Always for Sam

They say Hell makes you forget all about who you were. Sometimes it twists you bad enough that all you can do is kill. But forgetting him was never really an option, not for Dean.

The first few weeks were just blood. Blood and carnage everywhere, and damn, did it feel good. Dean wasn't denying himself the simple pleasures of his species, like possession and killing.

It was easy, really. Easier than it should have been, to slaughter the family, to murder half the town. In fact, it was… satisfying.

And then there were the hunters. They kept trying to tie him down, to send him back to Hell. But he didn't want to go back, not now, not ever.

For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling he was missing something.

He traveled across the country, hiding, burning and killing those that he found, and getting out before anyone could get him first. And then he was sure that he was meant to be doing something else.

The feeling was more pronounced. He knew he was missing someone important.

So Dean began his search. It went on for months. He found people, but never the right person. He still couldn't even place a name, a face, to his feeling. But it persisted, wouldn't let him rest until he'd found this person.

Now, the lonely feeling makes him want to scream with loss and rage.

It's in a small town, at a diner, when he finally sees him. He can only see the back of his head, but something keeps him staring at the tall man hunched over a salad. The man who seems so broken, messy brown hair fallen in front of his eyes, who seems so in pain.

The feeling is a voice now. It's repeating, over and over, Sam, Sam, Sammy…

The boy turns in his seat to check the time off the diner's clock, and Dean catches his eyes for half a second.

He remembers Sam, his Sammy, and suddenly nothing else is important.

He stands from the booth, sliding in across from the now surprised man, and takes his hand in his. "Sam," Dean breathes. It's the first word he's said since he got back.

Sam gives him an uncomfortable look. "Who are you? Can I help you?"

"I'm well past help, Sammy." Something in his little brother's gaze darkens at the nickname.

"Only he got to call me Sammy…" it's just barely over a whisper, and suddenly he's wrenching his hand away, turning to leave the diner.

Dean isn't quite sure what he's doing, but he follows him out into the parking lot.

The man rounds on him, glaring daggers, but the sorrow is evident in his eyes. "What the hell could you possibly want from me?"

"I missed you so much, Sam. Please. You have to know it's me." Going out on a limb, he slides his eyes to black, and then back to green again. Sam must get it then, because instead of fear and Ruby's knife, Dean sees only a broken man. A broken man with a demon for a brother.

Sam blinks a few times, his face slipping through a few different expressions, mostly confused. "No. No, he's dead. He died, I watched him die. And no one would bring him back. No one. And he… he's gone. He left me with this craphole of a world. Alone."

"Sam… No, I'm here. It's me. And I'm not ever leaving my little brother alone again."

"Dean," Sam chokes out, pulling his brother in for a hug. "I can't lose you again."

"You won't," Dean assured him. "The bosses downstairs have big plans for you, you know. But when it's done… the world, when all of it's done… I'll be here the whole time. Trust me, Sam. Please, just trust me."

And the broken man follows his demon brother into the darkness, because it's all he's ever really known how to do- trust his brother.