Please note: This chapter contains direct quotes from the show from Season 4. All rights belong to the show and credit goes to the awesome writers, cast and crew.

Warnings: This chapter references torture.

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"I look inside myself and see my heart is black

I see my red door I must have it painted black

Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts

It's not easy facin' up, when your whole world is black"

(From Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones)

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The bunker was quiet, as Sam padded to the kitchen to refill his glass of water. He had taken to sleeping during the night again, moving down a level to avoid listening to Dean's nightly cries of pain. He could not listen and not do something to stop the suffering. Only their repeated history of doing what was supposedly best had stopped him from taking matters into his own hands. He now knew, it never led anywhere good. If he was to respect the wishes of his brother, he had had to remove himself from those noises.

The light flickered on and he filled the glass up. He closed the light again and wandered back the hallway towards the staircase to the lower level. He stopped in front of the cell keeping Dean. He looked at his watch. It was nearing the time of Dean's change. He knocked to see if Dean had settled in, to see if it was time to secure the door. When no answer came, he tried the door. It came open, revealing Dean sitting with his back against the wall, a slight sheen of sweat covering his face and the parts of his body visible through the threadbare blanket he had pulled around him.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at the glass in Sam's hand with envy. Sam looked down at the glass then offered it to Dean.

"Thanks."

"OK," Sam replied, feeling the old anger starting to swirl again. He turned to walk out, rather than repeat their current never-ending argument. His hand reaching for the door, when Dean in a small, foreign voice rasped "I remember hell."

"What?" Sam turned around in confusion, facing Dean again. Dean was looking down, appearing exhausted and small. Remembering the difficulty Dean had with looking at Sam when he revealed his old memories, Sam closed the door, leaving them both in darkness. He slid down to the floor, his back against the opposite wall to Dean.

"I never forgot." Dean continued speaking into the dark, small room. His voice so different to usual, Sam almost didn't recognise it as belonging to his brother.

The shock of the revelation made Sam crunch his teeth together and pull his fingers into tight fists to prevent speaking at first. He reeled in his initial response. This might be the only chance he would get. With no judgment in his voice he answered "Tell me."

At first, Dean stayed quiet. But Sam had learnt to wait, to be patient. Seconds ticked agonisingly slowly by.

"Down there. I don't know, time's different. It wasn't 4 months. It was more like 40 years."

The immensity of the statement made Sam's heart clench hard, his entire chest soon aching. He focused on his breathing to calm himself down. The conversation was barely started and already he felt like throwing up.

"They sliced and carved..." Dean paused before continuing, needing to store up the courage to continue, "and tore at me in ways you..." Again, his voice faltered.

Sam, knowing what the hesitancy meant, what it cost Dean to tell him, felt his heart break at the admission from Dean.

Sam could hear Dean swallowing before he continued again. "Until there was nothing left." Dean continued, his breathing now louder and faster.

"Then I would be made whole again, and it would start all over." Sam's breaking heart shattered into small pieces on hearing his worst fears confirmed, years and years of unending torture.

"And at the end of every day, they would make me an offer. To take me off the rack if I put souls on. And for thirty years I told them no." Dean's breath hitched and Sam could hear the quiet noises of Dean's crying. Sam's own silent tears started falling. He made no attempt to wipe them off his face.

"But then I couldn't do it any more, Sammy. God help me, I got off that rack."

Sam could barely stay still, so badly he wanted to move across the room and comfort his brother. But if he interfered now, Dean would stop. And he would not make Dean go through this conversation again. So Sam remained seated.

"I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls." Dean was crying and no longer attempting to hide it, the words barely legible over the strained breaths and warbled voice.

"So you see. There is no forgiving, there's no forgetting. There's no making it better. That's the truth."

A sheen of light crossed the room as the witch's curse finally lifted for good. Neither felt any elation at that point. Sam crawled over to his brother, gathered him in his arms and slowly rocked him until the crying stopped. It took a long time and Sam's body was aching with the strain of being hunched over hugging his brother. Yet, he revelled in it, to finally be able to offer comfort.

"It's your truth, Dean," Sam finally answered. "I forgive you. That's my truth".

The end.