The fifth round of injections elicited louder groans of pain and more violent shivers from Dean. He shook in the chair, shaking his head wildly and letting out deep, bestial grunts of pain. His face was flushed and covered in beads of sweat. When the seizure finally ended, more slowly than the previous four, he slumped against his bonds, his fingers twitching intermittently.
Sam sat several feet away, sadly watching his brother suffer. Cas had excused himself some time before, leaving a syringe full of Grace. Sam supposed it was harder for him; he had been so busy in Heaven, he hadn't had time to get used to the idea of a demonic Dean. Hell, Sam had been on his tail all year and he had only recently realised the full extent of the change. He'd thought.
Dean was panting heavily, his breath wheezing slightly in the aftermath of the treatment. As real as it looked, Sam kept a wary distance. He wasn't taking any chances this time.
"Dean?" he asked softly after a while.
Dean grunted.
"Do you want some water?"
Grunt.
Taking that as a yes, Sam snatched up a plastic bottle from the table and unscrewed it. Stepping into the Trap, he held it up for Dean. It took Dean a few moments to raise his head.
He looked exhausted. Every blink was slow and his jaw hung open as though he hadn't the strength to keep his mouth closed. Still taking unusually deep breaths, Dean leant his head back and let Sam tilt the cool water down his throat.
He drank nearly the whole bottle before he nodded for Sam to withdraw it.
"I don't suppose you're hungry?"
Grunt. That one sounded more like a 'no'.
Sam returned to his chair and chose a new intersection of the iron Trap to pretend to stare at, while stealing occasional glances at Dean.
"Hey, Sam ..." Dean groaned a while later. His voice was hoarse and sounded the way it did when he had a particularly vicious hangover.
"Yeah, Dean?"
"Why're you doing this?" He raised his head to stare at Sam, looking wearily disappointed.
Sam startled slightly. "Why? Why d'you think? You're my brother."
"'Never give up on family'?" Dean quoted. "Is that it?"
"Yeah."
A pause.
"So what made you start giving a crap about that now?"
"What?" Sam frowned.
"Well, it's just," Dean began, "that didn't seem to matter much to you when I was stuck in Purgatory, did it? Or when you told me we couldn't be brothers anymore."
"Hey!" Sam said sharply. "You know I was lying."
"Were you, though? I mean, come on, Sam. Our whole lives all you've ever wanted is to be away from your family. Especially me. You always leave. For Stanford, for dogs, for chicks. I gave you your chance. Ever notice how far away from you I stayed? I even kept my demons from sniffing your way, left you in peace and now ... this."
"Dean. You know that's not true."
Dean laughed. "I do, do I? Look, Sam, I'm not saying I'm broken up about it. To be honest, I'd've been fine 'n' dandy never seeing your overgrown self ever again. I'm just curious why you're going to so much trouble to save someone you hate."
Sam bit his lip, smiling a humourless smile. He wasn't going to fall for this again. This was just the demon trying to distract him, find a way out. "Do you remember when you went to Hell, Dean?"
Dean pretended to think for a moment. "Which time?"
"The first time," Sam clarified dryly. "When you sold your soul to save me."
Dean looked off to the side. "Rings a bell."
"You remember how we spent that last year?"
Dean didn't answer.
"We spent it trying to find a way out for you. Or at least, I did. I searched for a year for a way to get you out of your deal. And when you were gone ... Nothing really changed."
"Except that you were nailing Ruby and playing demon blood beer pong."
"I kept trying to get you out."
"Yeah, well, bang up job you did there, huh?"
Sam scowled. "I don't hate you, Dean. Never have."
Dean scoffed.
"You don't believe me?"
He shrugged. Sam allowed silence to fall between them, unwilling to try and convince the demon of the truth. Once Dean was back, if he needed to, he'd tell him. He'd make him understand.
"You remember something else about the year you came back from Hell?" Sam asked at last.
Grunt.
"When I was hooked on the demon blood, following Ruby, going after Lilith ... You remember what you did?"
Dean shrugged. "Ate cheeseburgers and watched Casa Erotica?"
"You fought for me, Dean. You fought, all year, to keep me human. As sure as I was that what I was doing was the right thing, what I needed to do, who I needed to be, you fought for me. You fought to keep me human."
"Lemme guess," Dean drawled, sounding bored. "That's just what you're doing now?"
"Yep. We keep each other human, Dean, you said so yourself. Now it's my turn."
"Funny, that. You sure you're just not feeling guilty?"
"Guilty?"
"Yeah. I mean, if it weren't for you, I would never have gotten the Mark of Cain. Never would've been killed, never would've been a demon. Hell, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even believe in demons and angels and ghosts."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, staring at his brother. Fear flickered inside him.
"Well, think about it. You were never born, I never become a hunter. My mother would be alive – I'd probably be some firefighter or doctor or, hell, an actor, who knows. Point is, I'd be free and I'd be safe. Not to mention happy. Probably have a family of my own by now too. Wife. Kids."
"You're blaming me for being born?"
"You're blaming me for being a demon – why not blame you for making me one!"
Sam clenched his jaw, wrestling with an anger and a grief he hadn't felt for some time. "This isn't you talking," he said at last, getting to his feet and neatening the syringes on the table unnecessarily, keeping his back to Dean.
"Oh, you think so, huh? 'Cause maybe this is me finally saying what your dear brother never had the balls to!"
Sam bowed his head on the pretense of inspecting a syringe. It was just the demon. Demons lie. He knows this will hurt you. Just ignore it.
"Y'know, for the first time in my life, I'm seeing things clearly. For the first time I'm not shying away from the truth! And the truth is, Sam, that of all the evil things I've faced, the demons and the angels and the archangels, the werewolves and ghosts and the vampires and witches – of all of those evil sons of bitches I've spent my entire life fighting – you are hands down the worst of all of them."
Sam was clenching his teeth together so hard it hurt.
"Not only did you basically murder my mother" – Sam winced – "but ever since then you've just gone through life like a goddamn wrecking ball, destroying everything you touch. Honestly, I'm amazed I've lasted this long. And that's only because when all this started, you were just an 'innocent' baby and I was four, which, to Dad, meant old enough to be trained and brainwashed into being your protector – all because he was so damaged and hurt from not being able to protect his own family!"
Sam's knuckles were turning white around the syringe. Just ignore it, just ignore it, just -
"All my life," Dean continued, "I've always put you first – always. I never had friends because of you. But you had college. You had Jess. You had all these dreams of better things while I was stuck there trying to explain to your father how you'd run off again."
"Shut up," Sam whispered, not looking up. "You don't mean this."
Dean barked a laugh. "The hell I don't, little brother. You have no idea how long I've wanted to say all this. How many times I stayed quiet while you bitched about how Dad raised us – except that Dad didn't raise you, Sam! I did. I was always there for you, I always had your back and what did you do in return? You left. You bitched. You had all these issues of being a freak and an abomination, as if you were the only one who felt like a mistake, like the world would be so much better of if you were dead.
"Well, you know what? You were right."
Sam's hands began to shake. He pressed them into the table so Dean wouldn't notice.
"But I never let you go, did I, little brother?" Dean sneered as Sam's heart broke. "Nah, I could never do that. Hell, I sold my own soul 'cause I couldn't bear to see you dead. What the hell kind of dependency crap is that! I literally couldn't live with myself without you. You sucked the life right out of my life, Sam - if you'd never been born, I could have had my own life, my own family, my own dreams! But instead I got you. And I'm still paying for it."
The table wasn't strong enough to hide Sam's shaking anymore. His entire torso was trembling from the pain inside his chest.
"You never had a brother, Sam. Just a shield."
Sam's mouth opened in a silent gasp. He doesn't mean that, he chanted to himself, he doesn't mean that, it's just the demon, he doesn't mean that!
"Well, now that shield is broken, you get that? Hell, it's in splinters! You're so eager to bring your precious brother back – why, I can't even understand – but he's gone, Sam. He's been gone for some time – and guess what? He's not coming back. He's dead, you hear me? He's dead!"
"No!" Sam roared, slamming the syringe down and rushing at Dean, pointing a finger at him as though it were a sword. "I saw you. I saw you in there, Dean, I know you're still in there." He grabbed at Dean's chest and held up the small amulet. "You're in there."
Dean stared at the little horned head for a second before lifting his gaze to meet Sam's.
"Well, let's say you're right. That dear old Dean is still in here somewhere. Say that's true. Then think about it, Sam. All the things I've done this last year. All the souls I've destroyed, the people I've killed. You know there was a baby? Stabbed it right through the face." Disgust coiled around Sam's stomach. "And I enjoyed it," Dean hissed. "If your brother is in here, how do you think he's doing? This is a guy who blames himself for goddamn Firefly being cancelled! How exactly do you think he's gonna handle everything he's seen his own hands do? All that blood, Sam. You really think he could even survive the idea of it, let alone the memories? That Dean is weak, Sam. He'd sooner kill himself than face what I've done and you know it. So I ask you: what's the point? You're bringing him back just to kill him. Sounds like hate to me."
Sam's fists were trembling.
"You think you're curing him, Sam?" Dean repeated as Sam withdrew a step. "You're killing him."
Sam gritted his teeth, forcing himself to be calm, commanding his voice to be steady. "My brother –" He tried again. "My brother is a thousand times stronger than you. You are nothing compared to him. And he will survive this. And when it's over and he's healed, he's gonna thank me for burning every speck of black out of his eyes!"
Sam's watch beeped as though to emphasis his words and he glanced at it.
He strode to the table and grabbed the Grace-filled syringe and a clean plastic one. He slammed the thick needle into Dean's right arm, just outside the scarred symbol. Dean growled and groaned in pain, half-shouting as the Grace scorched through him. Breathing heavily, barely containing his anger and hurt, Sam shoved the smaller tip into his own arm, more forcefully than he had intended, and drew out another dose of blood.
He held the syringe up in front of Dean's face, forcing him to look at the dark burgundy liquid through eyes clouded with pain.
"This is for Dean," he spat, and plunged the consecrated blood into the demon's neck.
"Five."
He turned and left the dungeon, chucking the syringes in the direction of the table as Dean's groans became full shouts of pain. He swung the door shut behind him without looking back.