A/N: Thanks again to all my readers! I know this hasn't been the most consistent of update schedules, so I really appreciate everyone who is still bothering to read this. ;-)
Second chapter of the day posted!
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
It was the fire-poker that solidified his current state of panic. So therefore, all the wrong in Dean's world could easily be traced back to it, to that stupid, useless piece of metal.
Remember when it and everything sharp in the entire house had mysteriously disappeared? Yeah? Well Dean really wished it had stayed that way. Because he had just walked into the living room and found his brother staring straight at the tip of it, an amount of contemplation, of intent on his face that was wrong. So very, very wrong. Wrong to the point Dean's brain just kind of up and died, going completely silent for the first time in what felt like forever, while his body began to hum with an energy he couldn't place.
"Sammy?" he breathed, hands gripping either side of the doorjamb, nails leaving marks in the paint. And as if that wasn't enough. As if the look of pure wonder on his brother's face the moment before wasn't enough to nearly kill him, Sam had to launch himself back off the chair, head jerking up as his eyes searched for Dean.
Sam threw himself across the room, back up against the fireplace, as they stared straight at each other. "Don't call me that," Sam said, quiet but strong, so full of conviction and honest to God hatred. And that wasn't something Dean was used to hearing in Sam's voice.
"Sam-" he started, glancing down to the poker still held tightly in his brother's hand, putting a foot into the room. And from the look on Sam's face, he knew that somehow, everything had changed. In the course of a few hours, not only were the rules different, but so was the entire game. And Dean wasn't even sure where the board was anymore, if there even was one. It could have become a card-game for all he knew. "Sammy-"
"Don't call me that!" Sam shouted, pushing himself backwards, body slamming into the mantel as his face twisted up in an amount of pain that couldn't be purely physical. And Dean had no idea what he had done, no idea what had happened to cause this kind of reaction. Until he knew that, how was he supposed to fix it?
Taking another step, he kept his eyes locked onto the life-ruining thing that stood between them, the one that was giving Sam ideas Sam shouldn't have had. "What were you thinking, Sam?" There wasn't an immediate response. Instead, Sam started shaking his head back and forth, so quickly Dean knew his neck had to hurt from it and he was honestly concerned his brother was going to give himself whiplash.
One hand flying up to rub at his head, gaze falling to the floor, Sam breathed, "No. Go 'way... No!" He started pacing in front of the fire, head still shaking, hands moving through his hair, pulling at it, making it stick up at odd angles. His eyes were panicked, on edge in a way Dean had never before seen in a human being. In a way he had only seen in an animal that knew it was about to be killed.
"Sam," Dean tried, forcing himself to inch closer even though his body was having a hard time obeying that. His movements were jerky, uncoordinated in a way that years and years of hunting should have made it impossible to be. But this was Sam and that was all that explanation he needed. "If this is a Hell thing, you're-"
"Shut up! Just shut up!" Sam shouted, hands flying out as if to create a line Dean couldn't cross, as if to ward him off. So Dean stopped, swallowing around the rock that had gotten lodged inside his throat, trying to breath around the one that had lodged itself in his chest. And that wasn't working very well. "Demons. Demons, angels..." Sam started shuddering, eyes flying around, head following their jumps around the room. "Angel. Demon. Exorcizamus te, monis immundus spirit-"
"Sam!?" Dean shouted, barely able to hear himself over his brother. Another step closer, a jump back from Sam, expressive eyes widening, filling with the exact opposite of everything they used to when they saw Dean. "I'm your brother-"
"Stay back!" he snapped, the words cracking through the air, striking against Dean's chest like a whip. But worse. Because a whip could never replicate this kind of pain. "Get the hell away from me! Let me out!" Sam started screaming, flipping around to smack his hand on the fireplace mantel, pounding on it with his fist as his head fell back, staring up at the ceiling. "I want out! Let me out!"
Dean couldn't watch this, couldn't watch the Hell-fire burn in his brother's eyes. Taking a step forward, he had it matched, Sam jumping around to stare at him. His face twisted up, lines appearing across it in patterns Dean couldn't recognize, had never seen before.
And if the breath Dean took after that sounded more like wheezing than anything, if he couldn't breathe then that wasn't important. Wasn't even noticed by anyone in the room. "You're out, Sam! This is out! Whatever you think you're seeing, it's not real!" And he could feel every word grate over the inside of his throat, pulling at it, tearing.
"Shut up! Stop lying to me! It is real! It is real!" And Sam started pacing again, hand scratching at his scalp, his gait uneven, unsteady, as he babbled broken words that couldn't even be strung into sentences.
And Dean had to make it better. He had to. It was his job and he had to. He stared forwards, hand reaching out for his brother's sleeve. "C'mon, man-"
"No! Don't, Dean!" Sam screamed, the poker whipping out to be held like a weapon, freezing Dean in place. "Stop! Anyone but him! Mom, Dad, Jess, anyone but Dean!" And the tears just started running down Sam's face, uncontrollable but absolutely silent. His eyes flew up, darting around on the ceiling as if looking for something. What, Dean didn't know, couldn't know. But something.
"Hey... It's just me. It's your brother. It's just us..." Dean whispered, raising his hand towards the poker only to watch his fingers twitch, hand shake, more unsteady than he had ever been in his life.
But Sam just backed up, eyes hardening, narrowing, darkening as they stared at each other. "Fifty-three years! Every day for fifty...three...years! Isn't that enough for you!? Haven't I made up for it yet, Dean!?"
And Dean couldn't breathe. Literally. If there was any air in the room, Dean certainly couldn't find it. And with the directions his mind was going, he almost didn't want to find it. Because asphyxiation sounded like a far better way to die than he deserved. "What?" he said, word sounding more like a cough than anything else. Not that it mattered. Because Sam wasn't exactly paying attention.
"Anyone but Dean!" he shouted, a sob tearing from his throat as he backed up again. "Anything but Dean!"
"Sam-" And as Dean tried to reach him one more time, the scream that was ripped from Sam's throat, the panic and terror in his eyes made it so easy for Kathleen to grab Dean's arm, to drag him from the room. But more importantly, drag him from Sam. Because he wasn't able to think beyond the sound that kept echoing, ringing through his ears, drowning out anything and everything else.
"You need to leave," Kathleen hissed, practically shoving him at the door. "A few days apart. For him." But Dean wasn't listening, had barely even heard her. Because he needed to go back in there. Because Sam needed him and in all honesty, he needed Sam.
Shaking his head, tore his arm out of her grip, lips twisting up in a snarl. "You're crazier than I thought if you really believe I'd ever leave him alone like this." Voice rough, tight, constricted to the point there wasn't even a potential for argument.
And at that she seemed disappointed, upset... And panicked. Which really didn't make sense. Not for her. Not for them. "But look what you're doing to him," she continued, gesturing to the living room. And Dean did look, turning away from her, going to stand in the doorway. His hands wrapped around the doorjamb, eyes locked on the side of his brother's face.
Sam was standing there, staring into the fire with an amount of concentration that could have been humorous but definitely wasn't. Tremors, shake after shake ran through his body, visible even from where Dean stood. And Dean had to wonder what his brain was doing to him at that moment, what it was that Sam was seeing. Not that he could find out. Because that part of his brain still felt numb, inaccessible, and he was almost impressed that Sam had managed to keep control of that. Almost. But he was mostly just pissed he couldn't get in.
The light from the fire reflected off of Sam's face, highlighting the old tear tracks, illuminating the new ones. And Dean knew he was right, just as he had always known when it came to Sam. Because he knew Sam and he knew himself and he knew them. And this had to be right. "He's my brother," he answered simply, gaze not shifting, throat working under impossible circumstances.
"Dean-"
"He's my brother," he repeated, stronger, clearer, determined, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder. "I can't- won't. I won't leave him now."
And he stepped into the room, slowly inching towards his brother like he would when approaching a wounded animal. Which he supposed he actually was. "Sammy?" he whispered, foot creaking on a floorboard. But his brother didn't react, just stayed there, rocking between his heels and toes, arms crossed, eyes that used to be so full now completely empty as they stared into the fire. Carefully placing his next step, Dean held his hands out. "Sam?"
And that was it. Sam's head snapped sideways, another round of tears streaming clearly down his face. "N-No..." His voice shook in time with his body, both on the same wavelength. A wavelength Dean couldn't get himself on. A wavelength that shouldn't have existed.
"No!" Sam shouted, hysteria touching his voice. "Don't, Dean! Please!" He started backing away, taking three steps for every one Dean took towards him, matching him perfectly.
And Dean could feel his skin break in the lip he was biting, was sure he'd start bleeding at some point. Because the pain and desperation had started spreading in his chest, running through his veins like a poison meant to render him completely incapable of functioning. This was supposed to be straightforward. They could do anything. As long as they were together, just the two of them could do absolutely anything. And Dean was supposed to be allowed time to fix this. Sam had been given back to him in that alleyway and that was supposed to mean that he was going to be allowed to fix them. This wasn't supposed to happen.
This wasn't supposed to be the end.
"Sammy-" he whispered, a note of pleading inching its way into his voice. Stepping forwards, Sam's back hit the wall, and Dean could feel the first tear stream down his own face, could feel his heart shatter, splinter in his chest as it dripped off his chin.
"I'm sorry, Dean! Please! I'm so sorry! Don't, Dean!" And Dean's jaw trembled as he watched his brother forced his overly large body into the corner of the room, watched his brother sink to the ground and curl up into a ball, legs tucked into his chest. "I'm so sorry," Sam sobbed and as Dean stepped closer, he started pushing against the floor with his feet. As if he was trying to disappear through the wall.
Kneeling down in front of his brother, Dean slowly lifted his hand, reaching out to touch him. But Sam flinched and Dean found himself doing the same. "Sammy..." he whispered, his vision starting to blur, swirling. And when he extended his arm, fingers inches away from Sam's skin, his heart was completely destroyed.
Because Sam started screaming, screaming over and over for him to get away. Pushing against the floor, cheeks completely covered in tears, worse than any of the night terrors Dean had ever heard Sam have. But Dean didn't listen. On the balls of his feet, he crept closer, just a little. And when his brother started pushing at him, trying to force him away... When he stared into eyes that could no longer be Sam's because Sam would never look at him like that...
He forced the sob rising in his chest back down, ignoring the way it only made the tears come faster. Because he couldn't fall apart any more than he already had. He couldn't. Because if he did, he'd never be able to do what he needed to.
Turning his head away, he sniffed, staring at the point where the wall met the floor. Waves ran through his body, making him shake, churning his stomach, sending his body from hot to cold and back again. Like the worst fever he had ever had. And this time, he didn't even get to stay home from school as a consolation.
No. This time there was no consolation. So he squeezed his eyes shut, bit deep into his bottom lip.
And he let Sam push him away.
Standing up, he watched Sam curl himself farther into the corner, watched him bury his face in his knees and hug his legs at close to his chest as he could. As if that would protect him. As if that could possibly make it better.
Dean nodded to himself, trying to ignore the sobs that kept pouring out of the huddled body. But he couldn't. He really, really couldn't. Wiping a hand over his face, he tried to erase any evidence that there was something wrong, tried to cover it up. Because usually he could do that. He'd do it and things wouldn't seem as bad. But not this time. Because the second he wiped the tear tracks away, they were replaced with new ones. And they just kept coming, faster and faster as he repeated that he had to do this, that there was no other way.
Stepping back, Dean didn't let his eyes leave his brother, didn't look away as he said through a throat so tight he wasn't sure how he was still breathing, "I'm sorry, Sam. God, I'm so sorry."
He stood outside Kathleen's home, waiting, duffle bag sitting on the porch next to him. He couldn't be inside because Kathleen was busy trying to coax Sam out of whatever half-aware state he had fallen into. And every time Sam saw Dean, any inching steps they had taken to getting him out of the corner were undone.
Seeing the headlights at the end of the driveway, Dean felt a small amount of relief, as much as was possible under the circumstances. Which honestly wasn't very much. Or really any. At all.
The rusty truck pulled to a stop, driver getting out and Dean tried to smile. Really. He did. He tried very, very, hard. Tried so hard he should be given bonus points just for the amount of effort he put into it. Though from the look on the arrival's face, he was sure he looked more pathetic than convincing. Which meant no gold star for him.
"Bobby," he said, returning the man's one-armed hug. "Thanks for coming."
Dean had called him immediately after he had left Sam and had had tried to explain the situation as rationally as possible. Which admittedly wasn't very rationally. But he was on the verge of having a mental and emotional breakdown so he felt it was justified. "It's not like I wasn't gunna come. He inside?" Bobby answered, glancing down at the duffle bag Dean had with him, lips pulled into a sad smile. And Dean couldn't stare at it for longer than a second before looking away. Because he couldn't break. Not now. Not ever.
Nodding, Dean swung the strap over his shoulder, distantly wondering why the bag seemed so much heavier than it had when he had first come into the house. "Yeah... Get him something to eat, m'kay? He's disappearing on me in there." The small laugh he attempted at the end was painful to even his own ears but he had to do something to keep himself from thinking. And to help himself ignore the accidental double meaning.
Bobby caught it too, his gaze dropping to the ground. "You be careful, now," he ordered and Dean nodded, starting down the steps. And he felt a tug in his chest, one that begged- demanded he go back. But he had seen Sam, had seen the terror in his eyes. All directed at Dean. And he knew that staying was the one thing he couldn't do. Not until his brother was better. Because being around Dean was only making him worse.
"Yessir. Don't have too much fun with Kathleen," Dean returned, forcing a smirk onto his face. And he wished the normalcy in his conversation wasn't so forced, wished things were fine and that he could joke without the crushing weight of guilt and pain sitting on his chest. But he couldn't.
He heard Bobby grumbling about idjits as Dean threw open the driver's door on the Impala. "Hey, kid," Bobby called and Dean stuck his head out the door, standing, crossing his arms over the top of it. And they just stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. "It gets better. It'll get better."
A fake, disbelieving smile pulled at Dean's lips, but he nodded anyway. Throwing his duffle into the back, he dropped into the Impala, slamming the door shut.
Subconsciously, he glanced over at the empty passenger seat, the seat that had only ever belonged to one person. And as he pulled away, backing out of the driveway, he realized that despite all the promises he had made to Sam, despite all the promises he'd made to himself that he would fix his brother, he was leaving. He was separating them just like he said he never would again.
And knowing that he had to just made it worse.