My tag for "Lucifer Rising." In many ways, I think this ended up being a companion piece to Last Ride, my "When the Levee Breaks" tag (which, despite what Annabeth believed, was NOT anti-Dean). A lot of the same emotions are in play in both.

Special thanks to geminigrl11 for a really fast beta. I own nothing. Reviews Craved.

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Reap

Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. —The King James Bible, Galatians VI

The light was blinding, but Dean's eyes kept going back to it. Sam was transfixed, and not in any good way. The kid look horrified, like he was staring down the end of the world.

Which...okay.

Dean snapped out of it when the first clump of dust landed on his shoulder. Tremors were running through the stone floor, the roof and walls already crumbling. Time to go. He sheathed Ruby's knife and grabbed Sam with both hands.

"Out! Let's go!"

Sam didn't look at him. "Dean…."

No time for this, Dean got behind Sam and shoved, half-carrying the other man toward the door. Whatever was coming out of the ground, it was picking up speed. Dean could sense it. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Take your brother outside as fast as you can!

Funny how their lives kept circling around. Like water in a toilet.

Sam got more responsive as they darted down the hall. He was running of his own accord, but Dean still held on to his jacket. He hadn't come this far to let Sammy go now.

Stone and wood fell around them, unneeded reminders of why they were fleeing. Stained glass exploded out of undulating window frames, showering them with shards as they passed. Dean didn't pause as they reached the closed exit doors, just plowed through shoulder-first, silently thankful that Sam reflexively mimicked the motion, sharing the force of impact. They burst out into the night air—the rapidly chilling night air—and past the fence surrounding the abandoned building.

Dean spotted a yellow Mustang parked by the gate and headed for it. He tossed a glance at Sam, who stayed with him most of the way, before stopping and turning around to watch as the roof on the far side of St. Mary's exploded upward. The concussion shattered the remaining windows down the length of the convent. Dean's impulse to flee got stronger by the second.

First things being first, though, he needed to find out why there was a woman in a nurse's outfit sprawled across the open trunk of the Mustang. Dean cautiously checked her pulse, which was thankfully still there.

Alarm bells went off in Dean's mind, though, when he saw the hasty bandage covering what looked like a long cut on the woman's forearm. He threw another glance at Sam, who had turned toward the car, but was staring guiltily at some point near Dean's feet. It didn't take much to put two and two together on why the girl's arm was cut open and why Sam looked so chastened. Dean stepped back.

"Christo."

The unconscious nurse didn't flinch. Didn't react at all, in fact. But that was little comfort. There was a devil's trap painted inside the trunk. Whether she was possessed or not, she was staying right where she was until Dean knew for sure that she wasn't a threat. He tucked her limbs back into the trunk and closed the lid, then stepped back to Sam and practically dragged his increasingly shell-shocked looking brother to the passenger side door.

"It was all for nothing…." Sam muttered quietly.

Behind them, strange howling noises were filling the air. The already cloudy sky was growing even darker as thunderheads moved in rapidly. This was worse than any cheap-ass horror movie Dean had ever watched.

"Get in the car, Sam."

Sam was looking back at the approaching storms, too, not moving.

"No," Sam mumbled, tears streaming from his eyes. "Leave me, Dean. Get out of here…please."

Dean shook his head, opening the door and pushing Sam into the seat. "Not a chance."

He raced around and practically dove into the driver's seat. Dean cursed when he went to start the car. The hits just kept coming. "Please tell me you have the keys."

Sam said nothing, just shook his head, eyes locked on the dashboard.

Dean growled, and went about setting a new speed record for hotwiring a car. The tremors could be felt through the floorboards now. Lucifer was either taking his sweet time escaping jail, or it was harder than it seemed. With any luck at all, it was the latter. Thank God for small favors.

Finally, after an eternity, the car revved to life. Dean threw it into gear and floored it. "I can't believe I just hotwired a Mustang. You better not tell anybody."

Sam didn't react to the joke—didn't even roll his eyes—just panted lightly and stared at Dean through his bangs. A thin sheen of sweat covered the younger man's face, and he looked like he was going to hurl any second.

Dean looked in the mirror. Lightning was tearing up the sky above the receding convent, and light was shining through every window in the place. Not good.

He turned back to the road, pressing the gas pedal harder. He could feel Sam's eyes on him. When he spared a look, Sam was still looking at him, sort of like he'd grown another head or had just announced that he was going vegan.

Sam spoke before Dean could ask what he as staring at. His voice cracked a little. "What are you waiting for?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Just get it over with," Sam breathed, sounding scared and heartbroken at the same time. And, Dean realized with alarm, hopeful. What did Sam think he was going to do?

"Sam? What are you talking about, man?" He didn't like the tone of his brother's voice. At all.

Sam looked pained, curling against the door. Any other time, Dean might have expressed his amazement at how small Sam could fold himself. The almost constant flow of tears killed the words in Dean's throat, though. His brother looked miserable. Pathetic. Scared out of his mind and hopelessly resigned at the same time.

"Do what you said you were going to do…please. I won't fight, Dean. Just do it."

The hushed words didn't make any sense, but Sam was still scaring the hell out of him. "Sammy—"

"Dean."

He jumped out of his skin at Castiel's sudden voice from behind them. He managed to keep the car on the road though. Barely.

Castiel was crammed in behind the passenger seat. His mouth was split, and blood flowed from several cuts around his eyes. He looked like he'd been mauled. For the first time since Dean had met him, the angel looked scared.

Dean was about to ask how he was when the woods behind them lit up. A massive explosion rocked the landscape, like a nuclear bomb going off. It was in the direction of St. Mary's.

Castiel grabbed Dean's shoulder, placing his other hand on Sam's. "We need to go."

The world went white just as Dean felt a shockwave overtake the car and flip it off the road.

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Dean blinked as the blinding white light faded and he found himself standing by the window in Bobby's house. Fairly close to where he'd been standing the day before when he'd been whisked away. He glanced around. Cas was right behind him, and Sam was stumbling slowly toward the chair, gripping Bobby's desk for support. The nurse from the trunk was laying by the wall.

He was a little dizzy, but he smiled faintly at his brother. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

Sam said nothing. His hands were shaking, the sheen of sweat visibly worse. Dean frowned. The kid looked like he was going into shock. He hadn't thought to check him for any injuries.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say things didn't go well," Bobby's said from the door. Dean met his gaze with a nod, removing his gun and Ruby's knife from his jeans and setting them on the desk.

"You might say that." He looked back at Sam, who had withdrawn further. All Dean could see was the top of his head.

"He doesn't look so good," Bobby observed, stepping forward to join Dean by the desk. "He hurt?"

Castiel chimed in before Dean could answer. "Sam's going into withdrawal. He had to consume a more concentrated dose of blood, but expended it fighting Lilith. The effects will come on stronger and faster this time."

Dean glanced at Sam. The angel's diagnosis looked spot on. Great. He laid a hand on Sam's quivering shoulder. "Hang in there, buddy."

He turned to Cas, keeping his hand on his brother to maintain the connection. Sam needed it. "What about the nurse?"

Cas seemed indifferent to her, instead moving toward the front door. "She's alive. The demon has fled her body. I must reinforce the protections around this place. Angels may be coming for us as well as demons."

The angel was out the door before anyone could speak. Bobby frowned at Dean. "Angels?"

Dean glanced at him wearily, hand dropping away from Sam, and motioned upward. "We made a few new 'friends' last night."

"Joy," Bobby motioned to the unconscious woman. "I'll make a call, get her take care of."

The older man moved toward the phone. Dean sighed. If Sam was going back to detox—worse this time? How can it be worse? —they were going to have to get ready. He turned toward Sam, hoping to get his sibling's consent this time. It'd be easier on both of them.

Sam was gone.

Along with Dean's 9mm.

"Sam?" Dean looked around. How the hell had the kid slipped out so quickly? He couldn't have possibly gone out the front door— Dean spun peering through the doorway into the kitchen. The back door was open. He was moving before he fully processed what he was seeing. "Bobby!"

Dean was running by the time he reached the back door. He could hear Bobby's footsteps following. They emerged onto the back lot, the moonlight casting odd shadows from the stacked up parts and scavenged cars. The two men slowed, trying to keep quiet while they got their bearings.

Fortunately, while Sam was quiet, too, he was still panting as his withdrawal symptoms intensified. The sound was like a homing beacon, leading Dean right to him. Sam was behind a stack of wrecked cars, not far from where Dean had spent so many weeks rebuilding the Impala.

When Dean came around the corner, he found his brother on his knees, coughing now, trying to hold the gun with two shaky, fidgeting hands. Dean didn't miss how perilously close the muzzle was to Sam's chin.

A terrifying realization sank in: it was only Sam's lack of motor control at the moment that had kept the gun out of the kid's mouth this long. Dean stepped forward. "Put the gun down, Sam."

The words came out harsher than he intended, more like an order than a request. Sam flinched at the words, falling back against the chassis of a Toyota. Dean flinched too, but mainly because he half expected the gun to go off in Sam's face.

Bobby gripped Dean's shoulder, mouthing the word Easy at the same time that Sam's words in the hotel floated back to him.

Stop bossing me around, Dean!

That night hadn't ended so well, so Dean took a deep breath and tried again, gentler. "Sam, please give me the gun."

Sam jerkily shook his head. "I need a minute, okay? You can have it then."

Dean blinked. If it hadn't been for the frenzied look on Sam's face, he would have laughed at the matter-of-fact answer. He replied lightly, though he knew it was no joke. "That, uh, doesn't really work for me, Sammy."

His brother shook his head again, but not in refusal. Sam choked out a sob. "Nothing, Dean. It was all for nothing…."

Dean inched closer. A few more steps and he'd be able to grab the gun. The way Sam was shaking, he doubted it'd take much force. "Hey, man, it's all right. Just—"

"It's not all right!" Sam shouted, spinning on Dean with a snarl. Dean recoiled, startled at the furious outburst. Sam was angrier than Dean had ever seen him. "That bitch used me! Poisoned me! I turned myself into a monster and for what? To start the fucking Apocalypse? To hand Lilith everything she wanted?"

"You didn't know—"

"I should have! You didn't believe her, why did I?"

Dean raised his hands, trying to calm Sam down. "Just…just put the gun down, little brother."

Sam scoffed, laughing with a tinge of hysteria. In the moonlit, Dean could see that his pupils were huge against his bloodshot eyes. "Brother? I'm not your brother. I'm a monster, a vampire. You said it yourself!"

What? Dean shook his head. Where is he getting that? He remembered what Sam had said in the car. That hadn't made sense either. Dean hadn't said anything about vampires or doing anything to Sam. He bit his lip and tried a different tack as he moved forward again.

"Sam, Ruby was lying to you, we both know that. She was playing you. But, if you hurt yourself, she wins."

Sam didn't appear to be listening anymore. The gun was still wavering near his face, but, chillingly, was getting steadier. Dean knew he was running out of time.

"I should have done this a year ago…." Sam muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Dean shook his head once, finally within reach of his brother's quaking hands. "No, Sam."

His brother squeezed his eyes shut, tears flowing freely again. Dean lunged, sensing that time was up. He grabbed Sam's forearms, gently but firmly twisting until the gun barrel was pointed toward himself. That got Sam's attention. He froze, staring at Dean in shock.

"W-What are you doing?"

Dean glanced down that the gun, silently praying that Sam's unsteady fingers didn't move before he could play this out. Sam's eyes followed his, clearly at a loss about what to do next. It was the break Dean needed. He spoke quietly and forced reassurance into his tone. "Look at me."

Sam obeyed, still wild-eyed, but hearing him. Dean lowered his voice, absurdly self-conscious with Bobby right behind him.

"You told me once that we were gonna see this through together. Well, I'm calling you on that. I'm not gonna let you back out on me." Dean readjusted his grip, sliding his hands up to embrace the weapon. "So, if you get off the ride, I get off the ride."

Staring at him through tear-rimmed eyes, Sam shook his head, clearly appalled. "Dean…no. Please. Just…let me go…."

Dean put on his best poker face. How did I miss this? When did he drift so far away from me? Well, he hadn't told Zachariah to suck it for nothing. "No. Just you and me, remember?"

Sam looked away, crying openly now, and to Dean's dismay, actually looking disappointed. His hands fell away from the gun. Dean tossed it out of reach.

He reached forward to pull Sam out of the dirt, but Sam's body abruptly went taut. A strangled sob shifted into a sickening gurgle as his brother's muscles tightened like steel cords, slamming him helplessly against the wrecked car.

"It's another damned seizure," Bobby observed, moving past Dean to the other side of Sam's thrashing form to grab an arm. Dean did likewise. Sam's eyes rolled back in their sockets, teeth clamping together with an audible snap.

"It's worse than before," Dean noted with dismay. Holding onto Sam was like wrestling an alligator.

Without warning, a hand appeared, thrusting between the two struggling men and touching Sam's forehead. The younger man immediately went still, collapsing like his strings had been cut. The muscles in his arms and neck instantly went limp.

Dean turned, following the arm to its source. Castiel crouched at Sam's knees.

"Thanks."

The angel glanced at Dean, his expression unreadable. "It's not safe to remain out here. You should take him inside."

With that, he was gone, striding across the back lot and resuming whatever he was doing to fortify the property.

Dean turned back to his brother, but jumped when Bobby whacked him with his ball cap. He grimaced. "What was that for?"

"For being an idgit," Bobby groused. "Do you realize that if Sam's seizure had started one minute earlier, he'd have blown a hole in you? You never point a gun at yourself."

Dean gaped for a moment. That honestly hadn't occurred to him at the time…but he couldn't argue with results. He favored Bobby with a self-satisfied smirk. "Nah. It was heroic. Bravest thing I've done all day. Even Sam admired it, I could tell."

He didn't wait for the other hunter's reply as he hefted his unconscious brother off the ground.

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God, he was thirsty.

Sam opened his eyes, letting them wander lazily. He was on his back. The surroundings looked familiar, but his brain was mush. He rolled his head to the side, eyes settling on a small table and what seemed to be a water pitcher. His vision was too blurred to be sure.

"Well..."

He jumped, turning back to find the source of the voice near his feet. His neck ached. When he looked up, he found himself staring at...himself. How the—?

"Got your big chance. A loaded gun and an empty yard...just the opportunity you've been waiting for…so, what happened?"

"What?" Sam coughed out the word, his dry throat threatening to close on him. The other Sam shook his head, folding his arms.

"I know what happened. You blew it. Again. Just pull the trigger, that's all you had to do. One bullet and we would be free. Free! It's what we've wanted for so long now. That and Lilith dead. But, hell, you couldn't even do that right, could you?"

"Shut up," Sam croaked, swallowing vainly. His throat felt like sandpaper. "I tried."

"Yeah, well, now we're stuck here. Dean's never going to let us out now."

Sam blinked, trying to see the room. It took a few moments for him to realize where he'd seen the walls before. Bobby's panic room. He dropped his head back against what felt like a pillow. Dean had locked him up.

One glance down confirmed that he was shackled again, as well. Sam just sank onto the cot. He deserved it. He deserved a lot worse.

The other Sam strolled around the right side of the cot, shaking his head and huffing a snide laugh. "So much for 'practical,' huh? Practical got you real far...all the way to the Apocalypse. What a waste. All the trouble you caused, all the blood people spilled to keep you safe over the years. First Mom, then Jess, then Dean. For what?"

"You don't have to tell me." Sam murmured, closing his eyes. Maybe if he didn't react any further, his doppelganger would leave.

No such luck. Hands wrapped themselves around Sam's neck. His eyes shot open at the sudden pressure, and he found the other Sam on top of him, strangling him the way he'd strangled Dean at the hotel.

Sam tensed, but couldn't fight back with his hands cuffed. He wouldn't have wanted to, anyway.

"You're a piss-poor excuse for a son!" The other Sam growled. "A piss-poor excuse for a brother! You're worthless, and you always have been!"

He just let the other scream at him. Maybe, if he didn't struggle, Sam could still get what he wanted. Relief was just settling in when someone grabbed Sam's head.

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"Come on, Sammy! Snap out of it!"

Dean gripped the sides of Sam's thrashing head. Another hallucination. The kid had been murmuring quietly to himself one minute and gurgling as if he couldn't breathe the next. He shook Sam gently, trying to break him out of whatever was tormenting him.

It took a few long seconds, but Sam's eyes finally fluttered open. For a painful moment, Dean saw no recognition, but then his brother began to calm down. His breathing returned to normal a moment later. After that, Sam broke eye contact, a look of total humiliation on his face as he turned away. He was ashamed, hurt, for some reason.

Dean didn't press the issue. For the moment, he'd let Sam try and work through it on his own.

The disappointment that had flashed across Sam's face as the hallucination ended was distressing. It was the same look he'd had the night before when Dean had taken the gun from him. They really needed to talk about these newfound suicidal tendencies when Sam got better.

If he got better.

We are killing him.

Bobby was upstairs, going through every book he had, trying to find something about demon blood. Dean suspected it was a waste of time, though. Sam had found out about the demon blood before Dean had gone to Hell. No doubt , given Sam's compulsive need to research, he'd already dug up everything there was to find about it.

They couldn't get it out of Sam. They couldn't give him anything to ease the pain of withdrawal. Sam would have to fight through the clearly agonizing symptoms—and Dean wasn't sure Sam had enough strength left in him at this point.

He'd seen Sam sick. He'd seen Sam wounded. He'd seen Sam delirious. But, this was far worse than any of those. Detox was tearing his brother apart, and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

Sam had already fallen back into a restless sleep, so Dean stood and quietly left the panic room. He didn't close the door. Bobby was waiting outside.

"I brought you some more washcloths," Bobby said simply. Dean nodded. The wet cloths helped Sam's fever, at least. Beyond that, they served more to give Dean something to do while Sam—

Dean cursed. "Sometimes, I'm not sure he even knows I'm there, Bobby. Other times, when he sees me, it's like he doesn't recognize me for a minute, then he just withdraws…like—"

"Like he's afraid to talk to you?" Bobby supplied. Dean grimaced. He couldn't blame the older man for being right, but he didn't appreciate the implication.

"Sammy's never had to be afraid of me."

Bobby scoffed. "He's never had to be, but of course he is. You're his big brother. As far as he's concerned, the sun rises and sets on you. It's been like that since I met you two boys. I've seen that kid face down monsters, demons, even John. He's never blinked. But, one word from you? Sam folds like a house of cards."

Dean turned, staring. No way. Sam was a stubborn, know-it-all ass sometimes, but afraid of his big brother? He just couldn't believe that. Not after what went down in Cold Spring.

"Are you seriously telling me that you've never seen that?" Bobby asked, his tone part humor, part challenge.

It was too much. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, leaning on the iron door frame. "What can I do, Bobby? Please, just tell me what to do."

He heard a sigh and felt a hand on his shoulder. "Right now? Get some sleep. You're no good to Sam when you're dead on your feet."

Dean cracked his eyes open, casting a weary glance at Bobby before smiling ruefully and shaking his head. "No. I don't want him to wake up alone."

Pausing, he glanced at the stairs leading up to the house. "Any— Any word about what's happening out there?"

Lucifer was on the loose. Dean shuddered just thinking about what was about to start. Bobby looked just as spooked, but shook his head. "Nothing yet. A few weird reports out of Maryland, mutilations, 'occult-based crimes,' but that's all so far. Whatever's gonna happen, it looks to be starting up slow."

God? God has left the building.

Dean nodded. Zachariah seemed pretty certain, but Lucifer was staying under the radar. Maybe….

Small favors.

He took the washcloths and stepped back into panic room, praying that Zachariah was wrong.

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Dean changed the ice-cold cloth on Sam's forehead for the third time. The fever was worse than before. Sam was burning up from the inside out and nothing Dean had tried so far was bringing it down. The aspirin he'd forced down his sibling's throat two hours before didn't put a dent in the temperature, and he was leery of using anything stronger, not knowing how the meds would interact with the demon blood in Sam's system.

He could take Sam to a hospital, but what would he tell them? Hey, my brother's been gulping down demonically tainted blood for about ten months, and he's jonesing for some more? Dean doubted there was a rehab program for that. Still, if things didn't improve by morning, he might not have a choice.

Night had fallen outside, thanks to a fast-approaching rain shower. Dean couldn't help but question whether the storm was natural or not, given the events of the past few days, but he had to trust that Castiel had the house locked down. The angel had been at it long enough.

Glancing back at Sam, he pressed his fingers into his sweat-soaked neck. Sam's pulse was growing more erratic with every passing hour. He might not make it to morning.

"Come on, bro," Dean whispered, brushing damp bangs out of Sam's face. "You can beat this. I know you can."

Sam didn't answer. His eyelids drifted open for a moment, but his pupils were dilated and he didn't lift his head, just staring blankly at the far wall.

"How is he?"

Dean flinched, head spinning around to find Castiel standing at the foot of the bed.

"Jesus—" Dean broke off at the angel's stern look, stammering a little. "I mean, um, dang it, stop doing that."

Castiel ignored him, stepping forward to place a hand on Sam's forehead. "He's growing weaker."

Dean shook his head. Like I can't see that. "I know."

The angel frowned. "He…his strength is fading quickly. I can feel it. I fear that Sam is dying, Dean."

"Thanks to your boss," Dean intoned bitterly. He didn't need a Heavenly Host to tell him what he already knew. Sam was dying. And Zachariah was as guilty as Ruby for it.

"Dean, I hope—"

Dean looked up sharply when Cas trailed off. "You hope what?"

The other man—if he could be called that—looked remorseful. "I just hope that you won't blame all of us for the acts of a few. I never would have wanted this. Your brother has his faults, and has made mistakes, but he is a faithful man. Even when his path turned dark, he still prayed for guidance."

"Fat lot of good that did," Dean snorted. He shook his head. All the lies, all the half-truths, all the mistrust the angels and demons had used to split him and Sam apart…. "I just want to know why."

Cas turned to him. "Why?"

"Why'd Sam do this to himself? How long has he wanted to die? Did you know about any of that?"

A faint, grim smile crossed Castiel's face as he crouched on the opposite side of the cot from Dean. "From the short time I've inhabited this vessel, I've learned about you humans. You are…ruled by your emotions, completely dominated. Until recently, I would have said that it was a concept alien to my kind."

Dean fought hard to keep from rolling his eyes. He was so not in the mood to listen to this psychobabble crap. "What's your point?"

Cas looked up, cocking his head as if he thought Dean should understand. "Sam grieved for you, Dean. Deeply. He lasted only a few weeks before he gave up hope."

That hurt. Dean stared at Cas, then looked back at Sam. He'd heard his brother talk about being messed up the previous summer, saying that he'd been on the edge…but to hear it stated so matter-of-factly physically hurt.

"Ruby came to him," Cas continued. "When he was almost ready to end his life. His attempts to release you from Hell had failed. In his mind, there was nothing left. When Ruby came to him and offered him a way to strike back at Lilith—"

You're brother's drowning, Dean…. He finished Cas' sentence for him. "He took it. Like a lifeline."

Dean had been right when he returned back in September, Sam had made a deal, just not the kind Dean or Bobby suspected. He'd given more than his soul, he'd given Ruby everything, just for a chance to avenge his brother and kill Lilith.

And it had all been a lie.

They'd both been played by both sides. The angels had probably known what Sam was doing all along, and hadn't lifted a finger to stop it. They'd told Dean just enough to make him angry, to make him push his little brother further into that manipulative bitch's arms. And, if he were being honest, it hadn't taken much for Dean to believe the worst about his brother. He wondered what that said about him.

"The blood came later," Castiel said, resuming the conversation. He seemed oblivious to Dean's distress. "Ruby knew that, however distraught your brother might be, however obsessed with revenge, he was not a fool. She wouldn't be able to fully convince him that he needed her. So, she construed the blood as a way for him to become more powerful. She gave him reasons to believe her, but the blood was not the source of his abilities."

Dean blinked at that. If the blood wasn't—

It just came out of me like a punch. You know, like a freak adrenaline thing.

A sickening realization began to settle over Dean. Why didn't I think of that before?

Sam had powers before Ruby came along. If the abilities had been Sam's all the time, then Ruby needed him to drink the blood for a different reason. "It was just a leash."

Castiel nodded sadly. "Whenever Sam questioned too much, or had doubts, she would simply cut off his supply, disappear for days or weeks. When she returned, he would be weakened enough to be compelled to trust her completely, again. He was already well on his way to being addicted by the time I brought you back."

Dean nodded. "And when I started getting through to him, convinced him to stop seeing Ruby, she just cut him off. He was dragged back to her every time."

It all made sense now. The lies, the excuses, the rationalizations. All the small changes that had led Dean to think that Sam had stopped being his brother, that he was no longer the man Dean remembered. All the evidence had been right under his nose, and Dean had drawn a completely wrong conclusion.

He'd thought Sam had changed, when he was really trapped. Ruby's claws had dug deep inside him before Dean had even noticed. Guilt nagged at him, too. Sam had needed his help, but in his anger, he'd pushed the kid away.

Yet, all of that faded when Dean watched Sam suffering in front of him now. Sam's choices had led him to this point. Dean's choices had prevented Sam from changing his. The angels' agenda had trapped both of them on their paths.

They'd been screwed from the start.

But, none of that mattered, anymore. Dean had just one question, now, and he was afraid to ask it. "Is it too late, Cas? Is there anything we can do?"

"Perhaps."

Dean waited a moment, but Cas was just looking at Sam, watching. "Don't make me guess, Cas. Come on."

"The effects of the blood don't last long, and the blood itself is absorbed quickly. I believe I can exorcise what demon blood is left in his body, and get Sam past the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. Hopefully, it will allow him to recover, in time."

"In time?"

"It is still an addiction," Cas sounded less certain. "Sam will need time to get past it completely. Dean…I must warn you, the process won't be easy for Sam to endure. He is very weak…he might not survive it at all."

Dean stared hard at the angel for a moment, then looked down at Sam. It wasn't a choice he relished making, but it wasn't like he had a lot of options. "If you don't try, Sam's pretty much dead anyway, right?"

His own words haunted him: At least he'll die human. They weren't much comfort, anymore.

Castiel looked away, nodding solemnly. Dean made his choice. "Do you need anything?"

"Some time to prepare."

TBC