Tag for Plush 11.07 Talk of Lucifer and the cage is not particularly welcome to Sam Winchester, but it's waking old ghosts for Dean. Ghosts that do not mean him well...can he fight against them? And if he looses can Sam get him back?

BROKEN MAN

Sam was afraid. He wasn't afraid of much, but he was afraid of the cage and of Lucifer. And that's why as they rode home in the impala he brought it up. Because he knew what Dean would say, knew he would demand no more talk of it, would try to assure him there was no call for such drastic measures. Would absolutely forbid it...would promise they would find a better way, a better way to fix what they had broken.

So he talked to Dean, and told him of his doubts and fears and Dean, as expected shot him down. Told him no, reassured him that there was a better way, a way where Sam didn't have to face his fears AND not commit suicide. (as Dean so sensitively put it) He let Dean assuage his guilt and fear. He decided that for one night he could take the little brother's place and listen and believe and be safe.

So he said, "Okay," to Dean's logic and they raced towards the bunker, both thinking of warm showers and comfy beds. (Sam's not so comfy) It wasn't until they had reached home and Sam was placing the weapons bag on the map table that he noticed the dark bruising snaking around Dean's neck. The collar of his shirt and coat had plainly been pulled up to conceal the fact and Sam frowned as he approached his brother who had his back turned to him.

Sam ghosts his fingers over the bruises, the purple, black and blue markings on his brother's skin making him ache deep inside. Dean's hand grasps around his wrist and twists it back precariously close to breaking it as Dean spins around in a blink of an eye.

The boy's eyes meet and Sam is staring into stone-cold green depths with a predator's cunning in them. It's seldom Sam sees the purgatory warrior or the hell torture master break through Dean's thick mask but this moment is one of them. He swallows thickly as he truly see the metal of the man that is his brother.

Dean blinks and the moment is gone. He smiles apologetically and lets go of Sam's wrist, stepping away from him and walking back towards his room.

"Sorry Sam," he calls over his shoulder, "Should know better than to creep up on a hunter, little brother."

Sam is quick to follow after him, "Dean are you alright, what happened to your neck?"

Dean stops in the hallway and Sam joins him there, "I'm alright Sam, ol' Chester just seemed to have a fetish for choking people, is all."

Sam is still unsure, it's been a long time since he's seen Dean like this. Strong and cold, going to his room to hide from Sam, but all smiles and jokes. Something twists unpleasantly in Sam's stomach.

"Choking people? He choked you?" Sam stutters in disbelief, he hadn't even noticed Dean in pain, none of the usual tells had shown. But Sam knew a good choking could result in trouble breathing and a painful swollen throat. "Dean, let me look at it, let me get you some ice." He offers, trying to pull Dean towards the kitchen.

He doesn't know what is wrong with Dean, but he doesn't want him to be alone. Not when those other men that are part of his brother are so close to the surface. Sometimes Sam's afraid one will break loose and that HIS Dean will be lost forever in the depths of love and lies that is Dean Winchester's heart.

Dean snorts a laugh and gives Sam an easy smile, "It's fine Sammy," he assures, "Go and get yourself a warm shower and get in that rock hard bed, I know you want it as bad as me."

Sam hesitates giving his brother a fully suspicious and worried look, Dean sighs and places a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright Sam, it'll be fine in the morning." He smiles, a full Dean Winchester, big brother smile and Sam's worry somewhat abates. He smiles back and nods.

"Okay," he breathes out, "I'll see ya in the morning."

"Sleep tight," Dean shoots after him, over his shoulder.

Sam smiles and chuckles, "Don't let the bed bugs bite," he calls back to his brother.

...

The smile dies on Dean Winchester's face even before Sam's voice has fully faded in the bunker's halls. A hand goes to caress over those burning and aching fingerprints branded on his neck, but more troubling to him are the voices in his mind, the instincts shouting at him to take action, the ache that tells him if he watches Sam disappear into the cage again he will die. And if he doesn't die he WILL kill himself.

It had gone against his very NATURE all those years ago to let Sam jump into that pit. It had broken Dean in ways Sam nor anyone else would ever know or understand. The time he'd passed with Lisa had been filled with the normalcy he and Sam had always yearned for but emotionally they were the worst months of his life.

The guilt...the wrongness of allowing his brother to die, allowing Sam to sacrifice himself for him and for the world had torn Dean to pieces. And no matter how hard he tried Dean had never picked up all the pieces, never been able to put himself back together. The only time he felt halfway whole was with Sam safe, and by his side.

And that was how he knew Sam wasn't himself, how he knew with all his heart Sam's soul was missing. Because it had been like missing half of himself. He'd hoped and prayed that his brother would be returned to him, that they would have a second chance at this powerful, beautiful thing between them.

He needed to be with Sam to be himself, just as much as Sam needed his soul to be himself.

And then Sam was back, and he's not talking about roboSam he's talking about his Sam, Sammy. And his brother had embraced him and clung to him in a plea for Dean to protect him, and in that moment the broken man that had been Dean Winchester was bound back together within the arms of his little brother.

And Dean knew he could never break like that again and live through it. So he buried it beneath everything, buried it beneath the tortured souls in hell, beneath the sorrow of losing his mother. When he got back from purgatory he wrapped that hurt and insecurity around it too, to add another layer. He could never show that weakness, never show that hurt.

But life and Sam was making it very hard. Dean could barely contain the nausea and desperation that filled him when the cage was mentioned. Then Sam spoke of going back and Dean's heart had nearly burst. The barriers hiding and bonding the brokenness back together had shaken and cracked. Dean didn't know how the brokenness would feel but he immediately knew the difference. The other Deans fought for a way through the cracks and into Dean's mind.

He'd spent the entire drive back home fighting the PTSD, pushing the urge to run relentlessly from the monsters he KNEW were chasing them down. Fighting with the bloodthirsty torture master for control...praying and begging with the Righteous Man to accept Zachariah's offer and save Sam from ever having to go into the cage...

Then Sam had touched him, touched his neck where those bruises burned, seared into his skin and the muscle beneath. That was real. Sam was real, the pain was real...he'd taught himself that, had taught Sam. The instincts of the purgatory warrior had him grabbing Sam's wrist, the bloodthirsty torturer had him yearning to break it, to hear the sound, see the agony rip through his brother's countenance, the blood ooze from the wounds where the bone would penetrate through the skin...

Sam's eyes met his, the beautiful blue green pools of emotion and trust, gazing into his. A question there, are you alright? But other than that absolute trust looking back at him. He felt Sam's eyes boar deeper, he was filleted open for Sam to see. To see the layers and levels of sorrow and pain that made Dean Winchester. Sam's head cocks to the side, he sees and understands, he is absolutely still, careful not to excite those other men, not to startle them into action.

At Sam's trust in him, Dean gains control over his variations and knows there will be no end to Sam's mother henning if he doesn't shut it down now. He smiles, he apologizes, he is as normal and secure as he can manage with all his demons running rampant inside. He manages to assuage Sam's little brother worry, soothes him with his big brother finesse and sends him off to bed laughing...

As quickly as his aching body will allow Dean closes himself up in his room and locks the door, afraid of what any of his selves may do should they get control.

And god, there is that feeling. That feeling he had hoped and prayed and begged he'd never feel again. That crushed, helpless...dead feeling in his heart and soul. It was a constant ache that made him want to give up and die. Leaning against his closed door he tried to breathe through the panic that rose in him, the warrior wanted to run from it or fight against it, the Righteous Man wanted to succumb, wanted him to die, the torturer reveled in the suffering, he wanted it to go on forever and ever. They all whispered their instructions to him.

The pain in his chest and throat brought him somewhat back to reality. He spread his cool hand over the enflamed skin of his neck and brought in big, gasping breaths filling his lungs with air, chasing the black spots from his vision. He slides down the door and sits on the floor, back supported by the wood.

"I can do this," he says to himself.

He sets to work untying his boots, and kicks them off.

"Pfft, you can do this?" The Righteous Man asks laughing. "C'mon Dean," he jeers, "We both know you haven't got it in you, both know you'd rather roll over and die."

Dean winces. True, he concedes.

"You can suffer through anything Dean," Alister's star pupil whispers, voice smooth as silk, "Let it burn, let it burn...screeeaaaammmmm...pain is the only, truly-real thing we have in this life." Dean feels his words dance and flirt around his soul, he is more frightened of the hell version of himself than he ever was of the real Satan.

I can't go through this again, he says to himself, there is no suffering through this, he decides. His evil counterpart hisses in disdain, Dean ignores him (or tries.)

"Are you afraid Dean?" His warrior self asks. And this is the man Dean is always fighting, the good and bad is muddled in this man. He kills ruthlessly, brutally, he does so to stay alive, to get back to Sam, but are all those lives really worth ending just for Dean to live? This is the part of him Dean is most like. This is the part of Dean that truly understands Dean Winchester.

"You're afraid," he jeers, "Run then, run as fast as your legs can carry you."

Dean gasps, "I won't run." He whispers, sounding uncertain.

"Stand your ground and fight then!" The warrior demands, "You are not weak, you are not these other men..."

"You're a survivor Dean," the serpent version of himself hisses, "That's what you do...survive, even when no else does, you ENDURE..."

Dean feels himself flinch against his bedroom door and he hates himself for it.

"You're right Dean, cringe, cower," the Righteous Man taunts, "Look at you, you miserable worm...you're just a useless meat suit. But you could have been more, could have saved your brother, could have been Michael's, could have been in God's will, could have lived forever in God's presence...could have joined your mother and father and could have been safe in their arms forever..."

"BUT," hell-bent Dean interrupted, "You had to go and do the RIGHT thing. Sacrifice yourself for Sammy, say no to Michael, end the apocalypse, I could go on and on..."

"And you still failed him!" the Righteous Man spat.

Dean clenches his eyes shut, and pushes the heels of his palms into them. He needs to get in control now...NOW. Things were getting out of hand, things were getting...crazy.

Purgatory Dean kneels beside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder as he whispers in his ear, "The brat betrayed you how many times? Frigging forgot about you! You did your best, you went over and beyond for him, Dean. He drags you down, he holds you back!" He shouts, pushing Dean into the door.

"He certainly makes you a goody two shoes," Hellish Dean sneers, parading in a line at Dean's feet, looking down on him hungrily, ready to snap him up into the cruel depths of that dark spirit.

"He is Lucifer's spawn, an abomination," the Righteous Man says cooly where he leans against the door jam watching the scene unfold before him.

"Sam is my brother." Dean states firmly, unsure as to why he is arguing with figments of his brain...or as to why they are touching him and in his room.

"Oh yes," the Righteous Man assures, "He's your brother, but who are you to him?" He stands straight and walks across the room examining Dean's desk and the objects there.

"A warrior? A tool...a blunt instrument, daddy's little soldier?" Purgatory Dean asks from his left where he is leaning against the door alongside Dean. "He's always been eager to leave you Dean, he's never fought like you have to be by your side."

Dean gives him a dirty look.

"For all you know," the torturer prods, "Sam's just ready to leave you, would rather be in the cage than be with you, would rather have Lucifer torturing him day and night for the rest of his life than being stuck with your sorry ass!" He laughs in glee as he watches the words tear Dean further. Feels as his barriers break a little more, that ugly brokenness giving them more power.

The Righteous man chuckles coldly watching the tears leap into Dean's eyes, "He'd be better off without you Dean, at least then, he wouldn't have to give himself to Lucifer in order to be rid of you." He holds up the angel blade from Dean's desk enticingly. "C'mon," he urges, a sneer on his lips, "You know you're ready to leave it all behind, give it all up...Sammy doesn't need you anymore."

"You're stronger than that Dean," the purgatory variation argues beside him, nudging him with his shoulder, whispering confidingly in his ear. "If you fight through this you'll be stronger than ever before, you'll survive that much more."

Hell Dean kneels in front of him, cold hand snaking up to his neck, long fingers wrapping around his throat, Dean's eyes widen in fear and meet his eyes. So like his own but cold and sharp and cunning. He bends and whispers into Dean's ear.

"Come back to me Dean," his lips tickle against Dean's cheek, "Come on back to us, Dean..." Dean gasps for breath as the fingers strangle the air from his throat, his eyes bug out of his head as his fingers struggle to remove the ones from his already bruised neck... "Time to play, Dean Winchester," he whispers nearly against his lips, his eyes glow from within a warm yellow.

"This is what you will become..." He entices. The Righteous Man approaches with the Angel blade and hands it to the master torturer...

...

Sam finishes in his bathroom and turns off the light, making a nearly leaping bound into his bed. Dean was right, he WAS looking forward to it, and it really WAS uncomfortable. Maybe he should ask Dean to get him a memory foam mattress too?

He snuggles down in his covers and rubs the side of his face deeper into his pillow, takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly...the day is over. It's time to sleep, he tells his body. The silence of the bunker surrounds him, the darkness lays thick over him trying to entice his mind to give up the rat race it runs all day.

He suddenly wishes he'd chosen a room closer to Dean's, he wishes Dean would have let him look at his neck. He wishes he hadn't seen those remnants of those other pieces of his brother in his eyes. He wishes Dean didn't carry around those ghosts, he wishes he could banish them, like Dean banishes all his. He sighs.

He wanted to press ice to his bruised neck and hold him close and whisper into his ear.

Let go of that guilt, let go of that version of you, you are different now, you're more beautiful than that, you're bigger than that.

But in the morning they'd both be better, that haunted look would be gone from Dean's face, it wouldn't be there to haunt Sam anymore. He would pray to God, Dean would laugh at him...nothing would probably come of it. They would drink coffee, they'd be clueless about the darkness some more, laugh at Cas some more...in the morning.

Wasn't that what Dean said? It'll be fine in the morning? He breathes deep again, in the morning, really it was a nice thought. In the morning everything would be better, they would be them again, it would be as if Sam had said nothing about the cage...Dean would have shaken off that gloomy mood he always got after they talked about it, Sam would be well rested and ready to face the day in the morning...

And Dean he would be better in the morning too, his neck would feel better, probably wouldn't look better, but it would feel better in the morning...in the morning.

Sam froze.

Dean had said it would be fine in the morning...meaning it wasn't fine now. Dean never made admissions like if he was in his right mind, and if he wasn't hurt. But he had, had let that slip out...had let those other men leak into his eyes, had let them lay their hands on Sam...had let them pose as a threat to Sam. Everything was not fine, and Sam wasn't entirely sure it would be in the morning either.

Sam is off the bed and through his door in a second, Dean Winchester was getting help before morning whether he liked it or not.

tbc...

What do you think? Is Dean beyond help?

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