Sam was running down a path, chasing a werewolf, gun in hand, when Cas stumbled past him, pleading, "Sam, don't—" He turned away now, and there was a mirror beside him in the darkened brambles of the forest, in it a snarling doppleganger of his younger self, blood smeared about his mouth, muttering to him, "You don't know, now do you? You don't know what Dean is. Or what you're becoming—"
"Hey, Sam!" Dean's voice shattered the darkness, his eyes snapping open to let in the blinding sun of the desert morning as it poured in through the windshield of the Impala, which was currently parked on a pull-off on the side of a rural highway.
"Wh—"
"You were dreaming again. Talking in your sleep. Getting real annoying, man."
"Oh, uh, ok…." Sam trailed off.
"What time is it? I can't see the clock—"
"Oh, that. It's 9:00." Dean replied, moving the box of tapes from where they had been stacked, occluding Sam's view of the clock.
"Wait…but….how long have we been driving? Because….last I remember it was eight in the evening. Didn't we stop last night?" Sam asked, disorientation wrinkling his brow.
"Yeah, that's coz it was," Dean replied, shrugging nonchalantly as he stared out through the windshield.
"What, we drove all night? You need to stop and rest a little. I mean, we don't have to get anywhere that fast, do we?"
"Nah, I'm fine, man," Dean returned.
"You sure?" Sam pressed, concern filling his voice.
"Says the dude still getting over having his brains rattled by Djinn," Dean scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"I mean, either I've totally lost it, or you drove all night."
"Nah, you've not lost it. We did stop, at another truck stop for awhile. You were out cold so I figured just let you sleep, and I got a little shuteye myself."
"Oh….ok…."
"Don't bother with that," Dean muttered. "I'll get you something hot in a little bit when we find somewhere."
"Eh, whatever we have's fine. I'm starving," Sam replied, turning to reach into the box in the back seat that usually contained some form of road food.
What he found as he turned to reach made him shudder.
A mostly empty IV bag lay on the seat, its interior and the tubing which projected from it still stained orangeish yellow from the plasma of blood.
"Dean? I need to know, right now, what is this?" Sam held it up,
"It's blood."
"From?" Sam prodded, tone dead serious.
"A donor," Dean shrugged nonchalantly.
"Where the hell'd it go?"
"Vampire informant, old friend of Benny's. He needed some, so, I figured, what the heck? Snagged it from a bloodbank."
"I wish I could believe you," Sam said, voice grim, "But this has no markings on it. If this was red cross, they'd have at least a blood type on it, probably an expiration date too. So try again. Where the hell did this come from?"
"It came from me, alright?!" Dean snapped. "It was my blood, my blood, Sammy."
"Your blood? What for?" He frowned, shaking his head at the strange line of reasoning Dean was following.
"It was for you, jackass." He muttered grudgingly, his face falling from irritation to exasperation.
"But we don't have the same blood type—" Sam's expression changed slowly from puzzlement to one of anger. "Oh, my god….how have I been so stupid?" he mumbled slowly. "The dreams….the….oh, oh, …."
"What? Now don't you go freaking out on me—" Dean reprimanded, giving him a look.
"Freaking out? This is so far beyond freaking out. Those weren't just dreams, were they, Dean? They were real. There were no Djinn. That box I kept seeing…that was the Doctor, wasn't it? And these bruises and needle marks—they're not like what Djinn would do. They're like I was taking blood from myself—" He broke off for a moment, shaking his head.
"And the last time I did that, I was curing Crowley. So, please, tell me this isn't what I'm thinking it is, because I've had some pretty freaking awful dreams. Ones where you—" He choked on his words a little as he spoke, the dread at the growing realization forming a knot in his stomach.
"Where I'm a demon?" Dean interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact as he finished the thought for Sam.
"Yeah. But, how do you couldn't know that, except-" Sam asked, his voice shaking just a little as he inhaled through is nose, trying to steel himself for whatever came next.
"Well," Dean said slowly, looking down for a moment. "It's pretty simple."
He raised his gaze again, what Sam saw smashing through him like lightening.
"I'm a demon, Sammy." His eyes were the cold black of nothingness.
"Oh, no," Sam muttered, his eyes narrowing, burning with anger as he returned his brother's empty gaze. "I don't give a shit who the hell you are, but you better get the hell out of my brother, you disgusting—"
"No, dimwit," Dean muttered, blinking so that his eyes changed back to their usual stormy green. "I am a demon. It's just 100% me in here, OK? The Mark turned me, not Crowley. So you can chill the hell out about that. And by the way, I didn't totally appreciate the iron yesterday. I mean I'm high enough powered it doesn't do much, but really. I'd hoped I could hold off on this just a little longer."
"On what?" Sam's voice bit back, the raw edge of steel in it hazed with the hollow tone of betrayal.
"On this," Dean sighed. "I didn't want to do this until you were a little more stable."
"Do what?!" Sam shouted, his stiff limbs recoiling, instinctively searching for something, anything that he could use to fight. But there was nothing…
"Explain this. I knew you were gonna freak, and you really don't need to do that in your condition, so really, just chill the hell out."
"Wait, wait, back up," Sam spat the words, his head spinning. "You're a demon, but you're you and you're…."
"What, not going on the ultimate 24/7 murder spree?" Dean scoffed, making an, 'I can't even' face at Sam.
"Y—yeah…" Sam shuddered, shaking his head, tearing through the glove box which he had ripped open without even realizing it in his frantic search for a weapon.
"Well, I try. Really, you think I'm going to all this trouble to kill you or something?"
Sam didn't reply, just giving Dean a frightened look that said it for him 'Well, are you?'
"I'm not gonna kill you. I'm still me, dumbass. Maybe if your memory starts coming back a little more, you'll recall Crowley wanted me to kill you. But oh, what's this? You're still alive! Because I saved you."
"You mean—"
"Yes. I'm me. And no I wasn't gonna just let him get away with that, alright. See, and this's why I wanted to wait a while. Let you chill and get a little stronger before going there, but, the fact is, I need your cooperation. OK?"
"With what? I'm not making any deals—" Sam exhorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Damn it, Sammy! You won't listen. I'm not talking about deals. I don't expect anything from you, OK? Just shut up for a minute."
"No—no, Dean. I'm leaving—I'm—" He fumbled for the door handle, hands shaking.
"See, the thing is, you can't leave me," Dean said as he tilted his head to the side, smirking slightly.
"What?" Sam paused, the door creaking open.
"Have you noticed? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere. Besides, especially now, you're too weak. You wouldn't make it to the other side of the street without falling over. Go on, though, try to get up. It's not like I haven't scraped you up off the sidewalk before."
"No—no—" Sam shook his head. "I can't—I can't believe you did this-"
"Did what? Saved your ungrateful ass?"
"No, Dean! You're a freaking demon and you're—you're feeding me demon blood—you're—what, you're trying to bring back my powers—and—god—what the hell is going on? How the hell did we get here? Why don't you tell me, since I'm really…" Sam trailed off, swallowing hard as he looked Dean over. Outwardly, the man in the driver's seat had the same face, the same hands, the same everything of the brother he'd always depended on, except, now that was gone… He paused before continuing a moment, shaking his head as exhaustion and sorrow overwhelmed him. "I really don't understand."
"OK, that's fine," Dean murmured. "Just…chill a minute. Have some water, or something, before you make yourself sicker. I'll explain. " Dean grabbed a bottle from the cooler behind him in the back seat, holding it out to Sam, who shook his head, refusing to take it.
"Dude, what do you think I'm gonna poison you or something?" He snarked, rolling his eyes.
Sam 's reply was low, his voice empty. "Considering you've already been doing that with the blood, I really don't know what to think right now."
"Ugh, screw it. Screw it all," Dean spat the words, opening the water for himself, taking a few swallows before he began.
"OK, let's start at the beginning why don't we? I turned because of the Mark. You remember when I got that, right?"
"Yeah. I do," Sam said through gritted teeth, refusing to make eye contact.
"OK, so you know after that, Metatron killed me. I woke up in the bunker, left you a note and split. And, damn, man, I was doing great, finally getting my crap together, when you started tailing me, you and the help of that Time Monkey and his henchman."
"Time Lord," Sam corrected, glaring stubbornly out the window. "He's a Time Lord, and actually trustworthy, unlike you—"
"Yeah, you hate me, I get it. Anyways, Crowley captured you and your alien friends, and called me back down to meet him at that dump of a place he's using as a hideout. Tried to torture you, was getting into asking me to kill you—like that's ever gonna happen—" Dean scoffed at the suggestion.
"From where I'm sitting, that doesn't sound like an unreasonable question," Sam cut in, his sarcastic tone doing little to veil the underlying anxiety in his voice.
"Goddamn! Even if I was, why would I bother explaining it all before ganking you, huh? Anyways, after that, your Time Monkey burst back in and shot me. Just five more seconds though, and Crowley wouldn'ta been bothering anyone anymore."
"Well, that's good to know," Sam scoffed, "If that's so, at least you're not in cahoots with Crowley."
"Hell no!" Dean exclaimed.
"That is, if you're telling the truth—"
"I am, dumbass! For some insane reason, after you got free, you went all weird about curing me. You bargained with Crowley to find out how, and let him go with the Blade as part of the deal-which was really freaking stupid, by the way—and you got the book he told you about."
"That's funny you say that like it's a bad thing," Sam returned, shaking his head. "Because if you really are you, you know that's nothing compared to what we've been through for each other."
"Yeah, well, you made a really crappy choice. Especially since I didn't need any of that 'cure' to start with. Oh, yeah, and the fact it damn near killed you."
"Killed me?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean for the first time in several minutes. His gaze was pinched, pained lines of concern contorting his forehead.
"Yeah. Apparently, the 'cure' for the Mark is the purified blood of the brother. And for some insane reason, you decided it was worth gambling your life on. Yknow, curing a demon, finishing the trials, killing yourself? Does that ring a bell? You were getting damn close to kicking it when ET came in, you went splat, and I talked him into letting me out so I could save you."
"And you did that how? By giving me your blood?" Sam asked, shaking his head.
"Yep. Reversed the 'purification' bullshit finishing the Trials was doing. End of story. You wake up right here, next to me, yesterday."
"If—if you're telling the truth, and that's a really big if," Sam exhorted, "How am I supposed to trust you? And—why? Why are you doing this?"
Dean groaned. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm still me? Uh, what about our code words, huh? Poughkeepsie. Means drop everything and get ready for all hell to break lose." He looked at Sam, his expression expectant, a small smile forming as he iterated their code.
"Doesn't mean anything," Sam shook his head. "You—if that's really you—told Crowley about it."
"Fine. Funky town. How would I know that it means one of us in deep shit? Oh, that's right, I wouldn't, unless I am who I say I am."
"I guess," Sam muttered, his voice shaking. "But I still can't take that chance. Even if you're somehow still you, you're a demon and—"
"And what? I'm me. And so what if I'm a demon. I mean, what exactly are you gonna say is wrong with it?"
"God, Dean! Everything—"
"No, really. What's wrong with it? I'm just doing what I've always done. Taking care of you, am I right? If I was some horrible monster, why would I be doing that?"
"I don't know. Demons…are…twisted. You have some sort of plan—I don't know what, but—"
"Oh, I see. Because I need some sorta screwed up ulterior motive. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sammy. I mean, I get it, I'm a demon, no emotions, no loyalty, no nothing. I couldn't possibly be doing this because it's me, and this is what we do." The sarcasm in his voice was biting.
"I don't—"
"No, I'm not finished!" Dean exclaimed, "I'm not asking you to do anything except give me a freaking chance. Hell, not even that, if that's too much to ask. Right now, believe it or not, I'm more worried about you than I am me. You're not strong enough to be doing this right now. And-that's what I really care about, man. So, if you want to leave when you're able to, fine. Just give it a couple weeks. You won't survive doing that right now. "
Sam frowned, not replying as he gazed out the door for a few long, quiet moments. Then when he moved, he grunted, as he tried to stand, his legs weak beneath him.
"God, Sammy!" Dean leaned across the seat toward Sam, grabbing for his shoulder.
Sam resisted, ducking away out the door, clinging to the top of the Impala as he struggled to maintain altitude.
"Please man, don't do this. What do you think's gonna happen if you just stay here with me?" Dean said, getting out of his seat, coming around the front of the car as he spoke.
"I don't know," Sam replied breathily, frowning.
"No, you don't, because the answer—" Dean broke off as Sam let out a pained groan, crumpling to his knees as he lost his hold on the roof of the car.
He bent down over Sam, staring calmly into his brother's terrified face as he spoke.
"Because the answer is one you don't want to believe. But it's true. Nothing's gonna happen to you." Dean grunted, grabbing Sam's arm so that he could use it to hoist him towards a semblance of a standing position.
Although he wanted to, Sam realized, he was too weak to resist. He tried to snatch his arm away, but the movement was feeble, clumsy. He shut his eyes as he let Dean guide him back into the seat, as if the meager resistance could blot out the reality of what was happening.
"Here I am, scooping your ungrateful ass up off the pavement, again. And, I'll have you know, you're gonna hafta have that much more blood to make up for wasting your strength this. Which is not what you want, is it?"
Sam shook, as he slumped in the seat, the anger that grew inside him so violent it threatened to steal the air from his lungs. "No," he spat the words. "No. Dean, you aren't this—"
"You're wrong, Sammy," Dean returned, slamming the door shut as he turned away to get back to the driver's seat. "I am a demon, and I am your brother. Like it or not. And you do not just get to leave."