A/N: It seemed to me that what Demon-Dean said to Sam would have come back to haunt him more than they portrayed, so I added my own little angst & resolution to that. Spoilers through Ep 10.04 (Paper Moon). Dialogue from the episodes in bold. I own nothing, just enjoying playing in the Supernatural sandbox.

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The conversation that took place with Sam on the way to stop Kate's werewolf sister felt good. Therapeutic even. Sam admitted he had crossed some lines trying to get Dean back. He shared the hurt he felt at Dean's death, and it gave Dean an opportunity to say thanks for bringing him back from life as a demon. That and the short break staring at the water, and they were back, baby! They had resolved the werewolf situation and could chalk that hunt up as a win, mostly anyway. Except…glancing over at his brother, sleeping restlessly in the passenger seat as they barreled down the road…he couldn't help the nagging feeling that his sense of 'resolved' and Sam's didn't match up. His brother was always the more sensitive of the two of them, and he knew it had been rough to watch him die and then become a demon and have to cure him. Regret swirled in his gut, but it was pointless to sit in that state and Dean never liked doing pointless things, so he tried to shake it off and refocused on the road, humming along to the music quietly playing.

"You notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible? Away from your whining, your complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you! Maybe I was just … tired of babysitting you. Or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since …" Sam tossed his head, moaning in his sleep, as his head replayed the conversation with not-Dean. He stared again at his brother, whom he had tied to a chair in their dungeon and was systematically killing or curing with sanctified blood. Dean - not-Dean laughed up at him, continuing, "Forever. Or maybe … Maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn't for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life!"

"This isn't my brother talking."

"You never had a brother! Just an excuse for not manning up. But guess what: I quit."

"No Dean. No, you don't. You don't get to quit. We don't get to quit in this family! This family is all we have ever had!"

"Well, then, we got nothin'." Sam just stood there, frozen, trying to convince himself that demons lie, that these were lies, but they were just too close to home.

"Sammy."

He jammed the needle into Dean's arm and walked away, angry, soul-sick, broken, and SO afraid that these words would be some of the last memories he would carry of his brother. The brother he had idolized since he could walk and talk. The brother who had put him first more times than could be counted. The brother that forgave his horrific transgressions, who fought for him, beside him, and loved him unconditionally. A sob broke from him at these thoughts.

"Sam! Wake up!"

Sam jerked awake, disoriented. Gazing around wildly, he jumped when touched, relaxing only slightly as he looked over at his brother, who had withdrawn his hand as though burned and was gazing at him with a concerned look. Glancing out the window he saw they were stopped at a motel, backed up to one of the rooms. Wiping a hand tiredly down his face, it came away wet from the tears that apparently were not just in his dream. Huh.

"You ok?" Dean asked cautiously.

"Yeah, sorry. We stopping for the night?"

So Sam was not in a sharing mood. Dean decided not to press, but to definitely keep an eye on him. He nodded, climbing out of the car to grab their bags and lead the way into the room. He headed to use the facilities, and as he finished up could hear his brother's restless rambling around the room through the thin door. As he exited the bathroom he observed Sam pulling on his coat.

"I'm going to run out and grab us some snacks and such." Sam offered, making his escape before Dean could really even say anything, "I won't forget to get pie." Dean smirked at that, but the unease returned as he stared at the closed door. Sam definitely seemed off. Hopefully the errand would help him find his equilibrium. He flopped down on the bed, flipping on the tv for background noise, and debated whether to confront his brother or just keep an eye on him. He was still debating that as his body decided his need for sleep was more pressing, and he nodded off.

Waking to static from the tv, Dean switched it off quickly so it didn't wake Sam, only to glance over at the other bed and realize there was no Sam there. A further glance around the room told him that his brother had not returned from his errand…several hours ago, according to the clock on the nightstand. He grabbed his phone, noting he had no missed calls or messages, and then called Sam. No answer. Damn. Rolling off the bed and grabbing his coat, Dean headed out the door to find his errant brother.

The Impala was sitting where he had parked her, so Sam must have walked and surely he couldn't have gone that far. When I find him I am going to give him a piece of my mind, worrying me like this! Dean thought angrily, even as he worried. The kid was a trouble magnet, and so much had already happened. Please, let it be something I can get mad at him about, and not him in trouble. Driving slowly down the road, he stopped at the first strip of stores he came to. Walking into the all-night convenience store at the end of the row, he asked about his brother and was told he had been there and had purchased some snacks. No, the guy didn't know where he went after that. Was he supposed to? Dean scowled at him, growing even more worried. Sam had gotten the snacks, he should have come right back to the room.

"Oh wait! Mister!" the clerk called after him. He turned around, eyebrow raised in question. "The guy seemed mad that we were out of pie, maybe he went down to the tavern to see if they had some?" Dean nodded his thanks, fears easing slightly as he recognized that Sam could very likely have done that. He wandered down the strip mall to the tavern, which for a small town seemed to be filled with all the usual suspects. He breathed in the familiar smell of smoke, alcohol, grease, and body odor that came with dives like this joint as he swung open the door and stepped inside.

Scanning the room, Dean had no trouble finding his sasquatch-sized brother. He was in the spot they would usually pick in such an environment, the booth in back by the emergency exit, back to the wall for protection. There was a bottle of hard liquor, fairly well depleted, in front of Sam, and even as he watched Sam tossed back another shot of whiskey. Signaling to the bartender for another glass, Dean slid into the booth opposite. At first it seemed as if Sam was already drunk enough to not even acknowledge him, but he poured a shot and slid it over, so Dean obediently tossed it back, setting the shot glass back down, overturned. Sam frowned at that, but smiled at the waitress as another glass was set in front of him. "Thanksss." he slurred slightly, winking at her. Oh boy, thought Dean. She smiled back, then looked at Dean, who was surprised by the look of relief in her eyes. Even strangers are concerned about you, Sammy. He smiled back at her, nodding to her unspoken question. Yes, he was here to take care of his inebriated brother. When she left he returned his attention to the man across from him…the man he knew so well and yet was still a constant surprise and mystery. Clearly whatever he had been dreaming about was more than just their usual nightmares. He would have to bite the bullet and get him to talk, though whether he had the faculty for conversation at the moment was iffy.

Sam was attempting to pour another shot, but was making a bit of a mess. Dean gently pulled the bottle from his hands, finishing it off with two swift shots. Sam frowned, not happy with him taking the rest of the alcohol, but reluctantly rose and staggered along with him as he threw some money on the table and drew him out into the night and plopped him in the Impala. Dean climbed in the driver's seat and looked over at Sam, who was stony faced and silent. Shaking his head, he started the car and swiftly drove them back to the room. As the car turned off, he heard Sam mutter something under his breath. "What?" he questioned.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked. Ironically, he sounded sober, though Dean knew that was not the case.

"Doing what?" he responded, confused.

"Caring." Dean just stared at him, perplexed. Since when didn't he care?

"Sammy, you're drunk." He moved to exit the car, but Sam grabbed his arm.

"Maybe, but I need to know the truth. Why do you care, when I ruined your life? Why don't you just ditch me and run the hell the other way?"

Dean was beyond confused now, and honestly it was making him a little angry. Where the hell was he getting this stuff? "Sam, you're not making any sense. I've cared for you my whole life! I've been watching out for you, yanking your ass…" he watched Sam violently recoil from him at that and trailed off as memory suddenly spiked and he remembered the words his demon self had spoken, words which Sam had clearly taken to heart. "...always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since...forever." Oh Sammy. None of that was true…

Meanwhile, Sam had apparently regrouped enough to realize they were still sitting in the car outside their room and Dean wasn't apparently going to respond. He climbed stiffly from the car, staggering only slightly before weaving his way to the room. Dean rushed after him, pushing him gently to one side to open the door, then holding it open for him to walk through.

"Sammy…" Turning back from locking the door, he saw Sam already crashed face-down on the bed. Sighing, knowing this conversation needed to happen but that nothing was going to happen now, he pulled Sam's boots off and tossed the comforter over him, then got ready and crawled into his own bed. Sleep was a long time coming, though. He remembered what he had said, the ways he had taunted Sam and belittled him. He thought Sam knew he didn't mean what had been said, but apparently not. He remembered his remorse after being cured, how he hid away in his room at first. His demon self had tried to do the one thing his human self would never, ever do no matter how far he was pushed - he had tried to kill his brother. He had been heartbroken over that fact, and had apologized repeatedly to Sam for it. At the time he had been grateful and amazed at how easy it seemed for Sam to forgive him that transgression. However, now reflecting on the whole of his time as a demon, he realized that perhaps Sam could easily forgive him that because it WAS so not-him. Sam knew, because he'd tried on more than one occasion to convince him to, that Dean would never ever try to kill him. What he apparently DIDN'T know, or was not secure in his knowledge of, was that Dean never blamed him - not ONCE - for their Mom's death or the way his life had turned out. Sam was the bright spot in all that, how could he not know this? As he slowly slipped into sleep, Dean resolved that he would find a way to make sure Sam never doubted that again.

Waking up to the sound of retching was never fun. Dean grimaced at the sounds of agony coming from behind the closed door. His little brother didn't get drunk often, but boy, he pulled out all the stops when he did! He waited for Sam to finish and retreat back to the bed, groaning as he laid back down, before hopping up and taking care of business. He then grabbed a washcloth, soaking it in cold water, and sat down gently on the bed next to Sam's prone form, placing it on his forehead. "Thks." came the garbled reply. He rested a hand on his back, rubbing light circles that he hoped were soothing, and wondering what Sam remembered of the previous evening. "Sry." Good thing he was fluent in Sam.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He listened as Sam's breathing evened back out into sleep, then headed for the shower. Emerging again in a cloud of steam, he glanced over to find Sam restless, clearly in the throes of another nightmare. Damn, can't he ever catch a break? Sighing, he walked back over to the bed and sat back down, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder to shake him awake. He blamed his own lack of sleep for not thinking that through, as he was suddenly fending off a fist as his brother jerked awake in fight mode. "Sam!" he called sharply, even as he blocked the hit then backed away, trying to wake him up all the way, "Relax, it's just me!"

"Dean? What the hell man?" Sam sputtered, dropping back to lean against the headboard, breathing heavily and closing his eyes against the pounding in his head. When he opened them again, there were pills and water in front of him which he gratefully grabbed and swallowed.

"You were having a nightmare." Dean replied finally, after the medicine and water were gone, "I wasn't thinking and tried to wake you by touching your shoulder." Sam slumped down further, staring down at his hands which were still twitching from the adrenaline spike. Dean glanced obliquely at his brother, trying to figure out where to start the conversation they needed to have, in a way that wouldn't just get shut down. "Let me guess," he finally ventured, "It was me as a demon?" Sam's flinch was enough of an answer. Dean rubbed his face wearily, taking a breath, but Sam interrupted him before he got started.

"Dean, it's fine. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Sam." he retorted, his emphasis bringing Sam's eyes abruptly to his. "I hurt you, and you're reliving it in your dreams." Sam started to protest, but he held up his hand to stop him and continued. "Sam, I need to apologize to you. I mean, I apologized for trying to kill you, and for not coming for you when Cole took you. But I don't think those are the things I did that hurt the worst, were they?" He was watching Sam closely, so he caught the sudden stillness at his words. Yep, I was right. "I remember what I said to you when I was a demon Sam. I said the most horrible things I could possibly think to say. Things that I suspect you have wondered at points over the years if they were true, which made them land that much harder and feel that much more truthful. Am I right?" Sam was avoiding his eyes again, answering without answering. Dean sighed, knowing this would not be a one time conversation, but knowing he had to convince him bit-by-bit of the truth.

"Sammy, please look at me." He said softly. He waited, willing to give his brother the time necessary but not willing to say what he had to say without eye contact. Eventually Sam capitulated, and he sank as much heart behind his words as he could possibly convey. "I have NEVER, ever, EVER blamed you for Mom's death. I have NEVER blamed you for the way my life turned out. You have ALWAYS been the best part of my life, Sammy. I need you to understand this truth." He could see Sam's urge to respond, and hurried on, "There have been times when I've been madder than fire at you. Times when I was disappointed in your choices. Times when I didn't know how to engage with you or how to express my own feelings to you. But Sammy…" he gripped Sam's forearms, maintaining eye contact, desperate to be heard, "There is no purpose in my life if you aren't in it. There has never been a time when I wished you weren't around. And I am never quitting on you. Never." Dean fell silent, feeling tremors running up Sam's arms beneath his fingers, seeing him trying to fight his emotions…a losing battle, especially after being weakened by the hangover from hell.

Sam finally broke eye contact, looking down at their arms, which at some point had become joined as he had latched onto Dean's forearms too. He just breathed for a minute, trying to control the waves of emotions washing over him. He had tried so hard not to let the words affect him. He knew, really - logically - he knew it was just the demon version of Dean throwing shit at him. And yet, Dean was completely right…he had wondered from time to time, when he had screwed up again and again, if Dean really believed such things. He finally started talking, so low at first that Dean had to lean in to hear him.

"I retreated to my room and got drunk that night, after you were cured Dean. I had been so afraid I was killing you with the blood treatments, and later that you would kill me and somehow be forced to live with that choice…" Dean stared at the bent head, marveling at this amazing brother who had worried about him and his feelings while being chased with a hammer to be slaughtered. But Sam wasn't done. "I don't think it was until I was pretty drunk that the words came back to taunt me. You're right, Dean, I have wondered - so many times - how much better your life could have been if I had never been born." Now it was his turn to squeeze Dean's arm, stalling the immediate defensive words rising from him. "It's true, Dean. If I was never born, Mom would have still been alive. They clearly weren't always perfect, but Mom and Dad would have lived and raised you as a normal boy, with all the normal things kids do. And you would have been happy - "

"I would have been LONELY." Dean stubbornly refuted. Sam shook his head, looking at Dean and willing him to let him keep talking. Dean subsided, allowing him to share whatever he needed to so they could put this to bed once and for all.

"I know we can't change the past, Dean. And I was born, and cursed, and Mom died, and we grew up as hunters. And I KNOW you were the best part of my life, my constant from the day I saw you until even now. And I know you, better than anyone on the planet, so I know you believe you're speaking the truth when you say you never resented me or wished me away. But in my drunken ass moments, or in my dreams, I wonder if you subconsciously ever did wish things were different. And so I doubted. I know I'm not worthy of your trust, loyalty, or love, so it's hard to believe sometimes you still do care."

"Bullshit, Sam. You are worthy, more than you'll ever believe. Just like you probably want me to believe the same about myself." Sam was already nodding to his words, "which is why we'll just have to believe for each other, and trust that we're telling one another the truth, even if we can't see it ourselves." The brothers stared at each other, drained, hoping they had reached a place of understanding but still not quite settled. Seeing in each other the will to believe in the other man, they slowly sensed each other relaxing. Sam's blinks were becoming slower, as he slowly succumbed to the after-effects of his night of drunkenness.

"Are you good, brother, for real this time?" Dean queried softly, willing Sam to be honest with him.

"Yeah, we're good." He smiled at him, squeezing his arms and then learning back and sliding down but not losing complete contact with Dean, Sam drifted off to sleep with a hint of a smile still on his face. Dean watched him sleep for longer than he'd ever admit, finally giving in to his weariness and shoving gently at Sam till he scooched over and made space for him to curl up back to back like they did when they were much younger. He needed his brother like he needed air, and this experience, while exhausting and way too chick-flicky for his comfort level, had given him the clear indication that Sam felt the same way. He felt himself smiling even as he joined Sam in sleep, marveling at the gift of family and brotherhood. Always and forever, brother…I've got your back always and forever.