Meeting in Samarra 5/6

[mulkentertain]

Title: Meeting in Samarra
Author: mulkentertain
Rating: PG
Word count: 15.573 words
Pairings: Gen
Warnings: Spoilers up to 6x11, my take on what I thought 6x12 might have been before it aired. So obviously totally AU ever since then.
Disclaimer: Wish-list for Christmas: 2 rough looking guys, travelling around in a muscle car that can be picked up at the Canadian border.
Author's Note: I wrote this back when Episode 6x11 aired and posted it over the following weeks on ff.net If for some reason you prefer to read it there, go ahead. It is exactly the same on both websides (except for another round of spell check for this one right here). But since I have a Lj now  I thought I might as well post it here.


Chapter 5: Rekindled

Dean had no idea how long they had been sitting like this. Judging by the burning sensation in his knees it must have been for quite some time, but the hunter honestly didn't care. He would stay like this for as long as Sam needed him to.

"I got you. I'm right here. " he hummed in a soothing mantra when an especially piteous wail escaped his shaking sibling. With every strangled cry or hitch of breath the hunter's heart broke into aching pieces and yet felt more intact than it had in a very long time.

Even back at the house a small part of him still hadn't believed Sam was really back. Too many things had gone wrong in these past months, too many lies left his soulless brother's lips to not doubt this sudden lucky break. The very last second before each blink had been accompanied by a slight pang of fear that it had only been a dream, too good to be true. That as soon as he reopened his eyes he would be facing that cold empty smile on his brother's face, shattering his hopes, telling him it had all just been a trick to get out of the panic-room.

But this right here felt real. No ploy, no twisted dream or fantasy, purely and simply Sam. The realization enveloped him in a long forgotten warmth as it melted away the remaining chill of doubt. His brother's soul was laid out before him, bare and vulnerable like a newborn. Dean held on to it, sheltered it in his embrace, scared it would flee if he loosened his grip just for a second.

"I'm right here, it's all gonna be ok."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no sign of the doubt crawling up his spine. In reality he had no idea whether or not he would be able to fix this. Right now Sam was like a delicate puzzle after a tempest, jumbled and broken into a million little pieces. Dean didn't even know where to begin to put him back together. There were too many things about Sam he didn't know of, things he couldn't even begin to understand. So he did the only thing he could to for now:

Hold on to each and every shard while he waited out the storm.

Somewhere in between the desperation in Sam's sobs had subsided, leaving the younger man breathless and drained. He missed the numbness, the cold detachment he could still remember, but it was far beyond reach by now. Instead scenes of death were playing back in his head over and over again. They shouldn't have felt new to him. He had seen them before, witnessed them with his own two eyes, smelled the blood, sensed the recoil of the gun...he hadn't felt them, though.

Not really.

Not like this.

Grim-Reaper had not only brought back his soul, but also the colours, waking him from sleepwalking in a black and white world. They poured over his lifeless memories and drenched them in emotions, made them tangible and frightening raw. He wanted to throw up. Spit out the filth hoarding inside of him, but he knew it wouldn't help. Nothing would. He had made those choices of his own free will. There was no changing that, no matter how disturbing they seemed in retrospect. What scared him the most, though, was the twisted part somewhere in his brain that could still see the logic hidden underneath the newly added layers of guilt. It was disgusting. He felt like two persons at once, Jekyll and Hyde, crammed into one tiny body, barely able to contain the chasm between them. Which one was the real Sam? He didn't know anymore.

His tears had long run dry when the sobs finally stopped. Pulling in a trembling breath he felt himself relax into the warmth surrounding him. Only then did Sam consciously notice the tear-soaked shirt beneath his face, firm arms holding on to him, the head that rested at the back of his neck. Dean.

A sad smile spread across his tired face. He should have known. Against all odds his brother had never given up on him, why should he see reason now?
Screwing up his eyes he let himself soak up the undeserved comfort for a couple of seconds longer before he slowly started to pull away.

Dean immediately felt the change in the younger man. Lifting his head he stared into bloodshot eyes, looking up at him in a way that made his throat constrict all over again.

"Hey Sammy." he said with a small smile.

"Hey." came the croaked out answer, barely more than a whisper.

Sam quickly averted his eyes when he noticed the raw emotions in his siblings glance. Dean was looking at him as if he saw him for the very first time in years. He couldn't stand it. Not after all the pain he had caused everyone around him. Sniffing his nose he retreated even further, eyes glued to the ground.

"You...You can let go now. I'm ok."

The lie was so obvious that Dean refrained from commenting on it. With reluctance the older hunter loosened his grip, but his hand remained steady on his brother's shoulder. In loss of words he settled for a supportive squeeze before he fully disentangled himself and got up.

"Come on, let's get you back inside." he said, one arm outstretched to help the younger man up. For a second Sam just stared at it, as if he was contemplating his options. But when Dean didn't back down and simply waited for him to grab a hold of his hand he finally accepted his help.

They walked towards Bobby's house in silence, Dean's hand resting protectively on his brother's back. Somehow the older Winchester couldn't shake the feeling, that the following days would be anything but a joyride.

Dean was waiting for further instructions as he leaned against the counter, absentmindedly sipping from the glass of whiskey in his hand. Every now and then Bobby would nudge him out of the way to get some more salt or a knife, but the young hunter didn't mind at all. Instead he simply enjoyed the show.

Bobby's forehead was scrunched up in utter concentration, his movements fluent from years of practice. Hadn't it been for the greasy 'kiss the cook' apron he and Sam had gotten him for his last birthday, Dean would have thought the older man was on a hunt.

This had become their usual routine over the last few days. The old man would cook while Dean chopped whatever needed chopping and set the table. Two plates and one extra to take upstairs for his brother.

"Alright. Ten minutes then it should be done." Bobby muttered after a quick peek into the oven. The smell of fried chicken filled the air, making the younger hunter's stomach growl. As soon as the older man turned his his back on him he slyly reached across the counter for the still warm garlic bread. His fingers were just about to touch the golden crust when suddenly another arm came out of nowhere and swatted his hand away. Caught in the act Dean was faced with an unimpressed glare of the chef.

"Get your hands off that." Bobby grumbled in feigned annoyance. "What are you still doing here anyway? I ain't keeping you around to look pretty, so make yourself useful, would ya?" His voice was rough, but Dean had learned to discern the affection in the hard words which shooed him out of the kitchen and towards the dining table. With a chuckle Dean fled the scene before the older hunter would start chopping him instead of the vegetables. Their easy banter was a nice change to the otherwise tense atmosphere in the house.

Three days. Three whole days and Sam still hadn't left his room apart from the occasional trip to the bathroom.

Winchesters were known for their pig-headed nature, but this was getting ridicules. Whenever he or Bobby dared to enter his room, Sam would just be sitting there, staring out of the window with a haunted look in his eyes. He didn't speak unless he was being asked a direct question and the plates of food the older Winchester had left for him on the bedside table were hardly even touched when he came back to retrieve them. Slowly but surely it was driving him up the walls.
Dean had tried to be gentle with Sam, to give him space to recover from the first shock. Instead the youngest house guest only seemed to be getting worse. With every day that passed he could feel his brother slipping retreating further into his own mind, blind to the world around him.

For months Dean had put up with the soulless version of him, always looking over his shoulder in case that thing suddenly decided to turn on him. He had left Lisa and Ben, put everything on the line in order to get his real family back and taken hit after hit in the process. But not once in all this time had he felt as helpless as he did right now. Sam was finally back with him, but ironically Dean was now the one that couldn't feel it.

There was no annoyed voice telling him to stop smacking while he ate, cause Sam stayed in his room. No eye-roll when he bantered with Bobby, cause Sam wasn't there to see it. No goddamn sign that the guy was even still breathing, unless Dean went upstairs to check for himself.

"You know what, that's it." he finally burst out, forcefully putting down the plates he had just retrieved from the cupboard.

Startled by the unexpected mood swing Bobby spun around, ladle frozen in midair.
"What is?"

"Sam. He's been up there for days, moping in the dark like one of these guys in those cheesy vampire movies." Dean's voice was colored with the frustration, that had been eating on him.

With a tired sigh Bobby put down the cooking utensil and wiped his hands on his apron, unconsciously adding a new stain to the collection.
"I know, son. Believe me, I know."

All the lightness from earlier had vanished as uncomfortable silence settled over them, only interrupted by the sizzling noises from the oven.
Dean was leaning heavily on one of the chairs, face tight in anger when the older hunter spoke up again.

"What do you wanna do about it, though? You tried to talk to him, hell, we both did, but there ain't nothing getting through that stubborn head of his."

"Well, then I'll just have to try again." the young man exclaimed exasperated, pushing himself off the chair with such force, the other man had to flinch as it hit the table.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face in order to compose himself. Nonetheless he was still vibrating when he added more quietly:
"I'm not gonna let him do this to himself any longer, Bobby. I can't. It's killing him."

The older hunter considered him compassionately for a moment. He had known the Winchesters long enough to be able to tell when it was time to bite your tongue and simply go with the gut-feeling these boys had for one another.
"Think this time he'll actually listen?"

"Oh, he better." Dean answered defiantly, drowning the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and setting the glass down with an audible thud.

He had been pacing the hall to his sibling's room for almost two minutes and still not come up with a plan of how to convince his brother to come downstairs with him. The thought of simply dragging him by the hair became more and more appealing by the second, but he knew that wouldn't work either. With a sigh Dean finally gave up and decided on improvisation, as always. Hesitantly he tapped his hand against the door a couple of times, not really expecting an answer, before he carefully poked his head inside the room.
All prior cockiness instantly vanished when his eyes fell on his brother. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the man was drowning. He was sitting by the window, barely acknowledging his presence before he averted his glance back outside. His skin was pale in the bright sunlight. Dark circles had formed under his haunted eyes, telling Dean everything he needed to know about the amount of sleep his sibling had gotten lately, or more precisely lack thereof. Never would he have thought that his words about 'having a soul equals suffering', from when they had been working the fairy case, would come back to bite him in the ass.

Clearing his throat, the hunter willed his voice to sound as confident and normal as possible.
"Hey. Dinner is almost ready, if you want to come downstairs."

"I'm not hungry." came the calm reply. The unspoken hint for him to leave was more than notable, even though the young man's voice had been nearly bare of emotions.

Dean sighed as he felt the frustration well up had done this little dance countless times over the past few days and every time he had backed down. Not this time. He was done dancing. With arms crossed over his chest the hunter leaned provocative against the door frame and waited.

The seconds ticked by painfully slow until Sam finally looked up at him and repeated his statement.
"I told you, I'm not..."

"I don't care." Dean shot back, not missing a beat. He kept his tone in check, but the tight line of his jaw indicated quite the opposite. The younger man's eyes narrowed, obviously annoyed by the sudden interruption of their usual pattern. Dean knew he was playing with fire here, but he was sick of falling in line with his brother's likings. Ever since the memories had returned Sam's mood had been running wild with him. Starting with the guilt laden breakdown outside and ending with a rollercoaster-ride-like spectrum of emotions whenever the hunter had poked his head through the door. Most of the time he was able to hide it quite well, but the older Winchester had always been good at paying attention to detail when it came to his sibling. Like for example the deadly glare he was throwing his way at that very moment. Unfazed he held the younger man's eyes and prepared himself for the the staring contest that would inevitably follow.

"Dean, get out." the man warned in a lot harsher tone than his brother would have expected.

The air around them crackled with growing tension as both men's temper flared, neither of them willing to be the first to look away. It was a silly remnant of their childhood, which had often proven to be the only way of settling an argument without the use of fists. Dean, being the older brother, had a natural talent for this kind of thing, even though Sam's stubbornness and his recurring arguments with their dad had evened out the battlefield years ago.

And judging by the slow but sure growth of the burning sensation in the older man's eyes, his brother's stubbornness had only increased over the last few days. A direct confrontation was the last thing he had wanted to accomplish, but Sam's glare was only adding oil to the fire. Furthermore the past couple of days had stretched his patience to the breaking point, making him even bolder than usual.

His voice vibrated with suppressed anger when he spoke:
"The way I see it, you have two options here, Sam. Either you come down by yourself and keep your dignity, or help me god, I will drag your stubborn ass down there with force. Your choice."

He was expecting a snappy retort, an insult, maybe even one of the usual threats, however nothing could have prepared him for the cold and humorless laughter that suddenly erupted from his younger sibling. In an instant the temperature in the room drooped by a couple of degrees, all playfulness and childhood memories forgotten.
Sam was on his feet in one swift movement, causing his surprised brother to take an involuntary step back.

The younger man's body was trembling with over-boiling emotions. Emotions that had been locked up inside, burning for days without any kind of outlet.

"Try me." he just about growled.

Even though Sam had already broken eye-contact the older hunter didn't dare to blink. He was frozen in place, aghasted at his brother's extreme behavior and quite frankly a little bit scared. The usual pained look in the tall man's eyes had been replaced by an iciness, Dean had never seen in them before. Even without his soul his cold stare had been carrying a certain bleakness with it. This right now was something else entirely. There was no room left for indifference in his glare, just unrestrained anger in it's purest form.

While the older hunter tried to regain his voice the other man continued to tower over him, apparently expecting an answer. Dean tried to remember the question, but his mind had gone completely blank in his alarmed state. All he could focus on was the bone-chilling expression in his brother's eyes. He was so thrown off course that all his usually carefully assembled guards had dropped, clearing the way for his raw desperation to leak through as he whispered:

"What the hell is going on with you?"

Sam's angry stance faltered as soon as the words had left his brother's lips. Taken aback he stared into the shorter man's pale face, while he waited for the wave of his own emotions to ease up and allow his brain to kick back in. A heavy gasp escaped his lungs, taking the last remains of rage with it. Only then became he aware of the unfamiliar vulnerability in the wide green eyes staring back at him. Like looking into a mirror his brother's face reflected his own words and actions without distortion back at him, showing him what his erratic behavior was doing to the people around him, especially Dean.

Outbursts like this one were the main reason why he had restricted himself to his room. They had started up as soon as the memories had found back to their rightful place inside of his mind. He had tried to get them under control, but they came without warning and ran him down before he even had time to react. Just as quickly they would be gone, leaving him gasping for air like a fish out of water. Fortunately their frequency seemed to be declining, nonetheless the progress was slower than he would have liked.

"I...I didn't mean..." Sam stammered, his wide eyes quickly averting to the floor as he took a wobbly step back. Despite the young man's attempts to swallow the lump the words got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Dean was still reeling from the scene he had just witnessed. He had been already aware of his brother's mood swings, but this was extreme, even for Sam.

"You're kind of scaring me, dude." he stated a little more audible, than before. If he had known what his impulsive actions might cause he never would have pushed his brother this far.

The younger Winchester's jaw visibly tensed as willed his voice to work.

"I'm scaring myself."

Finally finding the courage to meet his older siblings eyes he looked up. His face showed how shaken he was by his own outburst as he nervously started to pace through the room.

„I've got all of these feelings running through me, but it's like I don't even remember what to do with them. Like they were just placed there by mistake. I'm getting better at holding them in, but everything that slips by comes out exaggerated and I just can't seem to stop it. Especially when I think of the time before I got my soul back. It's like my emotions try to make up for missed time, or something."

The older hunter had listened in silence to the unexpected flood of words. In merely a couple of minutes Sam had talked more than in the past few days put together. More importantly, though, his brother was finally opening up and letting him in on the chaos coursing through that 'freaky' head of his, as Dean liked to refer to it.

All of a sudden things were starting to make sense. The mood swings, Sam's wish to be left alone, the breakdown just after his memories had returned, just everything. Hadn't it been for the seriousness of the situation Dean probably would have gotten a good laugh out his sibling's PMS-like symptoms, but with the way things were he was too stunned to find his humor.

„Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked instead.

Sam's eyes returned shamefully to the floor before he meekly answered:

„I didn't want to scare you."

With a chuckle the older hunter shook his head. „Well, bang up job on that."

When he looked back up at his sibling he could see his frown increase by the second. Something else was bothering him and apparently he wasn't too keen on sharing it. Knowing his brother's need to get certain things off his chest the hunter simply waited in silence until the young man would spill.

„Dean, what if having my soul back isn't enough? There is still a part of me that understands the choices I made before it got put back in and it scares the crap out of me. What if it nothing is changed?"

It was obvious how much this last confession had cost the young man as he slumped on the edge of the bed, head buried in his hands. Like all Winchesters Sam wasn't one to admit his own weaknesses, especially towards his brother. It left them vulnerable for attacks, something their father had spent years on breaking them loose of. Dean knew he had to tread lightly here.

Carefully he contemplated his next words, since his attempt of getting his brother back on track would very likely stand or fall by them.

"Sam. Having your soul back has already changed things, can't you see that?"

Slowly he walked to where his sibling was sitting and crouched down, so the younger man would have to look at him.

"All this guilt and the pain that's eating at you...it's proof of that. Different to you Robo-Cop never lost sleep about what he had done. Well...technically he didn't...need sleep, but...you know what I mean." he ended awkwardly, stumbling over his own words. There was a reason why he hated heart-to-hearts like these.

Sam's eyes briefly lightened up in amusement over his unwieldiness, before they turned serious again.
"Could you stop calling me that?"

"What?"

"Stop calling me Robo-Cop."

Dean gave him a puzzled look.
"I'm not. "

With a sigh Sam straightened up a little, while his face adopted the same lecturing expression it always used get whenever his brother was missing the point of something.

"Yes, Dean, you are. Don't you get it? There is no 'other guy' in here, maybe there never was. All this time it was still me. Everything 'he' did or said..."

"Sam, stop. Stop it, ok?" the older hunter quickly interfered before his sibling had the chance to latch on to the topic. "You got all these weird memories floating around in your head, not to mention your emotional roller coaster-ride right now. I get it, I do. But you are going to listen to me very closely, because I'm only going to say this once. I've known you for all your life. I've seen the way you go after your goals and I've watched you make some pretty bad choices along the way. And I spend more than enough time with the soulless version of you to know the difference. So trust me when I tell you: that thing or guy, or whatever it was, was nothing like you. I mean, he looked like you and he maybe even had your brains, but it wasn't you."

Sam was looking a little dumbfounded when the hunter had ended his speech. He still wasn't used to this new, more open side of his big brother. It was hard to tell why, but somehow it carried his mind all the way back to when they were kids. Back then he had always taken Dean's words as gospel. A lopsided grin and a simple 'Everything is going to be ok. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.' had been enough to set Sam's mind at ease, no matter how bad things were going at the time. This new side of Dean was just as hard to oppose, let alone the sheer conviction in his eyes, that left no room for any kind of a doubt that he was right about this.

With a puff of air the young man shook his head to clear his thoughts, unable to keep in the small smile that was pulling at the corner of his lips.
Dean's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree as soon as he noticed it, which was of course immediately. Sure, it was barely noticeable, but it was a start. Without thinking he flashed one of his glacier-melting grins, earning himself an eye-roll from his brother. This one little gesture so loudly screamed 'Sam' that he had to restrain himself from hugging the man. All of a sudden the suffocating weight he had grown accustomed to carrying on his shoulders fell off him, allowing him to take his first deep breath in more than a year.

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Off to the last chapter...