Chapter 4 ~ Darkness

The darkness was a welcome sensation after all the pain and loss he felt deep inside. All the bad feelings were bearable when his mind was covered in the dark mist of sleep and unconsciousness. He felt safe - safer than he ever thought he could feel in a lifetime. Yes, it was interrupted by horrible nightmares at points, but he nonetheless appreciated the way the darkness flooded through his body. It felt more comfortable than the world out there, safer than anything that could possibly happen when he was awake and aware.

Words and phrases crossed his mind. Sensations of pain and coldness, in sharp contrast to a specific warmth he'd felt lately... something that covered him, held him. It felt a little bit like a dream, like those days with his brother when he was little - when tiny Sammy, afraid of the dark, would cuddle up with his big brother, seeking shelter under his sheets.

Because when there wasn't darkness...

Pain, with every move he made. Pain, reminding him of black-eyed men beating the hell out of him. Pain, pushing him further back into the darkest corner of his mind. Slicing, tearing, threatening, punching. His own screams, his own choking and begging, echoing in his ears.

Yes, the darkness after every session with these creatures was more than welcome. It was a kind of safe place for his mind and broken body.

...This is for Dean, he reminded himself with every hit he took, giving it all for his big brother. He would hold on to this life for as long as possible, fight as long as he was able, try not to fall apart. Stall for time... for as long as he could...

Even if he'd known where Dean was, he would never have told them. He'd decided to take the pain, the loss and all of the hurt to buy Dean more time, more days or weeks, until they decided to end him. Because Sam knew his brother wouldn't come. He knew Dean wouldn't show up the way these creatures hoped.

Sam could've gotten away. They promised they would let him go, would have freed him, put an end to his misery. But on the other hand, Sam knew how demons rolled. "Ending" it meant that they would've killed him, and afterwards they would have gone after Michael's vessel to destroy it.

So Sam had decided to stay in the darkness, where no one could ever hurt him again. After all, the demons weren't the worst ones to give him hell. Dean's words still burned in his soul, tearing at his heart like rabid hellhounds longing to drag him downstairs straight into the fiery pits.

Stay away from each other for good.

Sam had known everything he'd done was wrong. All his good intentions just made it worse. "Sorry" didn't cut it, not even close. He'd let his brother down. Let Bobby down. And deep down, he knew he'd let the world down, left it behind to burn.

THIS was what he deserved. He knew he deserved it, more than anyone else.

Still...

At some point things had changed. He couldn't tell what it was or when it started - he'd lost all track of time - but he felt different. He felt a tender warmth, a feeling that someone or something was holding him tight, fondling his hair...

...It felt just different.

At one point, he imagined that his brother was there with him, reaching for him and calling him Sammy. And Sam gave in to the illusion. He knew it wasn't real, it couldn't be. But on the other hand, what did he had to lose? He longed for nothing more than being back on the road with his big brother. So what, between Heaven and Hell, would it cost him to believe in it for a while - his life? That was already a given.

So he gave in, finding some comfort in the thought that his brother was with him, forgiving him... He just had to follow the smell of whiskey and the Impala.

It occurred to Sam that he might already be dead. But then he felt his breath, his heartbeat, and saw shades moving in the darkness when he opened his eyes. For some time, he thought he'd heard someone's else heartbeat, too, a warm presence by his side making him feel safe... but he knew that wasn't possible. He was alone... on his own.

They wouldn't let him die. Not that easily. They'd sew up his mouth, but then cut it open; they wouldn't let him starve. But Sam knew it would be worse if they did end his torture, because that would mean they'd found him... found Dean.

All he felt now were a few uneasy sensations that he couldn't clarify, but which didn't really cause the amount of pain he was used to. He wanted the pain to end, but he didn't dare beg them for it. He just couldn't. They would go after the Archangel's vessel then. They would go after Dean.

This time Sam had to do the right thing.

Dean did his best to get Sam's attention, but no matter what he said or tried, nothing worked. The older Winchester had just one option left - carrying his little brother into the bathroom. He would make it work. He had to. He wouldn't give up because of a few yards. He had to try.

"Damn it, Sam." Of course, Sam had to be a giant - and not a light giant. Dean cursed until he managed to get his brother's dead weight in his arms.

Dean grunted under his brother's weight, his back starting to hurt after the first two steps. The older sibling's muscles were tense and aching before he was even halfway to the bathroom. "Need some help," Dean gasped out.

Nancy turned the bathroom light on and held the door open as Dean entered the shower. Going to the corner, he slid his brother down onto his feet, from there letting him sink down into a fetal position. Dean stretched his body and held his back for a few seconds, taking deep breaths and giving Nancy an exhausted glance.

"Still think you have everything under control?" Nancy asked, an I-told-you-so smirk on her lips.

Dean nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "I got him," he managed to say.

"If you're sure, I'll wait outside. If you need anything, just call and I'll be there," she said, closing the bathroom door.

This was the first time the older Winchester had been able to see his little brother clearly. The bright light in the bathroom remorselessly showed him every bandage and contusion on Sam's body.

He knelt down on the cold tiles, running his fingertips gently over Sam's bruised fingers and the dressings on his wrists. His little brother curled up in response, hiding his face behind his knees and trying to make himself as small as possible.

"First things first, Sammy," Dean said, beginning to free him from his clothes without hurting him even more. His brother wasn't moving at all.

Dean wondered if he should just cut the thin fabric off.

Sam felt strong arms slipping gently under his knees and around his shoulders, pulling him up. He didn't dare move. Hell, he didn't even knew what was going on. He forced himself to open his eyes, but all he saw were shades of gray and light... a light he was moving into.

Maybe it was all was over. Was this the end? Could it really be? Did dying feel like this?

Or... or was it his brother, taking him home? Maybe Dean had found him, had been looking for him. Had forgiven him.

No. It couldn't be. They'd promised each other not to go looking. But again he thought he heard his name spoken - "Sammy" - by a most familiar voice.

Sam just let it happen. Let himself slip down onto a cold surface, felt warm hands gently brushing along his fingers and arm, and something that felt like someone trying to pull his shirt off. Was he even wearing a shirt?

At first he didn't want to take it off. He didn't want anyone to undress him. He didn't want anyone even to touch him. But this familiar voice... it sounded so comforting and gentle. Almost like Dean, like in the past when Dean would take care of him when he was sick, helping him into the bathtub. So Sam finally decided to stop fighting it, slipping out of the thin fabric wrapped around his body.

"That's good, Sam," Dean smiled happily. "You're doing great."

Sam had lost weight. His brother looked a lot thinner than the last time he'd seen him, ribs leaping out under his skin. His gaze fell on older and newer bruises and wounds - mostly cuts and burns.

Dean turned away for a second, swallowing down his tears. Winchesters don't cry. It took him a second to focus on his task again.

He knew Sam loved taking hot steamy showers (wasting all the hot water, too, by the way), so he set the temperature the way old Sam would have liked it, and tested it first on his toes. When his little brother didn't show any sign of discomfort, he let it run over his brother's whole body, then moved up to his hair.

Against all expectations, Sam started to lift his head, eyes closed, towards the shower-head. Dean held still, letting the water stream over Sam's face for a long time. He could feeling his brother's body start to completely relax for the first time in a long time.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, but we should wash your hair, too." He apologized for turning the water off.

Sam opened his eyes, water dripping from his lashes. Hazel-green eyes stared up at Dean, but didn't seem to see his big brother.

After another 15 minutes, they were done. Dean wrapped a couple of towels around his sibling, looking at least as exhausted as Sam.

The younger Winchester fell asleep again before Dean had even finished drying him.