"So, we're there?" Sam asked the Doctor, his tone uneasy.
"Yes, this is the materialization sequence." The Doctor assured him.
"Good," Sam nodded grimly. "You'll make sure Canton gets home OK? I have to cure him. Now…"
"If you're certain. And, if you need anything, here's my number," The Doctor replied, handing Sam a small blue card.
"Thanks," he said, managing a tired smile.
"Think nothing of it. In fact you know, I'd much rather be there—"
"No," Sam protested, shaking his head. "You have to take care of Canton. It's too dangerous to have any civilians around—"
"You do realize I'm no civilian, correct?" The Doctor asked, giving Sam a look with a smile that was so deep it looked almost sad in its intensity.
"Yeah, but Canton is. Point is, I'm the only one who can fix this…"
"Really? What do you have to do?" The Doctor asked.
"Not much, really. I just can't let anybody else near him while it goes on. Demons get extremely dangerous while they're being cured." Sam shook his head, staring at the floor.
"I'm old enough to tell when someone doesn't want my help, and I can tell when you're lying. But if this is it…if you do need anything, call. And let me help you get him out the door, at least. Won't do to have him getting free on you."
"Thanks," Sam nodded. He followed the Doctor past where Canton slouched at the table with an icepack on his forehead, to the chair where Dean sat.
"Come on." Sam said, severing the ziptie that secured Dean's handcuffs, taking hold of Dean's elbow, but he yanked away.
"Hands off," Dean griped, giving Sam a shove with his shoulder.
"Hey! Stop it," Sam admonished, but Dean jerked away, moving around the console to where the Doctor stood, blocking his exit.
Sam came closer but Dean landed a kick to his side that sent him sprawling to the floor, everything spinning as he struggled to get his breath back.
"I don't think you'd be doing this if you were yourself," The Doctor cautioned.
"Really?" Dean prodded, his expression incredulous. "I think I know exactly what I'm doing." He tried to shove past the Doctor, but didn't quite make it, the Doctor trying to block his way again.
"Get out of my way," Dean declared, trying again, this time managing to scramble behind him.
The Doctor reached to grab his elbow, but Dean wrenched free, throwing his arms over the Doctor's head, so that the handcuffs pulled at his throat.
"I told you to get out of the way," Dean growled in the Doctor's ear, pulling the cuffs tighter about the Time Lord's neck.
"Understood, then." The Doctor choked out, "But we only do this out of concern—"
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said quietly from where he came up behind his brother and the Time Lord.
"If you're sorry, you'll—" Dean began, but was cut off by the shattering bang that resonated through the console room.
Sam winced as he pulled the trigger, biting back tears, but forced the emotion back so that he could act. He's a demon, he rationalized. He looks and sounds like Dean, but he's a demon. He'll survive...he'll survive to be cured... Sam tried to assure himself, although at the moment the assurances might as well have been empty, as little comfort as they gave. He'd just shot Dean in the back...
He grabbed his brother by the shoulders as he stiffened on the spot, taking the weight from the Doctor's neck so that he wouldn't be strangled by Dean's weight. The red drip of blood was already soaking in the plaid of his shirt.
"I said-" Dean began, but Sam shook him, snapping.
"I know what you said! But you can't do this, you can't-"
"The same could be said for you shooting me!" Dean rebuffed.
"No. I'm not doing this!" Sam shouted, fumbling with the handcuff keys. He got one open, frowning at Dean. "Let go of him."
"Or what? Huh? You value this alien monkey that much?!"
"Shut up and behave," Sam growled, forcing Dean to comply. "You can't fight with the bullet in you, and you know that. So just...please, stop fighting this."
"Fine." Dean muttered, allowing Sam to pull him away from the Time Lord, although he couldn't move from the spot on his own. Sam lowered him to sit sprawled on the floor with a warning.
"Do not try anything. I will shoot you again if I have to."
Dean sneered back. "Bite me."
Sam didn't reply, he was too busy hovering over the Time Lord, who leaned against the side of the console, coughing.
"Are you OK?"
"Don't worry, Sam," The Doctor replied, his voice still hoarse, although he managed a wry smile. "I've done worse. Much worse. I'll be fine. Do whatever you have to. And know if you need me, I'm here."
"Thanks," Sam sighed. "I guess I'll get him out to the car. Which is, uh, going to be 'fun,' though, since he can't walk with the bullet in him. And he can't be trusted to behave with it out..."
...
…
It's not the same, Sam told himself, staring down the dark road as he drove, the silent form of Dean and his demon hunched passive-aggressive in the passenger's seat. It wasn't the same… Or at least, it doesn't have to be. I could do the purification process differently. The fact he has the Mark makes it different. The magic is different… The weight the potential variables carried, and what it would mean messing one up made him want to bury his face in his hands again, but he couldn't, not without losing control and wrecking the car, which Dean, the real Dean, would kill him for. The thought a wreck made him think of it all going away for good. Maybe it was possible, if Death would go through on the deal he'd tried to make last time, and keep him dead…maybe someday when it happened it wouldn't be so bad. Except right now, he had things to do, a cure to make. And if it worked… Dean would need his help to put things back together. If the cure worked…
He pushed the 'if' from his mind. It had to work. There was no other way…
….
The Doctor stood at the console, having left Canton to go to sleep in a bedroom on the other side of the Tardis. He flipped around monitor for the spectral energy recordings, curiosity getting the better of him as he considered that the energy readings might be convertible into a sort of video. After a few moments of toying with the settings of the readings, he had what he wanted; a sort of grainy, gray picture of the interior of the Tardis.
He set the timestamp to a half hour before, and watched what transpired, fast forwarding past the boring bits of him talking to Sam to watch Dean and Canton. He froze the image when he saw Canton begin to fall. Pausing, he frowned as he tried to zoom in, but whatever happened took place below the range of the input span of the device.
Sighing, the Doctor roved through the angles to look for one that might help explain it. Flipping through them, however, he stopped on an image of Sam holding the book, expression dire. He zoomed it in, the words he saw making him feel alive with the urgent crackle of emergency.
"Oh, don't do it Sam," he breathed, fumbling with the controls as he started her engine.
…
Sam tried not to let the words his brother's body spouted at him hold. He tried, but it didn't work. He found himself staring at the concrete floor of the dungeon room in the bunker, fighting not to let go of the little resolve he held. Dean had to be cured….
"You heard me. We all have demons. Especially you. I mean, I'm just finally owning it, yknow? I'm not running from it anymore. And you can either face that, or keep hiding. " Dean shrugged, his voice frank as he stared back up at his brother from the chair.
"I don't—" Sam began, but broke off at the distinctive screeching that shattered the air, an exasperated look twisting his features. Him again, he thought bitterly.
"Don't try anything," he warned, pointing to his brother with an angel blade as he turned away, making his way back across the dungeon toward the source of the sound, dropping the blade into a sheath on the wall as he walked.
In the hallway, he found it, the giant blue box, its door snapping open briskly as the tired-looking Time Lord stumbled out.
"What do you want?" He spat the words.
"Sam," The Doctor gushed, ignoring his harsh tone.
"Yeah?" He responded, the annoyance he felt showing plainly on his face and in his voice.
"Sam, if you're doing what I think you're doing, if this cure is like what you said would complete the Trials, then please, please, don't." The Doctor murmured, his eyes earnest.
"What? Cure my brother of being a monster? Really—" Sam's voice dripped derision.
"No, you've said it yourself. I saw for myself a bit of what the book said, and what it says sounds altogether too much like do what you said would kill you." The Doctor protested.
"Kill me? Since when are you an expert on the physics of magic and this universe?" Sam scoffed.
"And if you aren't concerned enough for yourself, consider it could quite possibly kill him, as well," The Doctor pressed, shaking his head. "I shudder to think, for the rest of your world, of the consequences -"
"Consequences? My brother is a demon! He's sitting there talking insanity—"
"What?" Dean shouted through the door. "That just maybe we're not all the scum of the earth? Funny, you're so busy to trying to 'save' me, you don't care if I want to be, or if I'll even survive the process!"
"Look! Can't you tell he's not thinking clearly? Dean's not himself right now, and this is not his choice to make. It's mine, and I want my brother back." Sam spoke earnestly, turning back to the Doctor, shuddering as he attempted to keep himself upright by hugging the wall.
"Sam, I'm afraid you don't seem to be willing to acknowledge—" The Doctor began, but was cut off.
"No. I know. I know Dean, I know what he would want and I know what our father would have wanted, and him, being a demon? Him trying to kill you? That is not it."
"You've got me there. But tell the truth, you're willing to die to save me?" Dean's voice was mocking, cutting through the chill of the air.
"If that's what it comes to, yeah." He nodded. "It's not going to happen like that. I read and reread the book, this ritual is distinct—"
"Oh, come on Sam. Cut the crap. You're just telling yourself that load of crap so you can do this. It's already starting, you're dying. Now, you may be the biggest damn pain in the ass I've ever encountered, but you're my brother. And I know you-" Dean began.
"Just…be quiet. You aren't talking your way out of this one—" Sam blurted the words between gasps for breath.
"Out of what? You killing yourself? Really, because that's such an awful freaking thing for a big brother to do," Dean snarked.
"You don't get it, Dean!" Sam sputtered.
"Get what? That I don't want you dead? Huh? You think I'm some horrible creature—you'll barely even look at me! But you're willing to die to save me? Well, I'm telling you, Sammy, I am not willing to let that happen—"
"Shut up," Sam admonished, stumbling towards his brother, where he gripped the arm of the chair to steady himself, producing the syringe with shaking hands which he plunged again into his brother's neck.
"Ack," Dean muttered, making a face as the blood was forced into his artery, his grimace falling into a stuporous, open-mouthed catatonia as the effects of the blood took hold, his head lolling off to the side momentarily as he lost consciousness.
"Come on, Dean, I know you can do it," Sam murmured weakly, coughing into his fist as he moved with great effort back to the table where he had the blood drawing equipment set up.
He turned startled at a noise, seeing with alarm that Dean had begun to convulse, his eyes which rolled back in their sockets, turning demonic black again, the chains at his wrists rattling mightily in the dank room.
Sam watched tearfully, staggering a step forward as a concerned Doctor took him by the shoulder.
"Sam! Sam—"
The words died in Sam's ears as the world faded away to darkness.