Warnings: More extreme angst?

Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, Supernatural has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me.

AU after episode 7x04

The next day was the same. Sam woke up, Sam bled, Sam did stuff with bonds, Sam bled, Sam did more stuff with bonds, Sam bled even more, on and on and on until Dean felt like killing someone. Preferably himself. Especially when he stepped into the living room and Sam flinched, entire body nearly jumping off the couch.

"Sam?" he asked, trying very hard not to look at the pile of bloody tissues sitting next to his brother. The too big pile of tissues sitting next to his brother and honestly, that couldn't be good for anyone's health. A person only had so much blood and it could only be replenished so fast. And it seemed like every time Dean turned around, there was something else wrong, something else causing Sam pain and agony he didn't deserve.

Dean had expected a quick brush off, a monosyllabic answer vaguely resembling "Get lost, Dean." But that wasn't what he got. Instead, he watched as Sam hunched in on himself, torso lying on his thighs, eyes flickering around the room as his body started shaking. Full shudders that rocked his entire body, that were just a step away from convulsing. "Sammy?" Dean asked, taking a step forwards. And that was all it took to make Sam's gaze flip up to him, all it took to make Sam's body go rigidly, perfectly still. "Sam-"

Sam didn't move, just stared up at him, stuttering, "Don't- Dean... D-" Dean dropped to his knees and moved to be knelt next to the couch, a short distance away from his brother. He wasn't sure where Sam's head was, didn't know what he was seeing, so he felt it was best to approach the situation slowly and carefully. But that became very hard when he found himself looking into vacant eyes that were nothing like his brother's. And it became even harder when he reached out, whispering Sam's name, and had to watch him flinch and pull away, eyebrows drawing together.

"Hey," Dean continued quietly, voice as soothing as he could possibly make it. "I'm right here... I'm right here." He didn't move this time, didn't try to touch him. He just held his brother's gaze, because Sam was looking for reassurance, proof, confirmation that everything was okay again. And Dean just hoped to God that that was what Sam saw in his eyes. Because at that point, his confidence in that area was not exceptional.

Breath catching, Sam finally nodded and turned away, eyes starting to clear. The haze Dean had seen was gone, as was the distant, "Present but not all here" look. Which was a win... he supposed. And he had to wonder how many times he had thought that, how many times they hadn't made progress when they really should have.

He pushed himself up off his knees and onto the couch, sighing as his joints creaked and popped. Which only served to piss him off more. So he had abused his body. So he was old. With all he had done, he really felt that both he and Sam should have been gifted with joints that never got rusty. Consolation prize for all the shit they went through on a daily basis.

...He'd write someone about it when he got the chance.

"You wanna-"

"No," Sam replied with a small, pathetically fake laugh, one that physically hurt Dean to hear. Pushing his hand through his hair, Sam shook his head and blinked as if he had just woken up, as if he wasn't use to having his eyes open. "No, I'm good." Translation: Sam knew Dean knew Sam wasn't okay and Sam didn't give a shit. Awesome. Great. That made Dean feel a hell of a lot better about everything.

And to even further better the situation, that was when Dean noticed that half of the room had disappeared. Well, not literally. It was more that every single thing that was even relatively sharp had vanished, including the fire pokers. And the fire for that matter, but that was a different issue.

"Bobby called," Sam said, voice coming out of nowhere. Because honestly, Dean had figured Sam was too busy trying to shove his eye through his skull with the heel of his hand to converse. But still, it took Dean a moment to answer, him much too busy staring at the picture frame that had been turned around to face the wall. Call him old-fashioned or strange or whatever, but he had always figured that most people stood their pictures away from the wall. So you could actually... y'know... see them. But then again, he had only had a few pictures/picture frames in his life so it was possible he was just insane.

Turning back to his brother, he remembered he had been asked a question, knew he was supposed to be responding to something. So he just said, "Hm?" And he tried to ignore the strangeness after that. He tried to just let it go. But after about two seconds, his eyes flickered over to the frame again. Because honestly, that was just stupid. If you didn't want to look at the picture, why wouldn't you just throw it away or pack it in a box or something? Why would you leave it there like that?

Unless the picture had misbehaved and it was being punished. Which, knowing Kathleen, was actually possible.

"Bobby just called," Sam repeated, eyes held shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "He's checking out some possible big-mouth sightings not far from here." Dean nodded, taking the time his brother wasn't looking at him to calculate the amount of concern this situation warranted so that he could manufacture and plaster it across his face when required. And yes, he knew he was supposed to be worried about stuff like this. And he knew that he was supposed to care, knew it was supposed to be his job to take care of the evil monsters that attacked civilizations that weren't nearly as innocent as they pretended to be. But really, the appeal had kind of worn off. He had other things, more important things, to worry about. "He needs backup."

Dean flinched. He shouldn't have. After all this time, he should have been better at controlling himself. Hell, he was better at controlling himself. And it really sucked that he couldn't even do that anymore. But it was so blunt, so clear in what it meant that he couldn't help it.

Swallowing, he answered. "Nah, I think Bobby can handle himself for a couple days. Don't you?" His face was going to snap, was going to break apart, shatter into a million useless, unhelpful pieces. His smile was pulled so tight that there was no way anything could withstand that strain. But if Sam noticed, he didn't say anything, just rubbed at his eye as a small tremor ran through him.

"You don't have to stay," Sam said, so calmly, no accusation in the words at all as he dropped his hands to his lap, staring into the fireplace. "Actually, it'd probably be better if you didn't. Distance might weaken the bond. Might not be as dangerous."

Dean just leaned back into the cushions, draping his arm over the back. "Or it could do absolutely nothing and instead of being five feet from each other if something happened, we'd be miles." And Dean didn't want that. He didn't want to be halfway across the country and "sense" that Sam was being tortured, was dying inside himself. He couldn't live with that. Rolling his head to stare at his brother's profile, he pursed his lips, finding Sam's eyes distant again. But he was just thinking this time, Dean could tell. He was in his own mind, not his memories, not in the bond. He was where he was supposed to be. At least, for the most part.

"I'm- I'm learning to control it. You wouldn't have to worry about getting pulled in again. I can..." Sam rolled his shoulders back, eyes falling closed. "I can put a block up. It doesn't work with Lucifer 'cuz... well... he's Lucifer. But it'd probably work with ours. I could put it up when Hell comes through so you wouldn't... You wouldn't have to see that."

And Dean bypassed whatever part of that Sam wanted him to focus on and instead smacked his brother in the side with the back of his hand. And he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or feel guilty about the fact that Sam nearly launched himself off of the couch as a result. "See? Told you you'd kick this thing! Already putting up walls? Lucifer'll be bored again in no time." And honestly, Sam didn't need to stare at him like that. His mouth was hanging open, an incredulous set to his eyes that stayed like that for way longer than Dean was comfortable with. Or happy with, for that matter. Clearing his throat, he added, "I thought it sounded good." Because he did, goddamnit.

"Dude, who are you?" Sam asked. And Dean wasn't really sure how to answer that, wasn't even quite sure what the question was. Not that it mattered. Because in the next moment, Sam was shaking his head, dismissing any response he could come up with. "Whatever. You need to hunt. Go help Bobby. If it's a leviathan thing-"

"Then Bobby wouldn't be stupid enough to go in without backup." And at that point, Dean was sick of the dancing around, sick of the subtext. He knew what Sam wanted and so did Sam. Yet, neither of them would say it. And Dean supposed that was part of their problem, the not saying it. "You tryin' to get rid of me, Sammy?"

"I just-" Sam huffed, pushing his hand through his hair again as he stood up, starting to pace. Dean stood up as well but stayed silent, did so because his brother was supposed to say something important, was supposed to say something to clear this whole situation up for them both. But he didn't. He just clapped his hands in front of him and pressed his thumbs into his eyes. "I've heard some things... I don't know if they're from Lucifer or a crossed wire or what but... The leviathans are doing something big and I really think one of us needs to go check it out." And Dean knew that meant him because hell, there was no way Sam was going anywhere. And because of that, there was no way Dean was going anywhere. So the leviathans were just out of luck, weren't they?

"'cuz you 'heard' it? From Lucifer?" Dean repeated, because if Sam wanted him to go, that was one thing. It hurt like hell and he wouldn't do it, but he'd understand. But this? With everything that had happened, Dean was supposed to take a tip from Lucifer? Yeah, no. Lucifer was tearing apart his baby brother's brain. He wasn't going anywhere, no matter what anyone said, much less Lucifer. "Sam, he's got half-control of your mind. He could be doing anything and you'd never know."

"I can tell the difference," Sam snapped, "after it happens." And Dean could see the breaking point right on the horizon, the end of the argument they had just plowed into. That didn't stop him. It should have, but it didn't. Because there was this base-level fear, a hurt that kept him going. Because it was true. Who knew what Sam was seeing? How much he was seeing? Who he was seeing? And all he could think about was the look on his brother's face in that motel parking lot.

Which was why the next words came out of his mouth without his permission. "Like you know what happened at the motel wasn't real? Like you know that wasn't me?" And like a plug had been pulled, all the color simply drained away from Sam's face.

"What motel?" The heaviness that settled over the room nearly sucked all the air from Dean's lungs, the argument taking on a different form than intended. And Dean couldn't see the pain, hidden, buried underneath the anger in his brother's eyes. But he knew it was there, could feel it in his chest. "What motel are you talking about, Dean?"

"After you left. Before- Before you- Before we found you," he finally decided, stopping his mind from going any further in that direction than necessary. "I had a nightmare- Which must've actually been the bond or something, I don't know... But I saw myself standing in the parking lot. And I was you."

Sam's face had closed off to the point where Dean couldn't tell what was going on in his head at all, couldn't tell what he was thinking or even if he was thinking at all. "You saw all that, though?" Sam asked, quieter than he had been since Dean had walked in. And Dean wasn't sure what that meant, wasn't sure if it meant anything, which, he supposed, was probably Sam's plan all along.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, shifting between his feet, as he replied, "Yeah. Saw it, felt it, the whole nine-yards." Sam didn't answer, eyes falling away as he tried to put the pieces together. But just like when they were kids, there was always one piece missing from the goddamn puzzle. Always one, sometimes more. And no matter what, the picture was never finished. "But don't you get it, Sam? We don't know what kind of crap he could be feeding you-"

"Yeah, m'kay. Do whatever you want, Dean," Sam interrupted, gaze jerking away from the ground.

"Sam-" But his brother was already gone, had already shoved passed him and disappeared into the house.

The empty doorway held his gaze for several seconds as he waited, a part of him wishing that Sam would just come back and say that everything was fine. But then, if Dean Winchester were to really get what he wished for, he would wake up someday and find that the last several years of his life had just been a really horrible nightmare. He'd wake up to find that Sam had never died in Cold Oak, to find that his first failure as a big brother, the first time he hadn't protected Sam, the first time he had ever lied to his brother, had never happened. And he'd wake up to find that the faith Sam had had in him before that moment, the belief that Dean would never let anything happen to him, would still be there.

But then, angels sucked, God was on sabbatical, and djinn were horrific blood-sucking freaks.

So no. No wishes for him.

And how unfair was that?

"The leviathans are strategizing."

"Holy f-" Flipping around, adrenaline surging through his veins, he let go of the death grip he had on his chest in order to throw a pillow at their oh so gracious host who seemed intent on giving him a heart attack. "Never do that again. You're lucky I'm not armed." Or not so lucky. Because at that moment, he really wanted to kill something and had absolutely nothing to kill something with. Which suck for him.

She stared at him from the kitchen doorway for a moment and okay, that was just creepy. She really needed a bell or something, like a cat collar, to let him know when she was coming. That would significantly decrease his chances of heart failure. "Which would you choose?" she asked.

He swallowed and sunk onto the edge of the couch, scrubbing his hand down his face. "State Capitols for six-hundred." If she wanted a serious answer, she really should have asked a legitimate question and not have given him a heart attack. Besides, that was totally what he would choose. He'd been to practically every capitol anyway.

And yes, he was pretty sure that his chest was about to explode.

"You want to fix Sam?" she asked, more a statement than anything else but it was still a little offensive. Because that wasn't even debatable, shouldn't have even been called into question. Because there was only one answer.

"Of course."

The look she gave him was appraising, considering, almost disbelieving. And Dean decided he didn't like it or appreciate it. Actually, he was pretty sure he felt insulted. "Do you regret it?" she asked and he figured he was supposed to get it, that he was supposed to understand the question well enough to know what to say back. But this was seriously like one of those tests that had him staring out the window the entire time because honestly, how do they expect him to give a logical answer when they can't even given him a logical, understandable question?

Rolling her eyes as if he was the slowest person on earth, she repeated, "The deal you made. Bringing Sam back. Do you regret it?" Though he didn't really care if she did think he was the slowest person on earth because her questions were stupid.

Regardless, he didn't need to think about the answer, barely even hesitated to wonder why she was asking. Because despite the fact that the question was random and sudden and vague, there was only one answer. It was the same one that had burned in his gut since the moment he had made the deal, the one he knew with a bone-deep certainty that hadn't nor ever would change, one that was impossible to change. "Never."

After that, she left the room, just nodded and drifted away. And he figured he should be a little worried about the fact that she even knew about the deal in the first place. But he really couldn't find it in himself to be.

Because after everything, giving that answer, knowing it so thoroughly, filled him with a sense of peace he hadn't known in years. Because it was true. And even though he had screwed up the natural order and pissed off Death and Heaven and Hell and every in between by doing it, even though he knew everything that happened after he did it, even though he knew how everything ended, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

And he felt something inside him settle, felt something that had been torn start stitching itself back up. So he took a moment soak in the feeling, but only a moment.

In the next, he was moving from the room.

He had a little brother to look out for.

"Yeah, Sam. It's okay. You're okay," he whispered, fingers wrapped tightly around his brother's bicep.

When he had gotten back to their room, Sam had already been asleep, curled in on his side, facing that goddamn light that Dean was really debating shooting out. And even though he had found it odd that Sam was asleep given the fact that Lucifer tended to turn it up when Sam was unconscious, he had just written it off as exhaustion on Sam's part and a lack of juice on Lucifer's. Not that that made Dean feel particularly good.

But then the nightmares had started. Or, as he quickly realized, Dream-Hell, one Lucifer had somehow managed to lock Sam in. And Sam had locked Dean out with that stupid wall-thingy, leaving him unable to do anything more useful than sit on the edge of the bed and watch. And get Kathleen, though that hadn't been helpful either. She was all, "There's nothing to be done blah blah blah blah," and had gone and disappeared. Completely. As in, M.I.A. or AWOL. He wasn't really sure. And he may have been concerned. Maybe. If he wasn't too busy being concerned about his little brother whom she was supposed to be making better.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, raspy and raw. In pain. Sam was in pain. And Dean was really glad Kathleen was M.I.A because if she wasn't, she would be experiencing the full extent of a pissed off Dean Winchester. Because she was a fail and Lucifer was having a party in Sam's freaking skull. Which wasn't supposed to be happening.

Hesitantly reaching up, Dean pushed his fingers through his brother's long hair, whispering words that were completely nonsensical. Though he didn't think it really mattered. Sam most likely couldn't understand what he was saying anyways. All that mattered was that he was saying something. When Sam was little, Dean's voice was enough to calm him down, was enough to make the nightmares go away. But that was a long time ago. So the fact that Sam's forehead started to even out, the fact that his thrashing lessened, was actually surprising in a nice kind of way.

"It's just a dream, Sammy. Just a dream." Though chances were that wasn't true and he was lying. Chances were that Lucifer was being abusive in real time. But whatever it was, Dean was getting through, was making it somewhat better. Because the babbling had stopped; the screaming had stopped. The only hint that anything had been wrong was a small, hitched breath every now and then.

His incoherent stream of words died though when the sound of the front door opening reached his ears, the sound of footsteps traveling across the floor in the hallway, the sound of a hand on the walls. Body tensing, instincts kicking in, his eyes scoured the room for a weapon. And finding one was probably his biggest mistake. Because once he did, once he stood up to go get it and pulled away from his brother, Sam started screaming again, started thrashing and sobbing and babbling and whimpering, shouts getting jammed and stuck in his throat, tearing it to pieces.

"Sam-" Dean hissed, lunging back towards the bed, hand falling to his brother's head. "Shhh... Quiet." And that was all it took, all it took to make Sam's breathing slow, to erase the strain lines that had appeared around his eyes, across his forehead. That was all it took to leave Sam in a relaxed sleep and while a part of Dean was incredibly glad for that, felt like jumping up and down and celebrating, the rest of him was too focused, too worried to allow himself that luxury.

Because by that point, the footsteps had disappeared and so had their reason for being there.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Again, action will pick up soon. Promise!