" He could have come back with a snarky reply, a clever almost heroic comment, or he could have just kept his mouth shut and give a look of pure menace that often scared the shit out of monsters. Instead he started to see white dots in his vision, and his already clammy hands felt cold, the white dots morphing into a field of black consuming him, eyes rolling back into his head. As he hit the cold floor below him, feeling the vibrations ripple through him, his last thought was, I thought I was safe.
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Dean was leaning up against the door, listening to Castiels and Sam's conversation. He hadn't meant to start eavesdropping, but when he heard his name being mentioned it was kind of hard not too. So pulling himself up close to the door he tuned out any other noise and focused on a conversation he couldn't be a part of.
When he heard Castiel walk towards the door, he quickly scrambled away and tried not to act like a little kid who got caught in the act of stealing the cookies. As Castiel told Dean all of what Sam said, Dean went back through all the emotions. Did Sam really believe that he could hate him? He didn't know what was worse, having Sam think that could ever happen, or that out of all the horrors in their life this was Sam's greatest fear? Although knowing that he himself wasn't Sam's greatest fear, it didn't alleviate the guilt, shame and utter disgust that was hugging him so tight he couldn't breath. He had still said and done so many things that could make Sam think Dean hated him. And it dated all the way back to their first apocalypse. He was pulled from his thoughts when Castiel mentioned that Sam was hungry. Immediately Dean headed off towards the kitchen to make that kid a goddamn sandwich. He could at least do that without messing up.
In the kitchen Castiel stood awkwardly at the door while Dean slapped pieces of bread together, smothering them in what the angel thought was a little too much Mayo, but maybe that's just how the youngest Winchester liked it. He watched Dean grab some lettuce, tomatoes and such, and he swore there was a slight look of disgust as Dean piled on a healthy amount of well, healthy toppings. Dean did this sort of nod to himself when he seemed satisfied with the meal he created, then almost as if it was a second thought he grabbed a knife and cut the sandwich into two triangles. Picking up the plate of food he brushed past Cas and headed back down the hallway to Sam.
As Dean headed briskly down the hall, he slowed his pace down until he came to a halt when he heard a sound he was far too used to hearing. A gunshot. He could immediately feel the adrenaline start pumping through his veins, going to his brain, sharpening all his senses, the usual conflict of flight or fight arguing in his head, but he couldn't run, not when the source of the sound came from down the hall, where Sam was.
All thoughts left his mind other than Sam. Almost as if in slow motion the plate carrying Sam's sandwich fell from his hands, crashing onto the floor, the plate smashing everywhere, the sandwich splattered all over the floor. Before he could register what was happening his body was moving down the hall, hand reaching behind his back where his gun normally sits, but when he came up empty his blood ran cold. He started to run harder when the vivid memory of him laying his gun down on the bedside table in the med room began flashing over and over in his mind. He could hear Castiel's boots thudding on the ground behind him. Dean didn't know if wanted to hear another gunshot or not. If he heard another one it meant the first bullet missed its mark, but then it raised the next blood curling question of who or what is the gun being shot at. Last Dean knew of, Sam was alone in that room, but with his mind being completely fucked up, anything could have happened.
The minute Dean reached the door chest heaving, he reached for the doorknob, swearing when he found it locked. He started to bang on the door frantically, for once hating that they were reinforced,
"SAMMY! SAM? OPEN THE DOOR!" He stopped the banging and rested his head on the door, hands still on the doorknob, ears listening for any sound of moment,
"Sammy please," it was barely a whisper, even Castiel who was standing behind him nearly missed it,
"Open the door," it was a quiet begging plea.
Each passing second of silence picked away at Dean. He could feel a lump rise in his throat, he swallowed willing it to vanish. He removed his head from the door, and turned towards the angel,
"Open it," it was almost a growl,
"Dean you-" Castiel was cut off,
"Now," the angel recognize that voice, it was the -if- you- don't -do- what- I- say- things- will- get- very- bad- for- you, voice, Cas new better than to mess with Dean when he was like that, so stepping forward he raised his hand and called upon his power, blasting the door open.
Dean pushed past Cas to see Sam with his gun pointed at the wall, but when Sam saw Dean, his eyes widened, and he whispered
"Dean?"
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12 minutes earlier:
He was falling, at least that is what it felt like. He couldn't see anything, it was pitch black, but every now and then he would see a pair of red eyes, laughing at him, he knew that laugh. He knew it a little too well. It was a Malicious laugh, one he heard non stop in the cage. There were red pools of blood smeared across the black abyss, and as he fell the walls pressed closer and closer to him, shoving the blood towards him. He could smell it. Demon blood. He could feel all his senses pull him towards it…. The blood could be his last defense. Give him the surge of energy and power he needed to fight back. If he could just get a little bit, just a little he could teach not-Dean a lesson or too.
Dean
Castiel had told him the real Dean was here. Told him that real-Dean found him in the woods and carried him back to the bunker, saving his life. This Dean didn't want him dead. But taking even just a drop of this blood could prove otherwise. He knew the consequences that the real Dean gave him the first time he had demon blood. If the wrath of not- Dean was this bad, what would the wrath of the real- Dean be like? The idea of both Deans hating him had him pulling away from the smell. The walls started to slide away from him, taking the foul drug away, the red eyes narrowed but soon disappeared along with the abyss.
Sam woke with a gasp. Half sitting up he searched the room with frantic eyes.
Med room right
The memories of what happened started to wash over him. Filling in the gaps of amnesia. Pain, Med room, Real-Dean, Castiel, hungry, not-Dean. He froze at Not-Dean. He hated that the minute he thought of not-Dean everything got worse. He hated that he started to spiral into a panic attack, hated that he wanted to give up and die. He hated knowing that all this fear comes from a simple ghost sickness. He has bested everything the world has thrown at him, he has survived the imaginable. Yet he was being pulled to his grave from a ghost. Not how he thought he would end. There was a pit of frustration boiling inside of him, traveling from the depth of his stomach to his brain, making it go haywire. It felt like a thousand bats screeching, and flying inside of him. no matter what he did it just wouldn't go away. Like and itch you couldn't scratch. It was there taunting him, he felt like screaming and pulling his hair out, doing anything to stray attention from this feeling.
Then he remembered something that silenced the bats. He remembered Not-Dean holding a gun towards him, him smiling a smile that had no warmth. He recognized the gun, it was Deans. Which Dean he didn't know, but it didn't matter, he knew what the gun was for.
—
"I may only be a nightmare, but by the time I am done with you, you'll be the one pulling the trigger".
—
He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. The words were etched into his brain, repeating over and over again on a loop. He knew that if opened his eyes, Not-Dean would be there. Gun still in his hand, edging him to do it. Do one good thing in his life.
"Well if you want my opinion, I say do it"
Sam stiffened, his eyes still glued shut. He must have said it out loud, or maybe he didn't, not-Dean is technically a figment of his imagination so he could potentially hear his thoughts.
His already fried brain whined at having to think too hard about this. He knew he couldn't keep his eyes shut forever, he would have to face not-Dean at some point. Reaching down deep into his gut he found some form of courage/stupidness that forced him to open his eyes. Still on the floor Sam looked up and saw not-Dean towering over him. Smirking, holding the gun towards him. He felt so hopeless. He couldn't do anything, he was frozen on the ground, paralyzed by fear. He was a big grizzly bear in a trap, unable to fight his way out. A poor animal left to die. No one around when he breathes his last.
Not-Dean crouched down to his eyes level and nudged the gun at his hands. He chuckled lightly when the gun fell from his hands into Sam's.
"Atta boy Sammy!" He whispered menacingly.
Sam took a shaking breath in, and stood up, gripping the gun tightly, as his hands trembled. He ran his other hand through his hair, and looked at not-Dean, who had risen as well.
Not-Dean was watching his every move, eyeing him down, daring him to try something that defies his will. Sam knew this, and he very nearly succumbed to him, he started to raise the gun towards himself, and as he did memories of his life started to roll. Flashing one after the other. Some of them happy ones from his childhood, others of him and Jess, but soon his mind consisted of all the moments he and Dean spent together when they were reunited that fateful day Jess died. All the times Dean would make small sacrifices that he thought Sam didn't notice but he did, like let Sam take the first shower and use the hot water, let Sam pick where they would eat, even pick the music. Soon memories of Dean hugging him flashed over his eyes, the genuine Dean smile only Sam would see, one that was full of love and Dean. The times they would laugh over something stupid, all the inside jokes they made. The times when they would sit in a motel room, after a hunt, eating pizza and watching a god awful movie, but they didn't care because at least they were alive and together. Even the times when they got so mad at each other and lashed out, but the next day do little things to show they are sorry, to show that they didn't mean it. Then as the show of memories started to slow down, a small, very faint echo of a memory filtered through. It was jagged and broken but he remembered someone holding him, cradling him, whispering it's going to be ok. Then as the memory slipped out of his grasp, he recalled Castiel saying the real Dean found him half dead in woods, and carried him back to the bunker. At the time he didn't believe Cas, but if there was any chance the real Dean was here, then it was worth fighting. The memory wasn't much but it was enough to spark something inside of him to fight back.
His hand holding the gun stopped moving. He looked over at not-Dean who was still staring intensely at him. Sam looked him dead in the eye and aimed the gun at him,
"To you, my name is Sam" and he pulled the trigger.
Sam stood there shaking. Not-Dean had sort of glitched away, his eyes filled with menace and the message that Sam would regret his decision. He thought fighting back would make him feel better, fix the terror bubbling inside of him. But standing there he felt worse. Much worse. It was boarding on the line of pain. His legs trembled, his stomach lurched, and he felt like was going to pass out. There was a burning inside of his brain, he wanted to rip it out, scream at the top of his lungs. He needed it to stop. He wanted it all to be quiet, even if that meant he had to di-
Before he could finish that thought he heard banging on the Med room door. Frantic pounding, and yelling? Someone was yelling for him and pleading for him to open the door. It sounded raw and real, it sounded like, like Dean. Then it stopped, and Sam was left confused. That could have been another elaborate trick Not-Dean concocted, but then if Castiel was telling the truth, and the real Dean really was here, then maybe just maybe there was hope for him after all.
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Dean pushed past Cas to see Sam with his gun pointed at the wall, but when Sam saw Dean, his eyes widened, and he whispered
"Dean?"
"Sammy?" Dean returned the whisper. But seeing Sam alive and standing, hell even talking, lifted the boulder that was crushing him.
"What the fuck is going on? Why the hell are you holding my gun?" All the stress and worry that was pent up inside of him came out in that sentence, and in his Dean Winchester way, it of course came out angry. He realized his mistake when he saw Sam bite down on his jaw, and started to blink rapidly. the tell tale sign when he was trying not to cry.
"Just leave me alone", it came out broken but the message was clear. Sam turned the gun onto Dean and he threw his hands up in surrender.
"Woah Sam, come on man it's me"
"I'm not falling for it again," there was determination in Sam's voice but underneath it was fear. Dean looked at him confused,
"Fall for what?" Sam took a step back and looked ready to start screaming in frustration,
"Just stop! Stop, stop, STOP! Stop with the mind games, stop with the tricks! I just want it to stop." The last sentence came out as a half choked sob.
Dean felt hopeless as he watched Sam break down, he looked pale, he was still wearing the clothes Dean found him in, they were torn and bloodied. There was dried blood, and flaking mud in his hair, matting it down. There was sweat running down his temples which made him look sick and weak. All wounds had been healed thanks to Cas, but there was a very small faint, but readable outline of the word FREAK on his chest. Sam's whole body was trembling, and the hand that was holding the gun was the shakiest he had ever seen it. Dean doubted he would even be able to hit Dean if he pulled the trigger, but he wasn't willing to take that risk. He didn't like how desperate Sam was to make all of this stop. This time before speaking Dean took a breath and gained control of his emotions, another angry outbreak from him could have dire consequences.
"Ok Sam, I'll stop, but I need you to put the gun down. " Dean tried his hardest to be calm and gentle but also used his I-Know-Best big brother voice that usually worked on Sam.
Sam looked at him curiously, almost like he was trying to figure out what game he was playing. All it did was rip apart that never ending hole in his heart.
Sam didn't trust him.
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Castiel stood by the entrance to the med room, watching everything all unfold. He was beyond happy that Sam was alive, but knew that if Dean didn't act soon, this ghost sickness would take Sam's life. He felt almost like an outsider, a watcher. Hating what he was seeing but too involved to stop watching. He couldn't look away, he wanted so desperately to help, but he didn't know what he could do. But as he was watching Dean try to calm down Sam, he felt a light breeze, which on normal circumstances wouldn't have even crossed his mind as bizarre, but they were in a bunker, underground, where the wind wouldn't even be able to get in. He started to look around when he saw the glass on one of the beakers on a shelf in the Med room, be taken over by ice. Castiel knew what was about to happen, he called out to Dean to try and warn him, but as he did so the door that he had busted open slammed shut, trapping Castiel outside.
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Dean turned his head around when he heard Cas call out to him, and stood there in shock as the door to the hallway closed. He looked back at Sam who seemed to have been taken off guard by this too. Dean headed over to the door and tried to open it, which failed. Then he banged on the door and called out to the angle. There was a muffled reply,
"Dean?"
"Cas? What the hell happened?"
"Dean, it's Sam, the ghost sickness, you need to help him!" Dean looked back over at Sam, who had seemed to grow paler, and kind of wobbled on his feet. He breathed out and looked in shock when he could see his own breath. His hand slid back down to the door knob and jiggled it again, cursing when it seemed to be locked tight.
"Cas, can you open the door?" A few beats went by before a reply came,
"No, I can't get it open" Dean sighed, great just what we need. He looked back over at Sam when he heard a heavy thump. His eyes widened when he saw Sam was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out, and his eyes half shut. He had gone a ghostly pale, the only sign of life was his fingers slowly tightening on the gun.
"Cas, what time is it?" Dean asked with urgency, his eyeline still on his brother,
"Around 7:10pm" Dean cursed.
"Dean, what's wrong?"
Eyeline still on Sam he replied,
"Sam's supposed to die in 5 minutes."
—
Shit shit shit shit shit, Dean thought in a mantra. He ran over to Sam, and started gently shaking him. Checking for his pulse, he held his breath and closed his eyes, so he wouldn't mistake his own pounding pulse for Sam's. Dean knew he didn't have much time left, but 5 minutes? How was he supposed to fix this in 5 minutes? He opened his eyes when he felt Sam stir,
"Hey hey, Sammy? You in there buddy?"
Sam opened his eyes, and instead of relief and happiness in his eyes like normal, Dean is greeted, with gut-filled fear. Sam struggled against Dean's hold on him, trying to push him off.
"Sam, hey, Sam stop, I'm trying to help you!"
"N-no! I-I'm sorry, I-I'll do it, I-I swear just don't hurt me again please!" Sam whimpered. Dean sat half on top of Sam, trying to hold him down, and remove the gun from his hands, trying to ignore the feeble attempts of Sam trying to throw him off. Ignoring the pleading requests of Sam, feeling completely useless. For once in his life, he didn't have a plan, he didn't have a trick, no way to slither out of this situation. The clock was ticking and he was helpless.
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Sam could feel the heavy weight of Dean on him. He did know what Dean this was, the words and tone were of real-Dean, the Dean who cared about him, but the actions were of Not-Dean, ruthless and harsh. His mind couldn't understand what was going on, everything was happening so fast, he had no time to breath, process anything. His brain was working ten times faster than it should be, he could feel the fatigue in his body, but his brain refused to let up. He wanted to step out for a minute. Get out of his own skin, wash himself clean, just for one fucking minute have everyone calm the hell down. Let him take in the past 48 hours, figure things out, instead of rushing into the next life threatening problem. But instead he had someone on top of him, and all he could think about was that he fucked up. He shouldn't have tried to fight back against Not-Dean, he should have just done what he was told. It felt like a trick again. The one not-Dean played on him in the woods, pretending to be the real Dean. Once again he failed to do one simple task. He could solve everything, he could save hundreds from his future mistakes, he could save Dean the humiliation of having him as a brother. He started to scratch at Dean's hand, and pushed at him with his feet, to try and get him off. All that made Dean do was hold on tighter and fight more. If he could just get the gun he could-
"Sam what the fuck, give me the gun!"
Sam looked up at Dean, that sounded angry, very very angry. He was playing handsies with him over the gun. Sam was unsure why Dean wouldn't just let him have the gun, it was his idea anyway, to kill himself. And if he was being honest, Death seemed like the best option right now. He was so very tired, he felt like any minute now his brain and body would just say, "I'm done" and let him rest. He could feel himself going stir crazy, he would be willing to do anything to get the gun. As he thought that, he felt his whole body go rigid, he couldn't move. Partly out of fear, but there was something else too, like something was holding him down. Even Dean on top of him knew something was off, he could see Dean looking around, and in his moment of weakness released his hold on Sam just ever so slightly. Then that ridge feeling was gone, and his brain went back into overdrive, Sam snapped up hitting Dean on the way, knocking him down. Sam scrambled for the gun, and with shaky trembling hands he picked it up, he went to aim it at Dean, but then a chilling voice from behind paralyzed him.
"I think that's the wrong Dean, but by all means fire the gun"
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Dean watched Sam freeze. The idiot somehow got the gun, and Dean only had a few minutes left. The kid seemed very desperate to get the gun, and Dean had a idea what for. He didn't like it. He was about to reach for the gun again, when Sam slowly turned around, Dean watched confused. Then Sam let out this sound that sounded like a scared frightened little dog shaking from the cold wet rain begging to be saved from its misery. Dean did not like that sound. At all. He prayed that he would never have to hear that sound again. Dean couldn't see anything behind Sam, but whatever it was scared Sam badly, and Dean had an idea on what it was.
"Sammy? What are you seeing?" Sam turned back around to face him, his face painted in a look of sheer terror. His eyes bounced back and forth between Dean and whatever else he was seeing. He took a step towards Sam, but Sam aimed the gun at him,
"Stay there" he warned in a trembling voice. Dean stopped, but so did Sam. He just stood there with the gun in his hand aimed at Dean, his breathing thin and shallow, with his head cocked, and eyes misty, like he was listening to someone.
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"Stay there" he warned in a trembling voice.
Sam watched real-Dean stop. At least he thought it was real-Dean for not-Dean was behind him watching him. He couldn't tell who was who, but that didn't matter. He would find out in his last moments.
"Come on Sammy, we don't have all day. Do it" Sam cocked his head listening to Not-Dean. He had moved out from behind him and walked next to real-Dean. Sam blinked, and then both Deans blurred together. Both of them had this grim look, face pinched. They both had the same plaid checkered flannel on, Sam had gotten Dean when he freed him from being a demon. Hating the red colour, he went for something light and fun, it was a mix of beige, and blues. Dean had originally grumbled about the colours, but soon it became a regularly worn flannel. As Sam stared at both of them, gun aimed at one of the Deans, he slowly turned the gun around, and aimed it at his head once again. In that instance, one Dean smiled and the other Dean stood, eyes widened, with a look of terror in his eyes, his mouth frozen in an "o" shape, like the words were frozen in his throat.
Sam stood with a gun poised by his head quivering.
"I'm s-so s-sorry" he sobbed, not really sure who he was talking too, "I-I just want it t-to be over"
The Dean who had the look of terror on his face, took a step towards Sam,
"It's okay Sam, whatever it is, whatever you are seeing it's going to be ok," there was a slight wobble in this-Dean's voice . Sam looked at him incredulously.
"How can you say that?" Sam asked his voice cracking,
"How can you stand there after everything I have done to you, and tell me it's ok? I don't even know which one of you is real!"
This-Dean's face softened. Sam watched him look around and say, "Sammy, there is no one else in the room but me and you," Sam glared at him confused.
"What?" Sam breathed, he looked past this-Dean and pointed his free hand at the other-Dean, "You're there, and here! It doesn't make any sense. Why won't it just stop?" He wailed, his breath short and ragged. The fatigue taking a clear toll on his body. But looking into this-Dean's eyes he saw nothing but truth. He saw kindness, and fear, fear that wasn't of Sam, fear that was for Sam. And just for a moment, he believed him. Believed that things could be ok, and for that second of belief, he felt just a smidge calmer. His heart didn't beat so hard trying to support his weary body, his brain slowed down, and he had time to think, he felt better. This-Dean noticed the change in Sam's mood and felt it safe to take small steps toward him, hands reaching out for the gun. But as this-Dean moved forward the other-Dean came into view, and every little ounce of sacred peace Sam had just felt, flooded out of him. Every muscle, organ and cell in his body kicked started again putting him back into overdrive so quickly it hurt. Other-Dean just smiled crookedly, glee sparkling in his eyes.
"He's right you know, everything will be ok, but only once you pull the trigger," there was no emotion in his voice, but the message was clear. Sam didn't want to believe him, he wanted to listen to the Dean that had hope and truth in his eyes. But his mind didn't listen, all he could think about was his failures towards Dean, every time he lied, every time he betrayed Dean, hurt Dean, argued with him, cheated, tricked, used, fought and abused his trust, they all came rushing to him, the memories playing one by one, getting faster and faster making him dizzy and disoriented. And each memory he saw that Dean never truly forgave him, just accepted that he had to deal with him. His burden of a brother. All of this was doing nothing to help his already tortured brain. He felt his hand tightened around the gun, both Deans were silently watching him,
"That's it Sam," other-Dean said.
"Sammy no, please no," This-Dean said
"Do it,"
"I'm begging you don't,"
"Come on Sam,"
"Think about this for a moment,"
"What do you have left to live for?"
"I swear to God, if you pull that trigger,"
"You are nothing but a burden, a chore,"
"You can't do this do me, please,"
"You mean nothing to me"
"I can't do this without you Sam,"
"Do the world some good and rid yourself from it,"
Sam couldn't breathe, this was it, he couldn't take another second, he felt his finger slowly pull down on the trigger.
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Nononononononono oh god please, Dean stood helpless watching Sam have a fight in his head. A fight he couldn't aid him with, help him come out as the victor. Dean didn't know what to do to fix it, he knew that Sam's greatest fear is Him hating Sam, but he didn't know how to stop him thinking that.
—
"Quell the fear"
—
The angel's words were being thrown around in his head like a ping pong ball. Fast and furious, never stopping, leading Dean on a wild chase for which he will never win. Dean didn't know how to quell Sam's fear. how was he supposed to stop Sam from thinking he hated him, when every move he took pushed Sam closer and closer to ending his life.
"What do I need to do to stop this?" He cried. He got no reply. He was growing desperate, any second his baby brother was gone for good, no way for Dean to get him back. There was too much left for Dean to say, to fix between them. He never fully apologized for trying to kill him on multiple occasions, for lying to him and leaving him alone.
"Tell me how to stop this, and I'll do it!" He pleaded with Sam. Sam looked at him, finger enclosed around the trigger.
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"Tell me how to stop this and I'll do it!" Sam heard a
Dean plead. He looked over at him, out of either of the Deans, Sam concluded that this is most likely the real-Dean, if not then it's just not-Dean tricking him again. Once he considered that possibility, he didn't see why it would be real-Dean, why would the real flesh come for him? After everything he didn't deserve his forgiveness. Sam tightened his finger over the trigger,
"I-I hope one d-day y-you will forgive me," Sam sobbed, the tears streaming down his face, as he stared at the last thing he would see.
Sam saw real-not-Dean stare back at him, he was almost as shaky as Sam. himself, and Sam could see the franticness behind his eyes, but for once he didn't believe it. He was done with belief, there was nothing left to hope for, nothing to hold on to, he had no faith, no prayers left to pray,
"Forgive you for what Sammy?" Not-Real-Dean asked, Sam couldn't bring himself to respond. He hated that even as he was doing what not-Dean wanted, he was still being tricked into thinking he was doing wrong. That no matter what he did The way Dean breathed out his words, pain and worry dripping off his voice.
"Sammy tell me!" Not-Real-Dean cried, half shouting to try and get a rise out of Sam.
"For everything," Sam smiled sadly, as he went to pull the trigger, but froze when he heard Dean scream,
"I forgive you!"
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Everything seemed to go in slow-mo. The minute Sam said he hoped one day he could forgive him, to the second he screamed "I forgive you,". It happened without a thought, his mind raced to think of anything Sam could have possibly done to cause forgiveness needed. He fell upon a lot. Lucifer, Ruby, Purgatory, it kept going. Dean thought he had forgiven Sam for all of that, but clearly Sam didn't know. Then everything began to make sense. Sam said his biggest fear was Dean hating him, and if Sam thought Dean could ever hate him, then there is the possibility that Sam thinks any time Sam messed up royally, Dean never forgave him. And as he was watching his baby brother about to take his own life, Dean doesn't remember ever saying the words "I forgive you,". It was time that changed.
"You hear that Sam, I forgive you!" Dean declared,
"I forgive you for all the times you lied to me, all the times you pissed me off, all the times you released some stupid earth killing being, I forgive you for all of it! I know I have said some shit, and I thought we went over this in that church with the trails, but I will say it again, there is nothing I wouldn't do for you, and if you think I could ever hate you? Then I have done something wrong, I may get pissed at you, annoyed, but hate? It's out of the question. I need you to hear me ok, listen to me when I say, it's ok Sam, I forgive you!"
SPN SPN SPN
Sam started to cry harder, Dean forgave him. He didn't care if it was real-Dean or not-Dean, a Dean forgives him. He stood staring at this person who was supposed to be the one person who had his back. The one person who without fail always loved Sam, who would do anything for Sam, and Sam without a second thought would do the same, something bloomed inside of him. A small tiny flicker of light. It wasn't much but it was there. With a shuddering hand, he loosened his grip on the gun, and let it fall to the ground with a loud bang. Sam looked around and as he did he only saw one Dean. And this Dean was looking at him with love, with tears in his eyes, sighing with relief when the gun fell to the floor. And as Sam felt his legs give up, Dean was by his side gripping him tight, and they both sank to the floor, Dean running his hands through Sam's hair, crying laughing, while Sam just gripped him tight, burying his head in Dean's shoulder, taking up the familiar smell of alcohol, gun oil, and Dean.
And for the first time in the last 48 hours he no longer felt like ripping his skin off, he could think, wasn't paralyzed with utter sheer terror, he felt light and happy. He felt calm, he felt safe.
The clock had finally stopped ticking.
AHHH I DID IT! WOOOOO! (I know I kind of left Castiel hanging, but I didn't really know how to end it, so I went for bitter and sweet :)) Anywho, thank you so much for sticking with me throughout this journey, it was a wild one, but please let me know what you thought about this story, I would love to hear your thoughts! This community is absolutely wonderful, and I am so glad I found it! Love you guys!
-OnceUponaKitten