Alright new story for a New Year (even though it's almost the end of January). I hope everyone is having a great year so far.

By the way, the Beta was done by babyboybigbrother on Instagram (there is a period between boy and big but for some reason FF won't let me do that). She is a Wincest account but don't give her crap for shipping it because she is really an awesome account and she was kind enough to help edit this for me.

I do apologize but Demon!Dean will be a little OCC because that's how it flows in this fic okay?

I have no medical experience at all so I basically just BS'd the medical facts but hey don't we all?

The old but sturdy door fell to the ground with a loud thud as the demon entered the warehouse.

The moment Dean Winchester awoke as a demon after he was stabbed by the damn Scribe of The Lord, he knew that his feelings for his brother had changed. It wasn't like it used to be, where if Sam was even threatened, he would find the perpetrator and give him a painful death. Instead, it took Dean six days to decide to go after Sam once he got a call from the man who kidnapped his brother. He finally convinced himself that he needed to feed the mark. Maybe going after the mysterious man would satisfy it long enough.

"All right Houdini I know you're here," Dean said as he pulled out the First Blade. As a human, he'd carried around guns, knives, holy water, and other essentials when hunting. Now, knowing this was a mere human, all he needed was the blade he held in his hands. If he wanted to, he could snap the poor bastard's neck with a click of his fingers, but watching the life leave his eyes as he dug his blade deep into his body was much more satisfying.

"Come on out and play Mr. Bigshot. You do realize that taking what's mine, even if I don't want it, is a big no-no right?" Dean took a few more steps before continuing: "If you show yourself right now, I won't kill you. Leave you in need of a hospital but nothing too serious," Dean chuckled at his own lame joke. The scurrying of rats along the concrete floor could be heard, but Dean didn't care. He was too busy thinking about torturing the man who had kidnapped Sam in an attempt to lure Dean to him.

Dean had to laugh at that. He didn't care about anyone anymore, especially Sam. Sam was nothing to him. He wasn't interested in saving Sam – who had always complained about how he could handle things on his own, anyway. "Well, look whose wrong now Sammy-boy," Dean muttered to no one in particular, "You couldn't even save yourself from an average Joe!"

Dean smiled wickedly as he thought of all the ways he could torture this mystery-man. He still remembered what Alistair taught him during his forty year stay in Hell, and he planned on putting some of those skills to use. He might even keep Sam in the same room, force him to watch how different he is. His brother would beg for Dean to let the man free, even though he'd caused Sam so much pain, but Dean wouldn't listen to Sam. He was done listening to the voice of reason.

The copper smell, although faint, was defiantly there. Dean assumed it was blood. To be more precise, he assumed it was his brother's blood. It still had the tinge of the demon blood given to Sam by Azazel when he was just an infant. "Looks like we're basically the same Sam," Dean continued, "You were poisoned by the blood of a powerful demon, it changed you into a monster, and now I've become one as well."

Walking to the back of the dilapidated building, Dean stopped. He had found what he was looking for. Sam's head was resting on his chest. His hands were bound together and his legs were strapped to the chair with zip ties. Even from a distance, Dean could see the mass of bruises covering his face, the dark circles underneath Sam's eyes. There was dried blood under his nose and on his shirt. Dean walked over to the bound man, making a tsking noise as he approached the chair.

"What have you been up to while I was having fun Sammy?" He smirked as he placed his hands around Sam's face and examined the nasty bruise near his eye. "Is this some kind of new kink of yours? Or did he have too much fun playing with you?" Sam didn't respond, didn't even move. His head lolled in Dean's hands, almost like his neck was no longer supporting his Sasquatch head. Dean frowned at the observation. This almost reminded him of...

No.

"Sam?"

As a demon, Dean had thought, no believed, that all his worries, cares, and sorrows were gone. They had been absent for the last six weeks. But looking at Sam's head slumped against his hands, he knew something was off. "Hey Sammy, wake up," Dean began to repeatedly slap Sam's face, not liking what he was seeing.

When he was human, he would have nightmares about Cold Oak, even years after the horrifying event. Holding Sam's lifeless cold body, crying over the loss of the last person who was his family, his own blood. The night before Metatron stabbed him, Dean was able to fall asleep for the first time in a while, only to wake up half an hour later in a cold sweat, the memory of Sam dying in his arms at Cold Oak penetrating his dreams.

Dean placed a finger under Sam's bloody nose, confused when he didn't feel Sam exhale or inhale. He then slid his finger lightly over Sam's cracked and damaged lips, getting the same results. He put two fingers on the pressure point on Sam's neck to search for a pulse. He counted for ten seconds, waiting to feel a small beat. Ten seconds turned to thirty, then to a minute. He did not feel even the slightest thump.

"No no no no no..." Dean let go of Sam's head, watching as it fell back down to his chest, his long hair covering his face. Dean stood back, watching to see if his brother's chest would rise and fall, indicating that he was still breathing and alive. He was disappointed when he saw no such movement. He however noticed something he hadn't before when he'd first seen Sam. In his shirt, there was blood staining some parts, but when Dean looked closer, he saw one area with a lot of blood. He carefully pulled back the stiff material, and gasped when he saw the stab wound on Sam's abdomen that had caused most of the blood. The blood on Sam's skin around the wound was stiff and dark, a heavy contrast to the pale skin of his baby brother.

The room started to spin. Dean began to take quick, shallow breaths, eventually hyperventilating. Demons don't need to breathe, but the sudden realization knocked the wind out of him.

Who knew demons could have that feeling?

Dean, not knowing what else to do, pulled out the normal knife he kept in his back pocket and started the process of freeing Sam from his bonds. He cut the zip tie on Sam's hands then moved to his ankles. Dean was surprised he didn't nick Sam with the tears blurring his vision. Once he finished cutting Sam free, he carefully lifted him out of the chair, careful not to jostle the arm in the sling. He knew it was pointless, Sam couldn't feel a thing, but he didn't care. He had to offer some kind of protection to his little brother even if it was already too late.

Sam, the 6'4 Sasquatch was hard to carry when human, but Dean wasn't human anymore. It wasn't too hard to carry dead weight. Dean gently laid Sam down on the hard floor before sitting down next to him. He pulled Sam's upper body into his lap and carefully caressed the bruised and bloodstained face. He examined the rest of his broken brother; the lacerations on his wrist and ankles caused by the zip ties, the cut on his right arm and right leg looked as if it had become infected at some point. He had a few cuts on his face as well as his neck. Dean cringed when he glanced at the cuts on his neck. Sam must have gone through a lot of pain. One cut was really close to Sam's jugular. Dean noticed Sam's knee was angled a bit too sharply to be normal. As he gently touched it, he felt the crushed bones underneath the skin. When Dean placed a hand underneath Sam's head, he felt a wet substance. When he lifted it back up, he saw blood.

His brother was a bloody, broken mess. Sam was a glass window, so beautiful, so fragile, so unappreciated; and Dean was the man who stupidly and unintentionally smashed his brother, until all that was left was broken glass that couldn't be put back together.

It was all his fault.

Flashes of memories of other times he had held Sam this closely swarmed his mind. When Sam was five, he'd tripped over his shoelaces and fallen onto the hard pavement, scraping his knees and elbows. Dean had held Sam in his arms, calming him down before he got Sam cleaned up.

On Sam's eleventh birthday, a shapeshifter the three Winchesters had been hunting came after Sam pretending to be John, and had tortured him for a good hour until John and Dean had finally found them and killed the shifter. Sam wouldn't allow John to touch him, understandably, but he let Dean hold him in his arms and calm him down on the way to the hospital.

In the ninth grade Crystal Wright, who had called Sam her 'boyfriend', used Sam for help on her homework, and then, after he'd done all of her homework for all of her classes for a month, dumped him publicly. Sam ran home with tears in his big, hazel eyes. Dean was the one who held him and calmed him down before he rushed over to the girl's house to tell her parents about the guys she had bragged about sleeping with.

As the memories faded, Dean noticed something stuffed in Sam's jean pocket he hadn't noticed before. He grabbed the folded piece of paper with his name written on the front and unfolded it, reading the contents of the letter.

You surprised me Dean. When I asked around about you, everyone said your biggest weakness, the one person you would die for, was your brother. When you decided to let him find his own way out of a mess you created, I was quite surprised. Sam was right when he said you were a demon.

As I tortured your brother, I gave him the option to trade info on where you were for his escape. He gave me many different responses, one of which was "up your ass" but he never once gave me the slightest hint on where you were.

It's upsetting Dean. Even after you abandoned poor little Sammy to fend for himself, he still protected you.

I didn't want to kill him, just put him in a world of pain, but after five days of torture and the same reply, I knew he wouldn't survive. He was weak and he'd lost so much blood. I knew he was going to die eventually, so I decided to put him out of his misery. I'm sorry it ended this way for Sammy. Sadly, we live in a world where it's an eye for an eye. You killed my father and in return I killed your brother.

I don't know if you will ever find this, or care to look for your brother, but just in case you do swing by, I wanted to let you know that we are now even.

~Cole

Dean gripped the letter tightly. He reread the paper stating Sam's death until his eyes began to burn.

When Dean woke up a demon, he believed he had lost his capacity to care. When he easily left Sam alone to deal with a man that had some kind of beef with him, he thought that he had lost the ability to love. Now, as Dean held Sam's broken body, he felt the tears that he'd believed were gone forever spilling down his cheeks as he stared at the body that was once his brother.

"Sammy..."

His brother was killed yesterday. If he had been faster, Sam would be alive. Dean had forgotten how to be a brother. He forgot to be Sam's hero, his guardian, his family. Dean pushed a long lock of chestnut hair out of Sam's face, the small gesture calming him a bit. Studying Sam again, he knew what he had to do. He was going to find this Cole bastard and make him pay for kidnapping, torturing, and killing Sam.

Mind already made up, Dean leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the top of Sam's head. "I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered, holding his brother closer and allowing the tears to flow unchecked from his eyes.

I am possibly thinking about writing a sequel to this. After all, Dean Winchester is the type of person who won't let something like this slip by.