This was something that popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone. It was getting in the way of my new multi-chapter fic, which is about halfway done, so, in an effort to get back to that, I offer this small bit of angst. I felt the need to redeem Sam. *shrugs* What can I say.

One Step Over the Line

Sam let himself into the motel room quietly. He'd been surprised to see the lights still blazing between the drawn drapes at almost 3:00 AM, but had steeled himself, fearing Dean had waited up for him and dreading the possibility of a confrontation concerning his whereabouts for the better part of the evening. Of course, the fact that he felt guilty as hell was probably adding to his trepidation, but seeing how sad and lonely Jay had felt had ironically helped to put things in perspective for him.

He needed to end this war – by whatever means necessary – before it cost them everything.

He turned, sighing in relief at the sight of his sleeping brother. Whether it was relief that Dean was actually sleeping or that Sam would have a much welcomed reprieve from having to figure out how to explain to Dean just what he'd been doing – and with whom – wasn't clear, but he'd take what he could get at the moment.

Although Dean had seemingly understood what Ruby had done for him in the months of his absence, and had even grudgingly thanked her for helping, Sam knew that the older man was still wary of the demon's intentions. After all, she was a demon, and Dean had been subjected to all the word entailed in the pit. Sam knew he couldn't hope to understand the scope of pain and guilt that had been heaped upon his brother's already burdened shoulders, but the last thing he wanted to do was add to it. Keeping what he was doing from Dean, for as long as possible, was his only way of protecting his brother.

Of course, he doubted Dean would see it that way.

Quietly slipping out of his jacket, Sam frowned as he approached the bed, noting that his brother had fallen onto it fully clothed. Dean was lying on the bed furthest from the door, his back to Sam, his still booted feet drawn up onto the comforter leaving muddy tracks across the floral print. His coat was still covering him, and, Sam noted with concern, an empty bottle of whiskey was buried under a slack hand.

Sam took notice of the faint bar smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol that seemed to hover faintly over the bed, sighing heavily as he sat down slowly on the edge.

Dean's body dipped as the mattress sagged under Sam's weight, but he didn't wake and Sam quickly amended his assumption that his brother was simply asleep. Passed out was more like it.

Momentary anger was quickly replaced by guilt. Of course Dean had felt the Sam sense of culpability as Sam after their final confrontation with Jay in the bar. Then old man had professed to killing his 'brother'. How could that have not affected Dean? Sam had been too wrapped up in the need to find a way out of the mess that had become their lives, that he hadn't taken the time to notice that Dean had been hurt just as much as him. Maybe more.

"I don't know about you, but I could sure use a beer."

Sam swallowed hard as he turned to look at his brother. Dean had been asking for help the only way he knew how. He'd wanted to spend some time with Sam, wanted to know that they were still okay. And what had Sam done? Run out on him. Run straight to Ruby.

God, how fucked up was that?

As he focused on his brother, he noticed Dean's face contort into a slight frown and his body try to curl tighter into itself.

He was dreaming.

The frown became more pronounced, small lines appearing between his brows as his head began to turn against the pillow. Sam reached a hand out, clasping Dean's arm in a firm grip.

"Dean," he called softly, not wanting to startle his brother any more than necessary. "Hey, man. Wake up."

Dean came awake abruptly, rising half off the mattress, suddenly aware of the other presence in the room. After a few moments, his bleary eyes seemed to recognize Sam and he slowly sank back onto the mattress. "Sammy."

"Yeah, it's me. You were having a nightmare."

"'time is't?"

"Late," Sam responded. Or early. Whatever.

Dean nodded and seemed to settle. Sam removed his arm and shifted so that he was sitting sideways, one knee lying across the mattress, balanced by the other foot on the floor.

"m'sorry."

Sam frowned, wondering what the hell is brother could possibly have to be sorry for. "For what, Dean?"

"I screwed up."

Sam shook his head. It was obvious his brother was drunk. His words were slurred and Sam could tell by the ruddiness of his normally pale complexion that he'd probably downed the entire fifth that had previously filled the empty bottle under his hand, so he wasn't quite sure what to make of this confession.

"I couldn't save you, Sam'y. I tried… but I wasn't good 'nuff."

Sam's frown deepened as his guilt flared once again. He knew. Somehow, Dean knew. "Dean…" What could he say? This wasn't your fault? This was my choice? That despite the threats and warnings from honest to goodness angels, he'd still decided that what he was doing was the right thing? That what he could do was the way to save the world… to save them?

Dean would still blame himself. That was part of the reason he had lied before. That was part of the reason he had been prepared to lie again.

Sam knew his brother was damaged. Not just from Hell, but from the life he'd been forced into from the age of four. While Dean had always looked out for Sam, making sure he knew he wasn't alone, that he'd always have someone he could turn to, Sam had never stopped to consider who had done that for Dean.

Dad?

Dad had been gone more than he'd been around. Especially after Dean had gotten a little older and could be trusted to take care of things… take care of Sam. He'd always taken the blame when things went bad. Always shielding Sam from their father's disappointment. Sam could never repay his brother for everything he'd done for him. The only thing he could do was make sure he survived. And as far as he could see, killing Lillith and ending this war was the only way he could do that.

"Dean," he shifted forward, replacing a gentle hand on his brother's arm. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Dean's head moved slowly back and forth against the pillow. "It's okay, Sammy. I know I haf'ta go back. I d'serve it."

"Dean?" Sam's heart suddenly leaped into his throat. It wasn't like Dean to sound so… defeated. He knew the whiskey was lowering his brother's normal resistance to the crap they'd been dealt, but Sam was scared shitless at the possibility that Dean's indomitable spirit had finally been broken.

"I'm a monster, Sammy. I d'serve to go back."

No. Was that how Dean really saw himself? Sam knew he shouldn't be surprised. Dean always took the brunt of the responsibility for everything. Why would his nightmare in hell be any different? But what could he say? He hadn't been able to come up with anything when his brother was bleeding his emotions out in front of him. He'd only been able to be there for him. To let him know he wasn't alone.

And then he'd walked out on him tonight.

"Dean, you're not a monster. You're my brother."

Dean's eyes opened slowly, glassy green staring at Sam at half mast. "I don't want to go back."

Dean's soft whisper nearly toppled Sam. He opened his mouth to respond, but had to close it and swallow against the tightness suddenly threatening to strangle him. "No, Dean. You're never going back. I'm not gonna let you."

Dean stared, his eyes sliding in and out of focus, the need and outright fear shining from them like a beacon. "Promise?"

Sam had never seen his brother so vulnerable. He cursed the whiskey that had added to the already overbearing pressure that had been weighing the older man down ever since his return from the pit, but knew he was really to blame. Dean had hidden what he'd gone through, struggling more and more with the pretense that he was okay. But it was too much. Hell… it was more than anyone could bear.

How could Dean keep going – living day by day – holding back the nightmare of unimaginable torment? Sam wanted to end this war so that they could maybe live a life free of the evil that had marked them from before they were even born. But even if they could win, how could that erase what had happened? Dean could never forget. The nightmare would be lying behind closed eyes forever, waiting to attack whenever he lowered his defenses, slowly making it more and more impossible to hide behind the carefully constructed mask that Dean had built to protect himself since he was a kid.

How could anything make that better?

"I promise, Dean."

The words seemed to pacify the prone man for the moment, and he allowed his eyes to close, his breaths evening out as the alcohol in his bloodstream quickly stole consciousness from him. Sam breathed another sigh of relief as Dean's body relaxed into sleep.

With a final squeeze of his brother's arm, Sam turned and leaned over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

The End