Summary: Three days after the events in "All Hell Breaks Loose – Part 2". How is Sam dealing with the deal Dean made to get him back?
Warning: Rated PG – just because Dean says a few choice phrases. Spoilers for AHBL.
Disclaimer: If I owned them you'd only get one new episode a year… so aren't ya'll glad I don't.
A/N: As always written and posted for Faye Dartmouth and Geminigrl11… (and also for sendintheclowns). You gals rock!!!! This is posted simply because they asked me to post it. AS far as I'm concerned it was written for the three of them and as long as they think it doesn't totally stink, my mission is done. (Though they seem determined someone else might enjoy it too.)
Okay this is my second fanfic in almost one full year so you don't have to worry about my writing consuming too much valuable fic space. This is a plot bunny that bit me and would not let go. I honestly think this is a scene that could and probably should play out between our boys, though I don't expect to ever see it show up on screen.
I want to thank the really kind people who reviewed my first fic. Thank you all, I hope my second attempt doesn't disappoint too badly. Just remember I am the first to admit I can't write so you don't have to point that out to me.
"Three"
"Come on Sam just grab your coat and move your ass out to the car." Dean snarled from the motel door.
The rapid click of fingers on keyboard was the only response.
Dean deflated. "Fine."
Sam heard a soft sigh. He continued focusing on the computer screen, studiously ignoring his brother, who now stood poised on the wrong side of the door.
He could feel Dean's eyes follow his every moment. He wanted to give in to his brother. He did. The idea of Dean walking out that door without him had Sam's heart pounding. How could he know Dean would be safe if he wasn't with him to watch his back? The thought had Sam lifting his hands from the keyboard. His next thought, however, sent a chill down his spine. He covered his lapse in resolve by reaching his hands out to adjust the angle of the laptop screen. If Dean knew he had been seconds from giving in, he would definitely drag his sorry butt out the door by force. Sam couldn't let that happen, not until he knew with one hundred percent certainty that Dean was safe left alone with his own brother.
The quiet huff of two people breathing in tandem could be heard beneath the staccato rhythm of Sam's continued typing. He recognized the long even breaths of his brother and was calmed and encouraged by the unity with his own. He knew the moment was only fleeting, but his heart calmed with each passing breath as he silently counted them off. One. Two. Three.
"Damn."Dean held his breath, his hand scrunching through his hair in frustration. "Damn it Sam. Come on. The truck stop is only ten minutes down the road. Thirty minutes, and you'll be back with your precious baby, there, surfing for porn."
Sam refused to rise to the bait. Just this once, he needed his brother to walk out the door alone. "I already told you, I want to have this research ready for Bobby when he calls back."
The most Sam could hope for was a tired Dean giving up and walking out the door. Even without looking, however, Sam knew his brother stood tense and straight by the door, a posture that doomed his hope to be crushed into the faded orange shag carpet.
There was a subtle shift in the sounds coming from entryway, increasing Sam's unease.
Sam stopped typing, moving his hands and presumably his attention to the ancient volume sitting open on the table. The shift in position provided Sam the opportunity to glance at his brother's dim reflection in the television screen. Dean's head hung down, eyes focused on some point near the path his right foot was making in the carpet as it slowly swung back and forth. The action was hypnotic and Sam forgot about stealth and secrecy and watched his brother's reflection earnestly.
A small forward swing shifted the pattern of the shag carpet into something resembling a river of spilled Tang, till the toes of Dean's foot found free air. Swing back, returning the carpet to a plateau of faded orange-gold. Swing forward, swing back. Repeat. Swing forward, fall back. Repeat. Swing ---
Suddenly, Dean pivoted with a jerk and his right leg swung at the door with the full force of a field kicker.
The crack of the door jumping on its hinges jerked Sam out of his seat, his chair crashing to the floor with an echoing bang. His eyes locked on liquid fire as his brother turned to face him. Sam held his breath, hands clenching at his side, prepared for whatever verbal or physical punches Dean chose to unleash next.
He needed Dean to leave. He had to follow through on his plan. He had to do it today. With that knowledge in mind, he could stand firm against anything. Anything.
"Please, Sammy." The haunting whisper barely floated across the room.
Except that.
The impact of the simple request had Sam leaning against the edge of the table for support. How could he refuse? God, how could he, how could they keep going on like this?
Sam wanted to give in. He always wanted to give in to Dean, to take one portion of burden from his brother's shoulders and hold it on his own. The weight of choices made and roads taken weighed them both down these days. And saving Dean was Sam's top priority. He would do anything to save Dean including being an evil -- Sam shuddered -- son of a bitch.
"No." Sam gulped as Dean's face fell. One son of a bitch at your service. "I told you Bobby needs this information as soon as possible."
"But-"
"It's been three days, Dean -" Sam's heart skipped a beat as Dean's eyes flew up to lock with his own.
The next word caught in his throat, but the echo of a gunshot and splashing water as Dean fell, had Sam stumbling on. " - three days since all hell literally broke loose. There is stuff here I have to do." The memory of the pain and chaos he had caused trapped in his body as Meg's favorite puppet and 'boy toy" boosted Sam's resolve.
"I can help."
"Yes, you can. You can go get something to eat before your blood sugar crashes and I have to pick your sorry ass up off the floor." Sam offered through a sly grin Dean normally couldn't resist.
Dean raised a finger and opened his mouth to reply.
"I swear, I'm not going to leave the motel room. You said it yourself; you'll be back in thirty minutes. I'll be fine, Dean."
As Sam silently mumbled 'I hope.' he could see 'You better be.' flash across Dean's eyes.
"Fine. I'll pick you up a burger to go along with that bird's nest you bought this morning." Dean nodded in the direction of the mini-fridge.
"It's a salad, Dean. You should try one sometime."
"Dude it's rabbit food. You need a burger with onions, and a great big slice of pi-" Dean stopped mid-sentence all color washed from his face.
Sam took a step toward his brother as Dean fumbled for the door knob at his back. "Cake. Cake would be real good."
The flash of light as the door was thrown open blocked Dean's escape but Sam continued forward. He reached the entryway just in time to catch a glimpse of leather on leather as Dean shut the driver's door. The Impala backed up with a roar of the engine and the rain of flying gravel. Sam drew back and slammed the motel door closed. With a sigh, Sam rested his aching head against the cool metal of the door.
"I'm sorry, Dean." He whispered to the empty room as his hand turned the deadbolt.
Resistance drew his attention back to the door. Placing both hands on the lever, Sam turned again, but the deadbolt refused to lock into place. The force of Dean's kick had bent the door just enough to prevent the bolt from sliding home. Sam pulled at the door without turning the knob. It stayed shut and Sam sighed knowing that was as good as he was going to get.
The curtains were already drawn against the heat of the sun -- and the unwanted attention of the motel owner's daughters.
In minutes, the small table was cleared of computer and books and the chair restored to its rightful position. Sam knelt by the open door of the mini-fridge, his hands shaking as he reached past two Snickers bars and three cans of soda to grasp the styrofoam container. The weight was a heavy burden in his hands, and he quickly placed it in the center of the table. With one final glance at the closed door, Sam bit his lip turned, and sat down.
With a flick of his wrist, the clamshell container opened to reveal crisp green lettuce and a variety of vegetables even Sam would have been hard pressed to identify, if he had cared. He didn't. The salad was a shell game, a convenient deception, concealing another burden from Dean.
Sam blindly reached into the box lifting a shiny silver flask from its green tomb.
Reverently brushing a piece of lettuce from the surface of the metal, Sam studied the intricate engraving revealed. A Celtic knot was etched into the silver of the flask, one word gracing its center; "FAITH".
The flask had been one of Pastor Jim's few personal possessions. He had shown it to Sam once during a long summer filled with hunting, hurting, and healing. He said the flask had been hand made by a personal friend, whose life he had once saved, who had melted down a family cross to make the flask because it was the purest silver the friend could find. He had gone on to say that he honored the sacrifice of his friend by keeping special holy water, blessed three times, in the flask. This had led to a discussion on numerology and the importance of certain numbers like 3, 7 and 40 in the Bible. Pastor Jim had loved knowledge and Sam missed learning at his side.
Sam had been surprised when Bobby had shoved something cold and hard into his jacket pocket, as the group of hunters prepared to leave for the cemetery. Sam remembered reaching for the mysterious object hidden in his pocket as his brother had turned toward the Impala. Bobby had stifled his curiosity with a subtle shake of his head. Sam trusted Bobby and had studiously ignored the impulse to check his jacket pocket the rest of the afternoon. In the adrenaline rush of their battle Sam had completely forgotten about the questionable gift. When Sam had finally removed the item from his pocket, he had been shocked to see Pastor Jim's flask. He wasn't sure how the prize had come to be in Bobby's care. Sam was just grateful Bobby had foreseen his need for it.
A test.
A baptism.
He needed to know he was clean. That he hadn't been changed by fire, demon's blood, possession, or even death, into something evil. An evil that wanted to destroy the world. Or worse, a beast that would hurt Dean.
The discovery that he had died combined with the secrets of his past, as the demon had revealed in glorious Technicolor and surround sound, had left Sam shaken to the core. He felt as if he were falling, constantly falling, like a dark angel kicked out of heaven to plummet to the harsh world below. He couldn't let Dean know, not after what his brother had sacrificed. So he had maneuvered and planned for three days to find the opportunity to be alone to restore his faith in himself.
Just him and three chances at redemption.
Dean had said it himself often enough. "Third times the charm."
Sam would take three shots of holy water to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was pure and clean. He admitted to himself, if their situations had been reversed and Dean had been asked to drink the holy water, one drink would have quenched any doubt. But this was Dean's safety at risk, not his own, and nothing less than three shots would ease Sam's soul.
With a deep breath Sam steadied his nerves and opened the flask, turning the lid over in his hand to become a cup. The metal was cold, which meant the water he poured carefully into his cup was also chilled. Sam wanted it that way. He needed the cold of the water so he could feel the slightest touch of heat in his throat. If the holy water reacted with the tiniest spark of evil in his soul, Sam needed to know so he could protect Dean from it.
Touching the silver to his lips, Sam said a silent prayer, threw back his head and drank. The water was cool and crisp on his parched tongue and dry throat. Sam allowed his body to shake with a tiny tremor of relief as he felt the cold ball of liquid race toward his stomach. Shaky hands set the flask and cup carefully on the table.
Sam felt some of the adrenaline start to drain from his body. He had passed round one. He wished that was enough, that he could put everything away and just wait for Dean to come back with the food. Wait for Dean. Dean.
It was thoughts of Dean that had Sam pouring a second shot from the flask. He had to make sure he wasn't a danger to Dean. Sam knew he could be dangerous, knew he wasn't a Saint. He had killed, could kill to protect Dean. His mind drifted back to the cemetery, Jake using his powers to manipulate Ellen into shooting herself. Sam had known the danger wasn't over as Jake turned, and that's why he had grabbed his gun and shot the way he'd been taught to shoot.
As the cool metal of the cup touched his lips, however, the scene in his mind continued to play out, Jake was down and Sam was turning his gun on him once more. Three shots rang out and Sam had felt -
Fire! He was on fire! Sam gagged as the liquid burned hot, branding his insides. The silver cup clattered to the ground, as Sam's hands rose to claw at his tortured throat.
"What the freaking hell?"
Sam felt a heavy arm beating at his back as his tried to cough out the liquid. His abused lungs screaming for oxygen.
"Just cough it up. You're gonna be okay, Sammy."
The simple words increased the flow of tortured tears down Sam's cheeks. Oh dear God, he was a danger to his brother. He had to go. He had to leave.
As he tried to stand on shaky legs, Dean's hands grasped his shoulders and pushed him back into the chair. "Just sit still and catch your breath."
Sam did as he was told. Shaking hands wiped roughly at his eyes, as his breathing slowed and evened out. He had almost recovered enough to speak when the slight pressure on his shoulders became steel bands digging into sensitive muscle.
"What the hell! What the fucking hell are you doing in here Sam?"
"I thought you were going out for something to eat." Sam gulped as he searched his brain for an explanation Dean would accept.
The steel bands broke with a snap and Sam found himself free to move. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to at this point. He could here Dean pacing behind him, pounding his right fist into his opened palm. The sound of flesh on flesh was loud and painful, and Sam chose to wait quietly for the inevitable explosion.
It came with a resounding 'crack', solid flesh to dry wall. A familiar sound that had Sam spinning in his seat to look at Dean. He had never seen his brother so livid. Sam wasn't sure if the air behind Dean's head was disturbed by flying dust from the damaged dry wall or if Dean actually had steam coming out of his ears.
"What? You think you're evil now Sammy? You think for one minute I believe what that God damn dead demon said was true?"
"What-"
"Ah-ah." Dean waved his finger at Sam. "No, you don't get to speak now."
Sam closed his mouth. If punching walls and yelling at Sam helped his brother deal, then he could certainly sit there and take whatever Dean wanted to dish out.
"You think drinking holy water proves anything Sam? You think choking on a little water that slid down the wrong pipe proves something? I've seen you choke worse on apple juice you stupid little -"
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but the warning look Dean shot him silenced the protest on his lips.
"Fine." Dean growled, sending a chill up Sam's spine. Fine was never fine in the Winchester family.
Dean picked up his weapons duffle and roughly dumped the contents on the motel bed. Grabbing a small vial and a black jar in his hands Dean stalked back to the table and slammed the items in front of Sam.
Sam flinched as he got a closer look at the black jar. The jar wasn't black; it was the thick liquid inside that was an oily red-black. With Sam's experience, he couldn't help but recognize 'dead man's blood'.
"Here, Sam." Dean poured some of the liquid into a plastic cup. "Normally, I would use a knife, but since you seem to be getting off by doing shots tonight, try some of this. If you're the walking dead it will take care of you pretty quick."
"Of course, if that doesn't work," Dean continued picking up the tiny vial. Dean fought the stopper for all of three seconds before giving up and cracking the side of the vial sharply against the table. The top shattered and Dean dumped the contents into another plastic cup. "You can always try this poison I got from that Voodoo lady in New Orleans. If you die, then we'll know you were good and pure and all that crap, but if you live I'll guess that will prove you're plain evil and I'll just -" Dean continued slamming the plastic cup to the table with enough force to crush the bottom allowing the contents to spill onto the wood.
Dean's hands started to shake.
Sam grasped his brother's hands before he had time to pull them away and gave them a firm squeeze. Dean latched on to his brother's hands in a vice-like grip and raised his eyes to Sam's.
"I'm gonna say this just one more time Sam and get it through that thick genius brain of yours. You are not evil. You never have been. Me and Dad dragged you through this hell kicking and screaming but that does not make you evil."
"Everything. Everything that has ever happened to you, has happened - to - you. You didn't cause anything. Which makes you the one innocent in this whole screwy mess our family calls life. Okay, Sam?"
"Dean - "
"I know you're trying to prove something here Sam. You're trying to prove that coming back from the dead didn't turn you evil. How can it Sam?"
"Dean - "
"No. You didn't ask to come back. I begged to get you back. I had your soul pulled out of heaven or wherever good people go because I didn't have the balls to go on without you. That makes me the evil bast-" Dean's tears fell heavy on his face.
"Dean!" Sam broke the spell and jerked his abused hands from his brother's strong grasp. "I would have done the same for you."
Dean didn't speak another word. He simply collapsed into the chair next to Sam's and smiled bitterly at his little brother. "Dad died to save me. I sold my soul for you."
He paused then rushed on in a desperate whisper. "Please promise me, you won't sacrifice yourself to save me, Sammy. Please."
"No." Sam responded with a slight shake of his head. "I promise to do everything in my power to save you Dean."
"That's what I'm afraid of Sam. I'm not afraid of you going dark-side. I've told you a hundred times, it's not gonna happen!"
"I'm afraid of this -" Dean pointed at the clutter of objects on the table. "I'm scared of what you'll do, of the sacrifices you'll make, to protect me."
"Now you know how it feels to be the kid brother."
Dean responded with a bitter grin. "It sucks."
"It has its advantages." Sam felt a rush of warmth as his sincere reply transformed the bitter grin on his brother's face into a full smile.
"Damn right."
Sam wished he could let the argument end that way. They were both drained. He hated pushing his brother, but he had promised himself three shots, and one remained.
Sam looked at the three cups on the table. Most people would have been appalled by the contents they contained, but Sam would disagree. The two cups at the end contained Dean's love for him. He raised the flask and poured the remainder of the holy water into the silver cup and this one contained his love for Dean.
He turned cup in hand to face his brother. "I have to, Dean."
"I know."
Sam raised the cup to his lips. Before he could drink, however, Dean snatched the cup from his hands with a sarcastic, "Dude, beauty before brains."
As he watched Dean poured half the contents from Sam's cup into a plastic one. Handing the silver cup back to Sam, Dean "clinked" the edges of their cups together in the parody of a toast.
Sam waited for a flippant "Bottoms up, dude." and a cocky smile to be thrown his way.
However, Dean graced Sam with one of the few chick flick moments of his life. Dean simply spoke one word, "Together.", and with a sincere smile on his lips Dean raised his glass to his brother. "No matter what Sammy, it will always be you and me, together, always."
With a smile and a raised glass Sam echoed his brother's salute. "Together, always."
Both brothers drank together.
As the cool crisp water coated Sam's throat and eased his soul, Sam knew he didn't need holy water and tests of faith after all. He just needed one stubborn pain-in-the-ass big brother to believe in him more than he believes in himself.
Both brothers smiled at each other as empty glasses were sat on the table.
Dean turned toward the television. "And just so you know Sammy. You're cleaning up that shit."
End
A/N: If you made it this far, thanks for reading. If Dean seems off to you, I'm sorry but I felt like this is the first time Dean was willing to speak to me… so I put it down just the way I heard it in my head. I would like to point out, however, that Dean has had really angsty emo moments in Season 2, and I feel it is perfectly reasonable to expect a little honest emo breakdown from him again.