"How could you do this to us again? Didn't you learn anything after Jessica? Remember what happened when we kept that puppy under the deck and didn't tell Dean? It died! When you keep secrets, bad things happen! They always do! Why do you keep ruining our life?"

"Why would you ever listen to me? I'm a demon, Sam, how stupid do you have to be? Were you really that helpless without big brother around to tell you what to do? Are you really that pathetic? Dean never wanted to trust me, and now you know how right he was, don't you? And the things you and I did together! Oh, you did things with me that would make Dean hate you forever, didn't you? And you'd deserve it."

"You were supposed to help me, Sam. I thought that was your job, saving people from monsters. Well, there was a monster inside of me, but you didn't save me! You told me you could, but you didn't! And then you just screwed me and got rid of me like I was nothing. Do you know what it feels like when someone puts a bullet in your brain? I do."

"You were never good enough, son, you know that, don't you? Dean was perfect, but you … you were a termite I had to drag around with me because Dean wouldn't let you go. That was his only weakness, Sammy. You. And it's going to get him killed one day. Then everything your mother and I sacrificed will be for nothing."

Sam jolts awake with an exaggerated gasp that makes his lungs feel like they're in a vacuum. For a few terrified seconds, he blinks frantically into obscurity and has no idea where he is. It's more than just dark in the room, it's that kind of thick velvety blackness that makes him feel like there isn't enough air. Ever since he was eight years old and found out about what's really 'out there' (as Dean puts it), Sam's always been uncomfortable when it's too dark. With all the moving around he's done in his life, he should be used to waking up in unfamiliar places. But he isn't used to it, at all. He hates not knowing where he is, and worse; not knowing where Dean is. But after a moment, his eyes begin to adjust and he remembers – Bobby's. The demon blood. And Dean is right where he's supposed to be, in bed beside him.

Sam leans in a little closer to listen to Dean breathing, the steady rhythm of it stilling the hysterical beating of his heart. Right then, Sam feels about eight years old again. And he wants so badly to snuggle into Dean's body and let his big brother's strong arms wrap him up in a cocoon of warmth and safety. But he doesn't. You're twenty-six, not eight, he reminds himself harshly. And besides, he has a fuzzy but strong feeling that Dean wouldn't let him cuddle right now. Dean was … he was really upset last night. Sam rubs his eyes as he attempts to remember why. It doesn't take long. The god damn demon blood. You idiot, he adds as an afterthought. Of course Dean was upset. Shit, Sam's lucky Dean is even still here.

But why is Dean here? By any logic, he should be sleeping in the other guest bedroom, or maybe on the couch downstairs. He should be as far away from Sam as he can get. Sam wouldn't have even been surprised if Dean had gone as far as to leave him here and get a room somewhere in town. But he didn't, and suddenly Sam realizes exactly what Dean's doing here. He wouldn't want Sam to wake up alone. So even though it probably sickens him to be so close to the little brother who's let him down in a million ways, once again Dean is sacrificing his own needs for Sam's. Really, it's a pretty amazing gesture and it should make Sam feel grateful, but it doesn't. It makes him feel like crap. It makes him feel sick.

It makes him wish the withdrawal had finished him off this time.

Sam gets gingerly out of the bed, his abused muscles more stiff than he'd yet realized, and makes his way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He isn't sure what time it is, but he can see weak sunlight filtering through the windows and he hears Bobby moving around downstairs, so it must be early morning. He squints as he flicks on the bright lights above the mirror, and then cringes when he catches a glimpse of himself. He looks exhausted, even though he just slept all night. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is a mess, although the latter isn't necessarily surprising. His hair is always a mess in the morning; sleep-matted and a little oily. Dean teases him about it, but can never seem to keep his fingers away so Sam knows that in truth, Dean loves it.

Dean …

Shit. Sam sinks down to sit on the edge of the tub and drops his face into his hands. Dean is going to be so mad at him when he wakes up. Sam knows it's coming, but that won't make it suck any less. The stupidly ironic thing about this whole situation is that Dean was the reason Sam had started sucking back demon blood in the first place. It wasn't Dean's fault, of course, Sam would never be so horrible as to blame his brother for Sam's own unforgivable mistakes. But he also couldn't deny that Dean was a big part of it. As much as Sam liked to pretend that he was some big, strong, fearless hunter; he wasn't. On the inside, a lot of the time Sam was still a scared, helpless little kid who never felt safe unless his big brother was by his side. Sam didn't know how to feel safe without Dean. He didn't even know how to go on living without the comfort and security that had always been there. Sure, Sam had been away from Dean while he was at school, but Dean had always been just a phone-call away if Sam had ever needed him. It wasn't the same as Dean being dead. It wasn't the same as Sam being truly alone. So when Dean had gone to Hell, Sam had fallen apart. And when Ruby had offered him a solution – a chance to become tough enough and strong enough to live without Dean – Sam hadn't thought twice.

And the worst part is that this time, he really did try to stay away. Pretty early on in the case he'd started feeling the familiar pangs of needing another hit, and it would have been all too easy to just take the knife to the nearest demon and give his body what it so desperately craved. But he didn't. He didn't because he couldn't disappoint Dean, not again. He'd let Dean lock him up in that motel room; he'd let Dean take on Famine by himself. Because he felt lower than dirt about how much this had all wounded his brother the first time. Sam didn't want to be like some kind of low-life drug addict who constantly hurt the people around him. He'd done enough of that for one lifetime.

But then those idiots came right for him. He'd begged them to leave him alone, but then he couldn't resist anymore. Not when they were right there, offering themselves to him as if on the proverbial silver platter. Offering him an excuse to feel powerful again.

Offering him an excuse to fail the person he loves. Again.

So, like the perpetual screw-up he was, Sam had given in. It didn't matter that he felt like he couldn't control it. It didn't matter that technically, technically, it wasn't his fault this time. Dean wouldn't be interested in excuses. And honestly, Sam is tired of them himself. He's tired of trying so hard to make things right, when in reality things can never be right again.

Sam pushes himself up off the tub and stares with revulsion at his reflection in the mirror once more. Maybe he should just leave; just take one of Bobby's spare cars and get himself as far away from Dean as he can. It might actually kill him to be parted from his brother this time, but Sam isn't sure he can take seeing the disappointment in Dean's eyes again. He loves … shit, he loves Dean so fucking much. How could he live the rest of his life without ever feeling Dean's lips on him again? Without ever feeling as safe and loved as he does when Dean holds him in the afterglow? Without the indescribable feeling of Dean inside him, filling him up and making him whole in a way that absolutely nothing else can?

Sam's torso twitches involuntarily, and suddenly he's in an inexplicable amount of pain. He carefully lifts up his shirt to see what the hell is going on, and is greeted by the sight of nearly his entire chest turned purple and blue. Crap, when did that happen? He definitely remembers the feeling of unthinkable agony as a plethora of demons and monsters from his past cut him to ribbon, but he also remembers from last time that in the end it was all in his head. But Sam was pretty sure he recalls something Dean said last time … that damn demon blood must've been throwing him around again, and he didn't even realize.

Suddenly the bruises on his sallow skin and the dark shadows in his eyes draw him back to the iron room, where everything he's ever feared comes to life and relishes in torturing him until he begs for death.

"You are disgusting. Did you even think about how much this would hurt your father and I?"

"I – I'm sorry," Sam mumbles feebly.

"You're sorry?" She laughs maliciously. "You think that being sorry can make up for the fact that you are sleeping with your brother?"

Sam can feel hot tears streaming down his cheeks, but makes no effort to stop them. He deserves this – deserves the pain.

"Mom, I … I love him."

"Don't you dare say that to me!"

Now her curly blond hair is tossing over her shoulders and Sam is reminded horribly of Jessica. It's an insult to both their memories, what he and Dean do together in the dark. But Sam has never been able to help it. He's been in love with Dean since he was thirteen, maybe even longer. He could date all he wanted in high school, he could run all the way to California, but he could never hide from those stubborn feelings. And honestly, he never wanted to.

"I hated growing up in this life, Sam!" she snaps. "It was horrible; always being scared, never knowing if today would be your last day. The thing I wanted most for my children was a life away from hunting! Because this is what hunting does to people! It confuses them; it makes them feel things that otherwise they never would!"

"Then you should understand!" Sam cries desperately. "You died when I was only six months old! Hunting is the only life I ever knew! And Dean was all I had!"

"So then you should trust him to be your big brother! To teach you and protect you! Not to sodomize you! Sam, you must know how wrong that is!"

"It doesn't feel wrong!" Sam insists. "It feels like, Mom it feels like we're exactly how we're supposed to be."

"Don't! I used to tell you both that angels were watching over you! What on earth do you imagine heaven would think of you now?"

"Mom," Sam pleads.

"Dean's already been to Hell once for you, are you really so selfish that you're willing to send him there again?"

"NO!" Sam shouts, coming back to himself with a harsh jerk.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror, now wide-eyed and scared.

"No," he whispers brokenly.

But it's no use. It doesn't matter how much he loves Dean. This time, nothing matters. Nothing but the horrible mistakes he's made. Maybe nothing else ever will.