Note: Final chapter babes! Thank you so much everyone who stuck with this fic! So sorry that it took me so long to finish, it was a struggle for me to end.
I must have fallen asleep at some point during the third Die Hard movie.
Because a loud guttural gasp shocked me back into reality.
"Sam?" I immediately called out, looking around the dark room, lit only by the television.
He wasn't curled in the bed next to me like he had been during the first two films.
The blanket that had been wrapped around him was in a ball on the floor, and the sight of it had me on my feet in a heartbeat.
"Sammy?" I called out, squinting as I tried to force my eyes to adjust to the lack of lighting.
I knew his gasp is what had woken me, so I had no idea where he had gone so quickly that I couldn't find him now.
I stumbled, clumsily feeling my way around my brother's bed, cursing when I stubbed my toe on a box.
I knew at some point I would have to discuss with Sam his apparent inability to move in to the damn bunker, but I would have to find the kid first.
"Freaking, bloody, sonuvabitch." I seethed, slapping the wall in search for the switch.
All my grumbling and fumbling finally paid off as the room flooded with light.
"Aah shit." I hooded my eyes from the blinding brightness and tripped over another box, that sent me tumbling forward. I reached out to stop myself, feeling something soft break my fall.
Sam's startled cry sounded through the small room, as I struggled to gain my feet and not land completely on top of him.
I pushed back, balancing myself in a squatted position.
My eyes had finally adjusted enough for me to clearly see the trembling form before me.
Sam was wedged into the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest, with his arms crossed over top of them. His face was hidden in his arms, making only his tangled brown hair visible.
"Sam? Dude, you alright? Did I hurt you?" I asked, my hands ghosting over my little brother, searching for any sign of injury.
I barely skimmed his arm, and Sam jerked back, slamming himself against the wall in an effort to get away from me.
My eyes grew wide in alarm, as I pulled my hands away.
Even in his attempt to back up, my brother had kept his face hidden. That frustrated me, because I knew every clue about what exactly was going on, would be hidden in his expression.
"Sam? Buddy? Can you tell me what's going on?" I questioned, my tone soft, the way it had been many times in the past couple days.
But it did nothing to ease my brother's fear, as he only tensed more at my simple inquiry.
"C'mon Sammy. Level with me here, man." I pleaded quietly.
The long limbs did not relax in the least, but after a moment I heard the sound of a rough voice.
"Don't say that."
Even in the gruff tone, the words were sharp and had a definite bite to them.
"Say what?" I inquired neutrally.
"Don't fuck with me. You know what."
My eyebrows raised at the harsh statement. Sam had never spoken to me with that kind of hate in his tone before.
"No, I really don't. You care to enlighten me, little brother?" It was a tad more difficult to keep myself sounding light this time, but I managed.
"You're not him!" The statement was nearly growled and it was accompanied by a loathing glare, making Sam come across as downright lethal.
I rocked back on my heels, startled by the irate response coming from the big-hearted, puppy-dog eyed kid I had raised.
However, the shock quickly gave way to a wave of understanding, as Sam's vocabulary finally registered in my mind.
"Sammy-
"Don't!"
I couldn't help but flinch at the volume that was added to the hate flowing out of the man before me.
"Sorry, sorry. Sam. Dude, I know you are confused right now, but I'm thinking you had a nightmare. And from the looks of the hair sticking to your forehead, you've probably got a fever to." I kept my hands out in surrender and my voice level, as I tried desperately to talk some sense into my little brother.
But he wasn't having it.
"Shut the hell up." He barked, his gaze constantly drifting over my shoulder, as if he didn't want to look directly at me for some reason.
"Buddy. Please. Please listen to me. You've been having a lot of nightmares lately, about the cage. But you're not there anymore Sammy- Sam, sorry. You're not there any more, Sam. You got out. I swear." I was having serious deja vu of a similar conversation from about a year ago, after my brother's wall crumbled. Thankfully, this time, he didn't have a firearm.
My brother was silent, staring past me at the wall, his expression impassive.
"Sam?" I prodded softly.
It was another minute or two before he reacted.
Sam's body seemed to deflate, going lax as he leaned back against the wall.
I was thrilled - for half a second - until those hazel eyes glanced up at me.
I didn't see any recognition or any relief, just bone-deep exhaustion and despair.
"Aren't you tired of this game?" He asked, his gaze dropping down to his knees.
I didn't think I would miss the anger, but the second I heard him sounding so beaten down, so broken...well I would have given anything to light the hate-fire back in his eyes.
"What game, Sam?" I was practically whispering now.
My brother shook his head, turning away, but that didn't stop me from seeing his eyes fill with tears, or hearing his voice crack in anguish the next time he spoke.
"Can you please be someone else today?" He pleaded.
I was speechless, now knowing what to say to convince the kid, to bring him back to me.
"Please? You can be Dad, or ... Mom or... Jess."
My heart shattered at the tears that began to stream down Sam's face, as he looked at me, begging me.
I couldn't breathe for a moment, my hands shaking with hate for the bastard that did this to my little brother, that made the strongest person I knew, cry and plead for an end to the torment.
"Please just not him. Not Dean." Sam sobbed, his shoulders shaking as he fell apart right before my eyes.
He didn't know it was me.
He didn't know I was there.
He thought he was still in hell.
And I needed to get him out of there right fucking now.
"Alright you know what. I don't know what the fuck fake-me did to you. But I can guarantee you he didn't do this." I mumbled, moving to sit right next to my little brother, sliding my arm behind his suddenly rigid shoulders, and pulling him into me.
Sam didn't put up a fight, he wasn't resistant, but he remained tense; each of his muscles coiled as I tugged him into my chest.
"Please don't. Please, please don't." The mantra came out in desperate croaks, and it nearly killed me.
Tears escaped my eyes as I held my little brother, willing him to return to the present, to escape the torture and agony of hell.
"I don't know what that bastard did to you, Sammy. But I swear you are out now. You got out of that cage, and you are with me now. You are never going back there, ever. I won't let you." I swore vehemently, carding my hand through Sam's sweat soaked hair as I rubbed my hand up and down his back.
"Don't be Dean. Please, don't be Dean. I can't...just please."
Each desperate desperate wail was like a slice through my soul.
"I'm going to kill that sonuvabitch, Sammy. I'm going to find my way into the cage and I'm going to tear him to fucking pieces." I raged, my words violent, but hands gentle as I continued to sooth my little brother every way I knew how.
I felt Sam's body beginning to relax, and I feared the reason for it. I was hoping he was returning to reality, but I was nervous that he was just breaking, giving into the suffering.
I should have known better.
Sam didn't give in.
He shattered, and he hurt, and he fell apart sometimes, but he never gave in.
I felt him shifting, his face mashed into my collarbone as his one hand unclenched and splayed against my chest. Tentative fingers began travelling around, searching for something.
It hit me like a truck what it was Sam was trying to find, what it was he was looking to discover.
The amulet.
The gift I had been given from my kid brother.
The gift I had worn throughout my entire life.
The gift I had dropped thoughtlessly into the trash.
Because I was a fucking asshole.
"It's not there." I choked out; guilt, regret, and shame washing over me.
Sam's fingers froze, right where the golden charm should have been resting.
"I'm sorry, Sammy. It's not there." It was my turn to try and speak through and overwhelming amount of emotion.
The one thing that might have brought my little brother back to me.
The one thing that might have confirmed my identity.
And I threw it away.
"I'm so sorry." I rasped, tightening my hold on the young man, hoping to convey my apology through more than words.
Sam squirmed, his one hand - the one that wasn't on my chest - wiggling from my grip and sliding into his pocket. He kept it in there; his hand bunched up as though he were toying or holding onto something.
There was more silence, I held on to Sam like I was drowning and he was my life-line. I kept expecting him to pull away, the absence of the amulet confirming his fear that I wasn't who I claimed to be, but instead the kid melted against me.
"Dean?" He asked timidly.
My breath caught in my throat, that voice - though far more uncertain than usual - sounded more like my Sam than anything I had heard since waking.
"The one and only."
Sam flinched at the phrase and I immediately backtracked, realizing that apparently Lucifer had done too good a job at masquerading as me.
"Yeah Sammy, it's me." I promised, gently squeezing the back of his neck.
My brother lifted his head, his eyes finally locking onto mine. Gone was the hate and despair, in it's place was question, fear, and a light glimmer of hope.
That glimmer was all I needed.
"It's me. I swear to you it's me. The real me. You had a nightmare, kiddo, and I think your fever let it go to your head." I explained.
I watched as the confusion faded from his face, a clarity quickly taking its place.
Sam's eyes went wide as he pulled away from me. I reluctantly released him, keeping one hand on his arm, grounding him as he sat up.
My little brother looked around the room, scanning it, as though he was seeing it for the first time.
"Shit, Dean. I thought I was..." He faded off, not wanting to specify.
"I know, buddy." I placated.
"I'm sorry." He apologized, Looking back at me in pure sympathy.
Clearly I wasn't doing very well at hiding how freaked I had been.
"It's alright, Sam. It's not your fault." I assured him.
Sam shook his head in disagreement, but made no effort to continue the conversations, as he sagged back against the wall. He still had one hand in the pocket of his jeans when he drifted to the right, leaning a little against my shoulder, the contact seeming to relax him.
Sam was exhausted, and not just because he had managed to acquire only a few hours of sleep in the past couple nights. It was that, plus the nightmares, plus the weariness that just seemed to be embedded in the kid since he had started the trials.
Sometimes though, there were pros to that level of exhaustion. It often made Sam a little less guarded, therefor more likely to answer questions he would usually dodge away from.
"Do you remember what you dreamt about? Before you woke up and-
"Spazzed out."
"Forgot where you were." I corrected, always hating how hard Sam could be on himself.
"Hell." The younger man replied simply.
"No shit, care to be a little more specific?"
Apparently he didn't, because Sam remained stubbornly silent as he nervously picked at his pants.
"Was it something you haven't told me about yet? Something else that happened it that cage?" I prompted softly.
"It wasn't in the cage." He mumbled, not bothering to look up from the hole he was creating in the knee of his clothing.
"What?" I questioned, confused.
Sam took a deep breath, releasing it in a long sigh as his fingers stopped pulling threads from his pants and curled into a fist.
"It wasn't my hell I was dreaming about."
"What are you talking about?"
Sam paused, his knuckles rubbing lazily up and down his thigh.
"It was yours. My nightmare was about your hell, Dean, not mine." The gravelly admission was accompanied by two soulful puppy dog eyes; that were staring directly into mine. The degree of sympathy oozing out of them made me uncomfortable enough to turn away.
"Why my hell?" I questioned, staring aimlessly across the room, wishing my brother had hung at least one damn thing on the wall for me to look at.
"When I went back, for the second trial. It was your hell I went to, not mine." Sam explained.
I nodded.
There were a few more breaths of silence before my brother's raspy voice could be heard.
"I hated the thought of you being there. And I hated my memories of seeing you there." The last sentence was nearly a whisper, but it set alarms off in my brain.
My eyes snapped back to Sam.
"What do you mean seeing me there? When did you see me in hell?"
The younger man blanched at my inquiries, clearly he had revealed more than he had intended to.
"I...It's nothing, Dean. Just forget it." The comment was glazed with a flippant tone, but I could hear the underlying plea. I often caved to my little brother's pleas, but not this time, this time I needed answers.
"Come on, Sam. I thought we were through with all this secretive bullshit. You need to be straight with me. When did you see me in hell?"
My brother averted his gaze and chewed viciously on his bottom lip.
I regretted having to push the kid for answers, especially when he was so sick and just so damn vulnerable. But this wasn't just Sam hiding his hell, this was him hiding more than that, hiding something having to do with me.
If my brother had seen any of the awful things I had done down there. If he had seen the way I had ripped apart other souls; I didn't imagine I would ever be able to look him in the eye again. Sure, I had given Sam a vague description of my time in hell, and he hadn't ever held any of it against me. But if my little brother, the man I practically raised, had seen - with his own two eyes - the horrific things I had done, there would be no running from that shame.
"Was it Ruby? Did she show you? Or was it some sort of trick she taught you, letting you see-
"God, no. Dean, it was nothing like that. I would have told you if it was." Sam declared.
I believed him, the earnest, shocked expression, being more than enough to convince me.
"Than what?" I questioned, my patience wavering, but my voice holding steady and calm.
"Lucifer showed me. While I was in the cage. I don't even know if it was real...it probably wasn't...nothing there really was I guess, but it all seemed way too real." Sam's voice was raspy and haunted, the way it always was when he spoke of the cage and the traumatic events that had occurred within it.
"What would he show you?" I inquired quietly.
Sam's jaw clenched and he sucked in a large gulp of air before replying.
"He told me that you made a deal to get me out. That one of the demons had tricked you, and that you sold your soul for me...again."
The shaggy head shook from side to side.
"It was stupid, and I refused to buy it...so he showed me." Sam's speech faded with every word, I was forced to lean in closer just to be able to hear the next sentence.
"The first time you were just sitting in the cell. I tried to speak to you but he wouldn't let me. He said as long as I didn't scream, he would be sure that you remained there, untouched. And then, the second after I agreed...he was...he..."
Sam inhaled a shaky breath, finally pulling his hand from his pocket and staring at his fingers as he fiddled with them.
"He started tearing my fingernails off one by one. Once that didn't work, he began snapping the bones in my fingers. Then he moved onto my toes. Next came my arms, and my legs. Then my ribs...and my spine." Sam choked out, his hands shaking as his body tensed.
I physically flinched at the confession, convulsively swallowing down the bile that was travelling up my esophagus. The visual images assaulting my mind made me sick, and what was worse, was that I knew they weren't nearly as bad as what had actually happened.
"I tried so damn hard not to scream. I swear to you, Dean, I tried so hard...but it just - fuck- it hurt so much. And it was still pretty early on, I hadn't gotten used to the pain yet...but I promise you, I tried so hard." He insisted, wide eyes staring over at me, begging me to believe him. To believe that he tried.
"I know you did, Sammy." I whispered, wanting to say so much more, but just needing my little brother to know that I believed him.
"But I screamed. I couldn't help it. Because you...you can't pass out in hell. The pain never leads to darkness, it just leads to more pain."
I nodded, remembering that fact all too clearly.
"And every time I screamed, he would smile and tell me they were hurting you. He would show me. He'd made me watch you being...being beaten and ripped apart."
Sam's voice broke, his body shaking as he struggled to hold back the hiccupping sobs, some of which managed to escape.
I felt my heart clench, my chest feeling tight as I fought to contain my own sorrow, and swallow down the huge lump in my throat.
"And I knew it was my fault. I tried so hard, but I always screamed. And they hurt you. And I'm so sorry Dean." Sam finished with a hushed, broken tone. My brother's head dropped, chin touching his chest, his hands trembling as he sniffed and rubbed at his eyes.
I felt like I couldn't breathe. The mere thought of Sam suffering so much, and being so disappointed in himself, thinking it was his fault for not being able to do the impossible.
I swiped at my eyes and cleared my throat, before firmly gripping Sam's chin and forcing his head up to look at me.
"Don't you dare even think that." I nearly growled, forcing myself to stare directly into those tormented hazel eyes.
"It wasn't me-
"But I wasn't sure. And what if it-
"It wasn't me-
"But-
"But even if it had been. It would not have been your fault, Sam."
My brother was already shaking his head, as much as he could with me still holding onto his chin.
"If I had really been in hell. There is nothing you could have possibly done that would have saved me."
Sam frowned, his eyes filling again.
I stared steadily, needing him to believe every word I was about to say.
"That asshole was messing with you, little brother. He had you trapped in that cage and he wanted to cause you pain anyway he could. He was screwing with your head, and even if you hadn't have screamed, he still would have forced you to watch me get hurt. Because he knew that would hurt you in a way that the physical pain never could."
"But if it had been you, Dean. I would have-
"I know you, Sammy. I know that you did everything possible to protect me, because you're a stubborn little bitch." I added, my voice filled with nothing but fondness.
The young man's smirk was small, but it was still present.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Nothing. At all." I announced, loud and clear.
Sam may have gotten a full ride to Stanford years ago. He may have even been the smartest man I knew.
But the kid could sure be a dunce, and often needed the most basic facts spelled out for him.
"You got it?" I asked, my hand moving from Sam's chin to rest on the back of his neck, squeezing gently.
The younger man nodded, as I thumbed away the few tears that slid down his cheeks in the process.
I wasn't surprised when he leaned towards me, and I pulled him into my arms without a second of thought.
He pressed his face against my collarbone, his hair tickling my chin, as his shaky hands fought for purchase on my back.
I just held him tight, feeling his heart thud against my chest and pressing my face into his hair, not caring about the slight stench of perspiration; because it was all just a reminder of the fact that my little brother was alive.
A reminder that no matter what happened to him in that fucking cage, he was here now, and everything else would be okay.
I would make it okay.
And in order to do that, I needed to be positive that Sam wasn't carrying any other guilt for what happened in that cage. I also needed to know what other ways the devil had used me to cause my kid pain.
I already knew he had used my voice and my nickname for my little brother, and now I knew that he used me as a tool play on Sammy's guild.
I needed to know what else he did.
Because using me to hurt Sam was just so fucking unacceptable.
I gave my brother - and myself - a few more moments to gain control, before I spoke again.
"Sammy." I called out softly, feeling his shaking sobs begin to taper off.
"Yeah?" He answered, sounding so young, more so when he sniffled against my shirt.
I instinctively combed my fingers through his mess of hair.
"Were there any other times that bastard made you think I was there? Any other times he used me?"
I felt Sam tense at the questions, and my heart sank at the answer I knew that to be.
I pulled him back a little, feeling his fingers grip on harder to my shirt, as though he were afraid I would leave him.
Pfft. As if that would ever happen.
I allowed him to cling as I swiped the hair from his face, satisfied that the kid's fever seemed to be dropping.
I hated the damn trials.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. One thing at a time.
"When, Sam? When else to that dickbag use my face to mess with you?" I queried, sounding both stern and soft at the same time; a combination I had mastered many years ago when getting Sam to tell me what the school-yard bullies had done to him, or what him and Dad had been fighting about, or where else he had been hurt during our face-off with the monster of the week, and on a countless number of other occasions.
My brother's gaze, shifted around briefly before landing back on me.
"A lot. All the time. I can't count how many times." He admitted.
I gritted my teeth at that. I had imagined as much, but hated knowing it was true.
"He used Mom and Dad to. And Jess." He continued, shuttering with each treasured family member. Each one had been used to cause him agony in the cage, which likely tarnished my little brother's memories of all of them, memories he had held sacred in his mind.
Because it wasn't bad enough that Sam only had fucking memories of everyone he had ever loved.
Those memories of Mom, Dad, and Jess were all he had to hold on to, because each person had been ripped away from him.
And now they were stained.
And it was all the devil's fault.
One more reason to tear that bastard to pieces, as if I needed another damn reason.
"Don't be so angry, Dean. It hardly ever worked. Maybe just the first time...at least with them." Sam explained.
I raised my eyebrows at that, unsure as to what he was getting at.
"I figured he was screwing with me the first time he tried to use Mom and Jess, that didn't mean he never tried again, but I did my best to ignore him. I thought the second time he pretended to be Dad that something wasn't right, I couldn't peg it, but something; so I ignored the rest of his attempts. With you...well it was different with you." Sam stated, sounding more tired and reflective than emotional and haunted now.
"Why was it different?" I asked, afraid to know, but needing to nonetheless.
"Part of it was because I wanted to believe it was really you. He would always pretend to be you coming to save me...and I guess part of me just wanted so desperately to be saved, that I trusted you, regardless of reason." The young man elaborated.
"What was the other part?" I inquired, hating how long Sam had been in that cage before he was pulled out. Hating myself for how long I left him there; left him there hoping I would show up.
My bitter thought process was stalled by the small, sad smile that played on Sam's lips.
"The other part was just me always believing it was you. Even when he wouldn't play you right, even when I knew something was off...because I could always tell that something was off, but I just - I could never ignore you. It's just not the way I was raised."
I cursed the lump that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my throat, and smirked softly at my brother.
"Damn straight." I said, trying to ignore the gravelly sound to my voice as I fondly ruffled Sam's hair.
The younger man huffed, his dimples showing as he made a lame attempt of ducking from my reach.
A thought struck me, and was falling from my mouth before I even finished considering it.
"How did you know it was me? Just awhile ago? How did you know you weren't still in hell?"
Sam's gaze grew distant, and his eyes fell to stare down at my chest.
"He always had you wearing the amulet in hell." He whispered, his long thin fingers grazing against my shirt where the charm should have been resting.
My eyes filled instantly at that, and I moved my face away, viciously clenching my jaw as I silently hated on my own stupid actions.
"I don't know if he just didn't know you didn't wear it anymore, or if he just knew it would hurt me more if I saw you with it on...maybe he thought I would be more inclined to believe you, just out of hope." Sam's musing seemed detached, but his stare and touch never moved from that one area on my chest.
Even in my self-loathing fury, I didn't fail to notice Sam's other hand releasing the back of my shirt and sliding swiftly back into his pocket.
I wondered if perhaps what he was so drawn to happened to be the amulet. A part of me had always hoped that Sam had picked it out of the trash, all those years ago. It was that same part of me that was currently hoping he had kept it all that time, and it laid now safely in his pocket.
False hope. That's what it was.
I couldn't ever expect Sam to bother keeping that ugly little charm over the years. I couldn't assume that it still offered him any degree of comfort, not after I had tossed it away so carelessly. I couldn't imagine that the kid would hold onto it for all this time, and I couldn't believe that he would ever return it to me.
I didn't deserve it.
Not after what I had done.
But I still had hope for all of that, regardless of how stupid it was.
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
My brother's gaze instantly jumped up to meet mine, his hand falling from my chest and gripping my arm instead, his other hand sliding out of his pocket to do the same.
"It's okay, Dean. Really."
It wasn't. Not by a long shot.
But Sam's open and honest gaze had me inclined to let it go...for now.
Besides, I felt as though there had been enough sharing and caring for one night.
My brother shivered, and I frowned at the cool feeling of his skin as I touched his forehead.
"Damn, kid. Cold to hot and back to cold again. Pick a freakin temperature." I muttered, clearing my throat of the lingering emotion as I stretched out and snagged the blanket bunched on the floor - the one from my bed- wrapping it around the thin trembling man.
"Thanks." Sam said, his voice conveying the fact that he was expressing his appreciation for more than just the blanket.
"That's what big brothers are for." I answered simply, meaning every word.
A genuine Sammy Winchester smile finally made an appearance, making the kid look nearly his own age as the haunted memories faded from his expression.
His eyes still held a shadow. I imagined they always would.
One of hell's many gifts.
"Can we get off the floor now? Or were you planning on spending the night down here?" I questioned, trying for flippancy.
Sam accepted it with a smirk, more than willing to move past the memories and emotion.
"Good. Let's get your gangly ass to bed."
My brother snickered as I helped pull him up off the floor.
I shoved an unpacked duffel bag out of the way with my foot as I held Sammy steady on the way to his bed.
"And after you get some solid rest, we are having a serious talk about your refusal to unpack all this shit." I mumbled.
Sam actually rolled his eyes at that one, the sight of which had never made me more content.
It was good to have the kid back. He wasn't unscathed, he was sick, and god knew he was still hurting in a countless number of ways, but he was still Sam.
He was still my little brother.
And nothing was going to change that, not the trials, not hell, and not the devil himself.
Because Sam was good, regardless of the demon blood and all the shit he had been through, he was good straight through, down to his very core.
And even though just about everything had tried, nothing had tainted Sam.
He was still good, selfless, and kind.
He was - with the addition of several feet - still the young boy I had raised.
He was untouchable.
And I would do everything possible to keep him that way.
I pulled the second blanket up over Sam, and went to move around him, but the grip on my wrist stopped my movement.
I looked down at my little brother, inwardly wincing at the dark circles I could see under his eyes and the flush of his cheeks.
"What is it, buddy?" I questioned, smoothing his bangs to the side and leaving my palm to rest on his forehead.
"Stay?" He asked. Sleep clearly pulling at him as his eyes drooped, being horizontal obviously reminding him just how exhausted he was.
"Where else would I be?" I asked.
Sam wasn't of the mindset for rhetorical questions, and proceeded to stare curiously up at me.
I chuckled softly.
"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy." I promised, moving my hand from his forehead to his chest and patting it reassuringly.
My little brother managed a partial grin, his thin fingers squeezing around my wrist before releasing.
His lazy gaze followed me as I made my way around the bed and stretched out onto the other side.
The second I was laying comfortably, the familiar grip returned, and I found my wrist being tugged against Sam's chest.
He paid no mind to my exasperated huff and simply wiggled a little closer, so his forehead was pressed against my shoulder.
"You always make everything better De- you're always saving me." He declared in a slow exhale, his hazel eyes meeting mine, glowing with love and adoration, before slowly falling closed.
My eyes filled. My heart aching in ways I had forgotten were possible.
"I always will, Sammy." I promised, curling the arm that wasn't in my brother's hold around his chest.
I would protect Sam.
I would protect him from the nightmares.
I would protect him from the memories.
I would protect him from his own guilt complex.
I would protect him from the devil.
And I would protect him from the damn trials that were headed our way.
Because after all Sam had done for me, and after all he had done for the world, he deserved to be protected.
Besides, it wasn't like I could live without the kid anyways.
He was all I had.
He was all I wanted.
And he was all I ever needed.
The devil wasn't getting him; his mind wasn't trapping him; and the trials weren't stealing him from me.
Because he was my little brother.
He was my family.
He was my kid.
He was my Sammy.
And he always would be.
Anyone or anything that wanted to challenge that fact, would answer to me.
And I would teach them the same thing I had taught every bully, every human, every angel, every demon, and every monster that had ever dared to hurt my kid brother.
You mess with Sammy.
I rip your fucking lungs out.
The End
Note: Thanks so much for reading! I would love to know what you though, so please if you have a moment, could you maybe leave a comment/review? I would really appreciate your feedback, it would mean so much to me! Thanks again! - Sam