5.01: Fallen Idol
Episode: 5.05: Fallen Idol
Title: Non-Violent Communication (Or how Dean learned to stop worrying and like Ghandi)
Submission Type: Fic
Author: mosquito_larva
Rating: PG-13 (For Dean's language, mostly like the show)
Author's note: Again, thank you to my wife kelmendi for the beta. And thanks to the summer_sam_love community for this amazing project and the chance to particpate. It has been really amazing and so much fun!
Summary: "Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an
indomitable will. "-Mahatma Ghandi
***************
As Sam turned the car away from the curb, he could see Dean turning to him in the passenger seat. He kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel his brother's gaze. The silence lingered uncomfortably before Sam finally broke. "What?" he asked sharply.
"I gotta ask again, man. Ghandi?" Dean chortled a bit and Sam felt his hackles rise.
"So I like Ghandi. What's the big deal?"
"A fruitarian? Could you be any more of a girl?"
Sam braked a little more forcefully than necessary at a red light and clenched his jaw. "Just drop it, Dean."
"No, really. Why Ghandi?"
"You really want to know? Fine. He *was* a great man. He championed peace and non-violence and tried to make a difference. I took a class on political thought at Stanford and after hunting, it just seemed like a bit of a pipe dream, I guess." Sam drummed his fingers on the wheel, struggling to find the right words. "I just wanted to be normal, and that never seemed possible. And Ghandi, well, he was sort of the paradigm of what I wanted. I didn't want to fight anything anymore."
"The guy was a nut-job, Sam. Eating fruit and trying to get people to stop fighting isn't exactly making the world a better place. We hunt evil, real evil. Who do you think is making more an impact?" Dean was serious now, all joking aside.
"I'm not saying what we're doing is wrong, Dean. Hell, I'm the last person to talk about non-violence." The words felt like glass in his throat, the craving for blood a constant thrum in the back of his mind. But he forged on. "Ghandi is…an ideal….an example of who I'd like to be. I can't explain it more than that."
"Whatever."
Sam glanced over. "You know, I don't think you and Ghandi would disagree about as much as you think you would."
Dean laughed. "Yeah right. The day I have anything in common with a fruit eating - and trust me, I haven't let that one go - diaper wearing pacifist is the day I give in to Michael."
"Don't even joke about that, Dean!"
"Just drive, Sammy." Dean said, laughing to himself and muttering about the hilarity of a fruitarian chowing down on his brother.
***********
Bobby called them with a possible lead on a poltergeist with a thirst for blood, and they drove south from Canton, heading to Lynchburg, Tennessee. Sharing the driving, they managed to get there in just over a day, rolling past farmland and arriving in a town that Sam could only think of as 'quaint.'
Pulling out the FBI wallets, they went to the house where police tape marked where a family had been found slaughtered. All except a young man, Peter, who stared vacantly at them as they gently asked him questions about his family under the careful watch of his grandmother. He had been in the house, but hadn't heard a thing, merely awoken to the horror around him.
"So, what do you think? Malevolent spirit? Zombie? Demon ritual?" Dean scratched the back of his neck as he leaned against the Impala outside the Lynchburg Welcome Centre. "I say we check the house out, see if anything shows up on the EMF meter," he said and paused as his stomach grumbled loudly enough for Sam to hear. "After we go get something to eat and more importantly, to drink."
"I dunno. I think I'll go check out the local library. See if there's any lore, maybe check the obits." Sam pulled out his laptop bag and pointed across the street. "It's right there. Why don't you go get something at that bar we passed? I'll catch up when I'm done."
"Don't take too long, Sammy. I'm itching to take down something tonight. Makes a man feel alive!" Dean enthused, drumming on the Impala's hood.
"'Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.'" Sam intoned seriously. Dean gave him a sideways look and Sam grinned at him. "Just making sure we're prepared, Dean. Can never have too much information."
Dean snorted. "Then I guess you don't mind me telling you about this weird fungus thing that -"
Sam threw up a hand and began to jog away before Dean could finish. Maybe his brother had a point.
The library wasn't much help, and he quickly joined Dean at the Lynchburg Saloon, where his brother had quickly managed to win over the pretty waitress who was serving him a pitcher of beer and a large club house sandwich with fries. Sam stole a fry and ordered a salad, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue as Dean just lifted a sceptical eyebrow his choice.
"At least it isn't fruit," he commented mildly as the salad arrived with grilled chicken scattered throughout.
They ate leisurely and by the time they finished it was dark enough to try to sneak into the house without being noticed. But a quick check turned up nothing.
"Maybe it’s a shapeshifter, or something else that doesn’t leave EMF," Sam suggested as checked under a bed, looking in vain for clue. "Is it a full moon? A werewolf might slash up bodies like that."
"Or maybe not," Dean's disembodied voice sounded from another room. "Sammy, come here. I think I got something."
Poking his head into the bedroom next door, Sam found Dean pulling a box out from under the bed. A box with suspicious reddish-brown streaks on the top. Pulling out a tissue from his pocket, Dean was careful not to touch the top of the box as he pulled the cardboard flaps up. With his jaw clenched he tipped the box so Sam could see the contents: a blood stained knife with finger smears. "Those look human to you?"
Sam closed his eyes. "Yeah."
"I'll give you three guesses as to whose bedroom this is, and the first two don't count."
"Peter?"
"Yatzee."
"Damn," Sam whispered. "Why? Why would he kill them?"
"We'll go back, check for a demon. But it could just be like those damn kids in the walls or those hicks you grabbed you. Crazy humans doing crazy things." Dean flicked the top down and pushed the box back under the bed.
A visit back to Peter the next morning confirmed the worst. He didn't flinch as Sam muttered, "Christo." Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialled the police station, tossing Sam the keys to the Impala as he prepared to phone in a tip about the box under the bed. "God, I hate humans sometimes."
"'You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.'" Sam quoted as he drove them out of Lynchburg, leaving the police to deal with Peter.
"Tell that to the whales, man. Tell that to the whales," was all Dean said as he looked out the window at the rolling hills passing by.
***********
They were stopped in a motel outside of Ozark, Alabama, after Bobby called them with a report of a chupacabra terrorizing people in a local park. They found its lair by the lake and staked out the small cave the following night.
The size of a small bear, the chupacabra was unfazed by the rock salt in Dean's shotgun, but while it was distracted Sam managed to get in a lucky strike with his knife, although he was almost knocked off his feet by a blow from its tail. It wasn't until the beast was dead from blood loss that Sam noticed the spines sticking out from his forearm.
"Shit, they aren't venomous are they?"
Dean shook his head. "No, but they itch like hell. Come one, let's get back to the hotel-" he broke off as he lost his footing on the uneven ground. When he tried to stand again, he was keeping the weight off his right leg.
"Dean, did you just go through this entire hunt, only to twist your ankle on a tree root?" Sam grinned at the poetic beauty of it.
"Shut up. And its my knee, thank you very much." Dean swore as he tried to put weight on it. "Bitch."
"Jerk," Sam shot back as he pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder and stooped a bit so that he could help Dean hobble back along the path to the park's parking lot.
Back at the motel, Dean carefully pulled the spines out of Sam's arm, reluctantly letting Sam wrap and ice his knee. Sam distracted himself from the itching of his arm by surfing the web for more demon sightings while Dean watched pay-per-view. The sun was just beginning to filter through the curtains when Castiel popped into the room, unannounced and looking grim.
"Hey, Cas . How's it hangin'?" Dean asked without getting up off his bed, his knee propped on a pillow and the remote control to the TV dangling between his fingers.
"Dean. Sam. I am pleased to see you are well. I did not get a chance to fully discuss your encounter with Zachariah before you left to meet with Sam."
"We're just fine. Peachy, even," Dean said. "Can you bring us some breakfast? I'm starved."
"Is everything okay?" Sam asked. "Did Zachariah say anything?"
Castiel frowned. "You are both in a great deal of danger. There are more angels than Zachariah to deal with. And they are getting impatient. They are no longer content to wait for you to say yes to Lucifer, or you, Dean, to say yes to Michael. Many believe that forcing a confrontation will be the way to end this."
"Well screw them all, I say," Dean said flippantly. "We're not going to go down easy."
"Do you want to be fighting the host of heaven?" Castiel asked, his eyes flashing. "You are underestimating the danger you are in."
"'First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.'" Sam said with a small smile. "I think we'll be okay."
Dean nodded firmly and pointed his finger at Sam. "What he said."
Castiel furrowed his brow and then his face smoothed out. "Ghandi," he said with a small nod. "He was a great man."
Dean threw up his hands and tossed the remote at Sam's head. Sam chortled as he ducked and knew that things would be fine.
***********
They continued to hunt, evade angels, Lucifer, and the demons that seemed intent on making their lives miserable. They shared the driving, and Dean was still making a concerted effort to not play big brother, although Sam could tell it was a struggle on occasion. Eventually, it became possible for Sam to occasionally forget the recent past and focus on the present, and dream about the future. It was all made easier with Dean's continued willingness to be partners in the truest sense of the word, but inevitably the past caught up with them.
And the past came in the form of Hank and two other hunters who didn't seem to care that Dean was willing to vouch for Sam's non-evilness. They waylaid the brothers on the way out of their motel room, knocking Dean down from behind and pressing a shotgun to Sam's head while frisking and relieving him of his weapons.
"Leave Dean out of this." Sam said, staring at Dean. His brother was sprawled gracelessly on the pavement and he couldn't see his face to determine whether Dean was still conscious or not. "He hasn't done anything. Just let him go."
"We don’t care about him, although he doesn't seem to care to much about what you've done." Hank said, tipping his chin towards his buddies. One pulled Sam's arms behind his back while the other tied Sam's wrists with twine, digging the rope tightly into the skin. "Me, I'm tempted to say he's guilty by association for not using you, or at the last he's to blame for letting you live when by all accounts your destiny isn't that bright looking. But I'm in a forgiving mood so he can stay. You though? We've got some demons to kill and you're our secret weapon. Mike and Tom managed to wrangle us some demon blood. Let's go."
"You can't just leave him there," Sam protested, turning to look at Dean at the men pulled him towards a battered pick up truck across the parking lot.
"Just watch me." Hank said.
Reaching the truck, Sam felt his heart speed up. He couldn't let them do this. He couldn't let Dean down, not again. His arms strained as he pulled at the rope. He could feel blood trickling down his fingers from his wrists and swallowed down his nausea.
Hank reached for the driver's side handle when suddenly a gun brushed against his ear.
"Let. My. Brother. Go."
Dean cocked the gun and pressed it harder against the soft flesh of Hank's neck. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Sam closed his eyes in relief. The two thugs released his arms at Hank's reluctant nod and he sighed as the rope was untied and feeling flooded back into his fingers.
"Hank, let this be a warning. You mess with my brother, you mess with me." Dean smiled grimly and without warning, let loose with a roundhouse punch that laid Hank out on the pavement, senseless. Sam grinned as the other hunters beat a strategic retreat. Dean looked down at the unconscious man at his feet and as an afterthought, planted a boot in the man's gut.
"Dean," Sam started to protest. Dean shrugged. "It just had to be done, Sammy. Now let's go get those wrists bandaged so you don't bleed all over the Impala.
Sammy let himself be led back to the motel room, and as he walked with Dean's reassuring hand just about his elbow, a thought sprung into his head and he laughed out loud. Dean raised an eyebrow in silent query.
"I just thought of something someone said once."
"Yeah? What?"
"He said, 'It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence.' " He sent a glance back towards Hank who was slowly rolling to his knees, clutching his stomach "I guess sometimes you just have to do what feels right."
Dean snorted. "Well, any woman could tell you I don't have put on a cloak to cover up anything, if you know what I mean," he said waggling his eyebrows. He paused, turning serious for a moment. "And I guess if anyone has violence in their hearts, it's us."
But there was no violence in the way he carefully wrapped Sam's wrists, made him swallow a handful of painkillers and settled him into the Impala for the day's ride. When they stopped at the motel that night, the painkillers had worn off, both of them were hungry and the motel they had been able to find had lukewarm water in the shower and no vending machines.
"I'm going to get some food. You stay here. Try not to get into trouble, okay?" Dean's attempts at humour just made Sam's wrists throb even more. Each pulse of blood through his veins made him hyper aware of the need, the desire for more. It was going to be a bad night.
He sat on the bed until his knee started to jiggle. Pacing stopped the twitches in his legs for a bit, then he took a cool shower, hot water be damned, to try to stop the crawling under his skin.
When he heard the Impala stop by the front door, he was trying to wrap his wrists and towelling off his hair at the same time, failing to do both. Dean rolled his eyes as he walked in and dropped the plastic bag with take out on the dingy table before sitting down on the bed next to Sam, motioning for the bandages.
"Took a shower?" he asked softly, watching as Sam's knee started to bounce again. Sam just nodded.
"Listen, Sammy. I know this is hard for you right now. But you can't listen to what people like Hank say. You 're not evil. I don't care what Dad said, and what I said before was all wrong and twisted up. Like I said back in Canton, we've both made mistakes."
"You're not the one with demon blood in you, Dean. I know what you're trying to do, trust me. And I appreciate it. But my destiny is not exactly filled with sunshine and roses here. Lucifer is - "
"Sam, stop." Dean cut him off. "I…uh…I went to the library a bit before getting the food. Had to do some thinking."
Sam blinked. Dean had gone voluntarily to the library? To think?
"I'm sorry for what I said in Canton about Ghandi." Sam blinked again, even more surprised as Dean continued. "That quote, that was him, right? I figured it was. I went to read some more of his stuff. And you were right when you said that Ghandi and I might not have disagreed about everything. So I'm sorry for making fun of you…and him."
"Uh, thanks," Sam said, unsure of what to make of Dean's earnest apology. Dean lightly gripped his wrists, not even close enough to hurt, but enough to make Sam pay attention to his next words.
Dean swallowed and his eyes looked suspiciously wet. "You're a good person, Sam. That yellowed eyed bastard and Ruby bitch can't change that. In the end, you do the right thing. I know that, and you should too."
He let go of Sam's wrists and got up, leaving Sam alone as he went into the bathroom. Sam tilted his head as a crumpled piece of paper tipped onto the floor. He picked it up and unfolded it. It was a print out from a website of quotes from Ghandi. Some of them had snarky comments beside them in Dean's sloppy script. But one was circled numerous times, the pen mark scoring the paper. It read: "I have also seen children successfully surmounting the effects of an evil inheritance. That is due to purity being an inherent attribute of the soul.'
Sam closed his eyes. He didn't have faith in himself. But he had faith in his brother. And his brother had faith in him. That would be all they would need for now. They would carry on and fight the good fight, no matter what the cost.
Finis
Title: Non-Violent Communication (Or how Dean learned to stop worrying and like Ghandi)
Submission Type: Fic
Author: mosquito_larva
Rating: PG-13 (For Dean's language, mostly like the show)
Author's note: Again, thank you to my wife kelmendi for the beta. And thanks to the summer_sam_love community for this amazing project and the chance to particpate. It has been really amazing and so much fun!
Summary: "Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an
indomitable will. "-Mahatma Ghandi
***************
As Sam turned the car away from the curb, he could see Dean turning to him in the passenger seat. He kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel his brother's gaze. The silence lingered uncomfortably before Sam finally broke. "What?" he asked sharply.
"I gotta ask again, man. Ghandi?" Dean chortled a bit and Sam felt his hackles rise.
"So I like Ghandi. What's the big deal?"
"A fruitarian? Could you be any more of a girl?"
Sam braked a little more forcefully than necessary at a red light and clenched his jaw. "Just drop it, Dean."
"No, really. Why Ghandi?"
"You really want to know? Fine. He *was* a great man. He championed peace and non-violence and tried to make a difference. I took a class on political thought at Stanford and after hunting, it just seemed like a bit of a pipe dream, I guess." Sam drummed his fingers on the wheel, struggling to find the right words. "I just wanted to be normal, and that never seemed possible. And Ghandi, well, he was sort of the paradigm of what I wanted. I didn't want to fight anything anymore."
"The guy was a nut-job, Sam. Eating fruit and trying to get people to stop fighting isn't exactly making the world a better place. We hunt evil, real evil. Who do you think is making more an impact?" Dean was serious now, all joking aside.
"I'm not saying what we're doing is wrong, Dean. Hell, I'm the last person to talk about non-violence." The words felt like glass in his throat, the craving for blood a constant thrum in the back of his mind. But he forged on. "Ghandi is…an ideal….an example of who I'd like to be. I can't explain it more than that."
"Whatever."
Sam glanced over. "You know, I don't think you and Ghandi would disagree about as much as you think you would."
Dean laughed. "Yeah right. The day I have anything in common with a fruit eating - and trust me, I haven't let that one go - diaper wearing pacifist is the day I give in to Michael."
"Don't even joke about that, Dean!"
"Just drive, Sammy." Dean said, laughing to himself and muttering about the hilarity of a fruitarian chowing down on his brother.
***********
Bobby called them with a possible lead on a poltergeist with a thirst for blood, and they drove south from Canton, heading to Lynchburg, Tennessee. Sharing the driving, they managed to get there in just over a day, rolling past farmland and arriving in a town that Sam could only think of as 'quaint.'
Pulling out the FBI wallets, they went to the house where police tape marked where a family had been found slaughtered. All except a young man, Peter, who stared vacantly at them as they gently asked him questions about his family under the careful watch of his grandmother. He had been in the house, but hadn't heard a thing, merely awoken to the horror around him.
"So, what do you think? Malevolent spirit? Zombie? Demon ritual?" Dean scratched the back of his neck as he leaned against the Impala outside the Lynchburg Welcome Centre. "I say we check the house out, see if anything shows up on the EMF meter," he said and paused as his stomach grumbled loudly enough for Sam to hear. "After we go get something to eat and more importantly, to drink."
"I dunno. I think I'll go check out the local library. See if there's any lore, maybe check the obits." Sam pulled out his laptop bag and pointed across the street. "It's right there. Why don't you go get something at that bar we passed? I'll catch up when I'm done."
"Don't take too long, Sammy. I'm itching to take down something tonight. Makes a man feel alive!" Dean enthused, drumming on the Impala's hood.
"'Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.'" Sam intoned seriously. Dean gave him a sideways look and Sam grinned at him. "Just making sure we're prepared, Dean. Can never have too much information."
Dean snorted. "Then I guess you don't mind me telling you about this weird fungus thing that -"
Sam threw up a hand and began to jog away before Dean could finish. Maybe his brother had a point.
The library wasn't much help, and he quickly joined Dean at the Lynchburg Saloon, where his brother had quickly managed to win over the pretty waitress who was serving him a pitcher of beer and a large club house sandwich with fries. Sam stole a fry and ordered a salad, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue as Dean just lifted a sceptical eyebrow his choice.
"At least it isn't fruit," he commented mildly as the salad arrived with grilled chicken scattered throughout.
They ate leisurely and by the time they finished it was dark enough to try to sneak into the house without being noticed. But a quick check turned up nothing.
"Maybe it’s a shapeshifter, or something else that doesn’t leave EMF," Sam suggested as checked under a bed, looking in vain for clue. "Is it a full moon? A werewolf might slash up bodies like that."
"Or maybe not," Dean's disembodied voice sounded from another room. "Sammy, come here. I think I got something."
Poking his head into the bedroom next door, Sam found Dean pulling a box out from under the bed. A box with suspicious reddish-brown streaks on the top. Pulling out a tissue from his pocket, Dean was careful not to touch the top of the box as he pulled the cardboard flaps up. With his jaw clenched he tipped the box so Sam could see the contents: a blood stained knife with finger smears. "Those look human to you?"
Sam closed his eyes. "Yeah."
"I'll give you three guesses as to whose bedroom this is, and the first two don't count."
"Peter?"
"Yatzee."
"Damn," Sam whispered. "Why? Why would he kill them?"
"We'll go back, check for a demon. But it could just be like those damn kids in the walls or those hicks you grabbed you. Crazy humans doing crazy things." Dean flicked the top down and pushed the box back under the bed.
A visit back to Peter the next morning confirmed the worst. He didn't flinch as Sam muttered, "Christo." Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialled the police station, tossing Sam the keys to the Impala as he prepared to phone in a tip about the box under the bed. "God, I hate humans sometimes."
"'You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.'" Sam quoted as he drove them out of Lynchburg, leaving the police to deal with Peter.
"Tell that to the whales, man. Tell that to the whales," was all Dean said as he looked out the window at the rolling hills passing by.
***********
They were stopped in a motel outside of Ozark, Alabama, after Bobby called them with a report of a chupacabra terrorizing people in a local park. They found its lair by the lake and staked out the small cave the following night.
The size of a small bear, the chupacabra was unfazed by the rock salt in Dean's shotgun, but while it was distracted Sam managed to get in a lucky strike with his knife, although he was almost knocked off his feet by a blow from its tail. It wasn't until the beast was dead from blood loss that Sam noticed the spines sticking out from his forearm.
"Shit, they aren't venomous are they?"
Dean shook his head. "No, but they itch like hell. Come one, let's get back to the hotel-" he broke off as he lost his footing on the uneven ground. When he tried to stand again, he was keeping the weight off his right leg.
"Dean, did you just go through this entire hunt, only to twist your ankle on a tree root?" Sam grinned at the poetic beauty of it.
"Shut up. And its my knee, thank you very much." Dean swore as he tried to put weight on it. "Bitch."
"Jerk," Sam shot back as he pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder and stooped a bit so that he could help Dean hobble back along the path to the park's parking lot.
Back at the motel, Dean carefully pulled the spines out of Sam's arm, reluctantly letting Sam wrap and ice his knee. Sam distracted himself from the itching of his arm by surfing the web for more demon sightings while Dean watched pay-per-view. The sun was just beginning to filter through the curtains when Castiel popped into the room, unannounced and looking grim.
"Hey, Cas . How's it hangin'?" Dean asked without getting up off his bed, his knee propped on a pillow and the remote control to the TV dangling between his fingers.
"Dean. Sam. I am pleased to see you are well. I did not get a chance to fully discuss your encounter with Zachariah before you left to meet with Sam."
"We're just fine. Peachy, even," Dean said. "Can you bring us some breakfast? I'm starved."
"Is everything okay?" Sam asked. "Did Zachariah say anything?"
Castiel frowned. "You are both in a great deal of danger. There are more angels than Zachariah to deal with. And they are getting impatient. They are no longer content to wait for you to say yes to Lucifer, or you, Dean, to say yes to Michael. Many believe that forcing a confrontation will be the way to end this."
"Well screw them all, I say," Dean said flippantly. "We're not going to go down easy."
"Do you want to be fighting the host of heaven?" Castiel asked, his eyes flashing. "You are underestimating the danger you are in."
"'First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.'" Sam said with a small smile. "I think we'll be okay."
Dean nodded firmly and pointed his finger at Sam. "What he said."
Castiel furrowed his brow and then his face smoothed out. "Ghandi," he said with a small nod. "He was a great man."
Dean threw up his hands and tossed the remote at Sam's head. Sam chortled as he ducked and knew that things would be fine.
***********
They continued to hunt, evade angels, Lucifer, and the demons that seemed intent on making their lives miserable. They shared the driving, and Dean was still making a concerted effort to not play big brother, although Sam could tell it was a struggle on occasion. Eventually, it became possible for Sam to occasionally forget the recent past and focus on the present, and dream about the future. It was all made easier with Dean's continued willingness to be partners in the truest sense of the word, but inevitably the past caught up with them.
And the past came in the form of Hank and two other hunters who didn't seem to care that Dean was willing to vouch for Sam's non-evilness. They waylaid the brothers on the way out of their motel room, knocking Dean down from behind and pressing a shotgun to Sam's head while frisking and relieving him of his weapons.
"Leave Dean out of this." Sam said, staring at Dean. His brother was sprawled gracelessly on the pavement and he couldn't see his face to determine whether Dean was still conscious or not. "He hasn't done anything. Just let him go."
"We don’t care about him, although he doesn't seem to care to much about what you've done." Hank said, tipping his chin towards his buddies. One pulled Sam's arms behind his back while the other tied Sam's wrists with twine, digging the rope tightly into the skin. "Me, I'm tempted to say he's guilty by association for not using you, or at the last he's to blame for letting you live when by all accounts your destiny isn't that bright looking. But I'm in a forgiving mood so he can stay. You though? We've got some demons to kill and you're our secret weapon. Mike and Tom managed to wrangle us some demon blood. Let's go."
"You can't just leave him there," Sam protested, turning to look at Dean at the men pulled him towards a battered pick up truck across the parking lot.
"Just watch me." Hank said.
Reaching the truck, Sam felt his heart speed up. He couldn't let them do this. He couldn't let Dean down, not again. His arms strained as he pulled at the rope. He could feel blood trickling down his fingers from his wrists and swallowed down his nausea.
Hank reached for the driver's side handle when suddenly a gun brushed against his ear.
"Let. My. Brother. Go."
Dean cocked the gun and pressed it harder against the soft flesh of Hank's neck. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Sam closed his eyes in relief. The two thugs released his arms at Hank's reluctant nod and he sighed as the rope was untied and feeling flooded back into his fingers.
"Hank, let this be a warning. You mess with my brother, you mess with me." Dean smiled grimly and without warning, let loose with a roundhouse punch that laid Hank out on the pavement, senseless. Sam grinned as the other hunters beat a strategic retreat. Dean looked down at the unconscious man at his feet and as an afterthought, planted a boot in the man's gut.
"Dean," Sam started to protest. Dean shrugged. "It just had to be done, Sammy. Now let's go get those wrists bandaged so you don't bleed all over the Impala.
Sammy let himself be led back to the motel room, and as he walked with Dean's reassuring hand just about his elbow, a thought sprung into his head and he laughed out loud. Dean raised an eyebrow in silent query.
"I just thought of something someone said once."
"Yeah? What?"
"He said, 'It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence.' " He sent a glance back towards Hank who was slowly rolling to his knees, clutching his stomach "I guess sometimes you just have to do what feels right."
Dean snorted. "Well, any woman could tell you I don't have put on a cloak to cover up anything, if you know what I mean," he said waggling his eyebrows. He paused, turning serious for a moment. "And I guess if anyone has violence in their hearts, it's us."
But there was no violence in the way he carefully wrapped Sam's wrists, made him swallow a handful of painkillers and settled him into the Impala for the day's ride. When they stopped at the motel that night, the painkillers had worn off, both of them were hungry and the motel they had been able to find had lukewarm water in the shower and no vending machines.
"I'm going to get some food. You stay here. Try not to get into trouble, okay?" Dean's attempts at humour just made Sam's wrists throb even more. Each pulse of blood through his veins made him hyper aware of the need, the desire for more. It was going to be a bad night.
He sat on the bed until his knee started to jiggle. Pacing stopped the twitches in his legs for a bit, then he took a cool shower, hot water be damned, to try to stop the crawling under his skin.
When he heard the Impala stop by the front door, he was trying to wrap his wrists and towelling off his hair at the same time, failing to do both. Dean rolled his eyes as he walked in and dropped the plastic bag with take out on the dingy table before sitting down on the bed next to Sam, motioning for the bandages.
"Took a shower?" he asked softly, watching as Sam's knee started to bounce again. Sam just nodded.
"Listen, Sammy. I know this is hard for you right now. But you can't listen to what people like Hank say. You 're not evil. I don't care what Dad said, and what I said before was all wrong and twisted up. Like I said back in Canton, we've both made mistakes."
"You're not the one with demon blood in you, Dean. I know what you're trying to do, trust me. And I appreciate it. But my destiny is not exactly filled with sunshine and roses here. Lucifer is - "
"Sam, stop." Dean cut him off. "I…uh…I went to the library a bit before getting the food. Had to do some thinking."
Sam blinked. Dean had gone voluntarily to the library? To think?
"I'm sorry for what I said in Canton about Ghandi." Sam blinked again, even more surprised as Dean continued. "That quote, that was him, right? I figured it was. I went to read some more of his stuff. And you were right when you said that Ghandi and I might not have disagreed about everything. So I'm sorry for making fun of you…and him."
"Uh, thanks," Sam said, unsure of what to make of Dean's earnest apology. Dean lightly gripped his wrists, not even close enough to hurt, but enough to make Sam pay attention to his next words.
Dean swallowed and his eyes looked suspiciously wet. "You're a good person, Sam. That yellowed eyed bastard and Ruby bitch can't change that. In the end, you do the right thing. I know that, and you should too."
He let go of Sam's wrists and got up, leaving Sam alone as he went into the bathroom. Sam tilted his head as a crumpled piece of paper tipped onto the floor. He picked it up and unfolded it. It was a print out from a website of quotes from Ghandi. Some of them had snarky comments beside them in Dean's sloppy script. But one was circled numerous times, the pen mark scoring the paper. It read: "I have also seen children successfully surmounting the effects of an evil inheritance. That is due to purity being an inherent attribute of the soul.'
Sam closed his eyes. He didn't have faith in himself. But he had faith in his brother. And his brother had faith in him. That would be all they would need for now. They would carry on and fight the good fight, no matter what the cost.
Finis