Package Deal

K Hanna Korossy

They say you should never go to bed angry. Well, they say that about couples, but Sam figured brothers who shared a job, a life, and motel rooms counted. They were in each other's space more than most marriage partners.

Winchesters never had been one to follow rules, however.

"You shouldn't be messing with it." Dean yanked off his button-down and tossed it in the general direction of his duffel bag.

Sam counted silently to three. "Dean, for the third time. I wasn't scratching the Wall; I was just trying to remember something from a hunt with the Campbells."

"And what did Dr. Death say about remembering, huh?" Jeans followed the shirt. "Don't do it. Not if it's about something that happened while part of you was down below."

Sam had been pulling the comforter off his own bed, and he stopped to throw a hand up. "So what am I supposed to do, just pretend the last eighteen months didn't happen?"

Dean pointed at him. "Yes! Yes, that's what you do. Soulless-you time, Cage-time, just leave it alone." He yanked off his own comforter and let it puddle on the floor. "It's not worth it, Sam. Nothing that happened is worth breaking your brain over."

Sam pressed his lips tightly together as he worked to control his temper. Dean was just worried about him; he knew that. But, "You can't just tell me to ignore part of my life, Dean. I said things, did things, that can affect us now. Like this case—"

Dean shook his head. "As of now, we're off this case. I already called Lincoln to take over. We're leaving town tomorrow."

Sam glared at him, tilting his head. "So you just made the decision for me." He huffed. "Am I ever going to stop paying for letting Lucifer out?"

"That's not what this is about." Dean's face turned earnest, which was worse than the anger. "What you're doing is dangerous. It's a stupid risk, and I'm not going to let you do it."

"Let me. Right." Sam nodded, jaw working as he looked away from his brother so he wouldn't be tempted to punch him. Or let tears fall. "Glad to know where I stand. I'm going to sleep." He climbed into bed and turned his back to Dean, pulling the covers up to his neck.

He could sense Dean's unhappiness behind him, but Sam just didn't care right now. He heard Dean finish his bedtime prep, then turn the light off and slide into his own bed. "G'night, bro," he said quietly to Sam's back.

Sam tried to stay mad, but it felt more like grief that dragged him under into sleep.

00000

It seemed like a dream, but Sam knew it was a memory.

Dean knew now that Sam had come back wrong, and Sam was relieved not to have to hide it anymore, to pretend to feel. To pretend he was scared for Dean when demons got the drop on them and pinned them to the wall.

"So, it's your choice," the smirking leader said to Dean. He was in a guy in an expensive suit who looked like he belonged in a Fortune 500 company, not a squalid house. "Door Number One, we kill Sam." He waved a hand at the two demons holding Sam, one of whom had a knife at his throat. Annoying.

"And Two?" Dean gritted out, looking furious and…worried? Sam was pretty sure it was worried.

"Door Number Two, you take this." The demon held out another knife in front of Dean. "And you cut right through that nasty little tattoo on Sammy's chest."

Okay, that was…concerning.

Dean glanced at Sam, then back at the demon. "So you can possess him." It wasn't a question.

"Maybe. But we'll let you both go. A little slice beats a stab in the heart, hmm?"

Dean was looking at Sam, his expression pleading for…something. For Sam to decide? For him to understand? Did it matter with those two options?

Oh, well, whatever. Sam snorted. "You don't have to ask him. I'll do it."

"Sam—"

He gave his brother a cool look. "'Beats a stab in the heart,' right?" He put out a hand for the knife.

The demon cocked its head, then smiled. "No tricks or your brother's next, and there's no Door Number Two for him."

"No tricks," Sam agreed. He'd been possessed before, and it wasn't that bad: kill a few people, sleep around, smoke a pack of cigarettes. Not that different from his current life. Minus the smoking because, geez, he wasn't stupid.

The demon handed him the knife and nodded at the two holding Sam's arms. They loosened their grip enough to let him reach up and pull down the edge of his shirt, then lay the knife over the anti-possession tattoo.

"Sam! Don't!" Dean called out.

But Sam kept his eye on the head demon as he pulled the blade across the tattoo, feeling the sting of the cut and then the warm trickle of blood.

"Sammy!"

Then the demon boiled darkly out of the executive and shoved its way down Sam's throat like a gush of acrid smoke, the pressure unbelievable, chasing down every bit of Sam and locking it away.

It was so very much worse than he'd thought.

And that was the last thing he did think, only blackness and crushing weight and helplessness after.

00000

There were glimpses, like flashes caught between the slats of a fence.

A screaming kid.

Bobby, looking stunned.

Dean, yelling something.

The demon taunting him back in Sam's voice.

Dean, a hard smile on his face as he stood in a doorway.

Dean, shoving him.

And then there was a rain of Latin words, like a silver shower, each word replacing a little of the darkness. Some pieces didn't want to go, hooking into Sam, pulling at him until he felt like he'd be yanked inside-out.

Then it was vomiting out of him, making him retch and fall to his knees and grab at anything to keep from collapsing or losing himself.

As it turned out, that anything was Dean.

His brother's words were the first thing that penetrated the suffocating darkness, drawing him out into the light. As Sam went limp, coughing and panting, it was Dean's arms around him and rubbing his back, Dean's chin on top of his head, Dean's voice telling him it was okay now, he was okay, he was safe.

It was—almost—a taste of what he could remember from before but not feel now about his brother.

"You with me?"

"Yeah," Sam said hoarsely, meaning it for perhaps the first time since he'd saved Dean from that djinn in Lisa's garage. "'M here." He slowly pulled himself together and sat up, Dean's hand still curled around his arm. It felt like he was still floating inside his body, unmoored, but that touch was an anchor. He cleared his throat, forcing tired eyes to focus on Dean's tired face. "How did you…?"

The corner of Dean's mouth ticked up, and he turned on the flashlight Sam hadn't noticed in his hand. It wasn't a normal beam, however, but the cold blue of a black light. He swung it around the room, and wherever it touched, Sam could see them.

Dozens of them. Crammed together on the floor, the walls, the ceiling, drawn invisibly in ultraviolet paint.

Devil's Traps.

00000

Sam shot up in bed, gasping.

Dean startled awake in the next bed, blinking in confusion a second before he jackknifed up. "Sam? Y'okay?"

Sam stared at him, chest heaving, disoriented. Enough light streamed in from the parking lot to illuminate the room, but it took a moment to figure out which room.

Dean scrambled out of bed and sat beside him. He squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, you with me, dude?"

The same question. "'M here," Sam managed. The same anchoring.

Dean ducked down to see his eyes. "You didn't—?" Have a flashback, he didn't ask.

"No. I…remembered something." Sam was starting to catch his breath, reality dispelling the last disturbing wisps of the dream.

Dean's grip tightened. "From your time—?" He was obviously afraid to even say the words, anything that might trigger another brick falling out of the wall that kept Hell at bay.

"No." Sam wiped at his face, surprised to find it damp.

Dean breathed out, the lines in his face easing. "A good memory."
"No. Yeah. Sort of."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Well, that clears it up."

"Was I…possessed while I was soulless?"

Dean drew back a little. Then he washed a hand down his face. He looked drawn in the wan light. "You're just gonna pick at this until I tell you, aren't you? Okay, fine. Yes, you were, for, like, a day before I was able to exorcise you. But I kept an eye on you, didn't let you do anything too bad," he added quickly.
Sam nodded, shoving his sweaty hair back. "All right." He had no doubt of that. Or that every bit of his dream-memory was true. "I'm okay, Dean," he said, meeting his brother's eyes.

"Yeah?" Dean examined him closely in the weak light. "Okay." He let go of his arm to scruff the back of his neck, relief evident in his expression, his touch. "Get some more sleep, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Sorry." He rubbed his eyes.

"No problem." Dean stood up, still watching him. "You know I'm just looking out for you, right?"

Sam smiled wearily. "Yeah, I do." Apology offered and accepted.

He slid down in bed, listened as Dean got comfortable.

His brother's way of "looking out" for Sam could be bossy and confining, and Sam sometimes chafed at being treated like the little brother. But Dean had saved him so many times when he needed saving. Even when Sam was soulless and tactless, or possessed and poisonous, Dean still cared.

"I can hear you thinking from over here," Dean said drowsily. "Go to sleep, Sammy."

"Yes, Mom," he said and closed his eyes.

Dozens of Devil's Traps. Man, his brother.

Sam smiled into his pillow and went to sleep.

The End