OhSam Comment Fic: The Cancer Inside 1/2
Title: The Cancer Inside
Author: purplehrdwonder
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word count: ~5,900
Summary: Still angry at Sam for his betrayal and starting the Apocalypse, Dean harbors some less than pleasant wishes toward his brother, and a run-in with a djinn gives him exactly what he wants...
Spoilers: Through 5.06
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
This was written for authoressnebula's prompt at the ohsam Comment Fic Meme going on right now.
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"We would often be sorry if our wishes were granted."
-- Aesop
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The first thing Dean became aware of was the jack hammering inside his skull. He might not have a point of reference for that torment exactly, but he did for a drill in his skull and it was pretty damn close, so he figured he’d stick with the analogy. Hell, the gift that just kept on giving-especially now that Lucifer had been popped from his box thanks to a certain demon fucking, blood drinking, betraying little brother Dean would decline to name at the moment.
Not that he was bitter or anything.
Dean groaned and tried opening his eyes but found the world spinning around him. Didn’t that just figure? How the hell had he ended up on a carousel? His stomach turned rebelliously and he screwed his eyes shut, letting the wave of nausea pass.
Once he was feeling steadier, he took a breath and opened his eyes again. Nothing seemed to be moving this time, so apparently not a carousel after all. He blinked when he realized he was sitting behind the wheel of the Impala. Weird. But it meant that he wouldn’t have to call Sam for help, and he’d be thankful for even the smallest things at this point.
After the whole Jesse thing, Sam had been quieter than usual while they looked into what seemed like a fairly straightforward djinn case. Once they’d gotten to town, he’d headed right for the library, only coming back to the motel room when the library closed. They knew pretty much all they needed to about djinns after their last encounter and they’d picked out the likeliest spot for the djinn to be holed up almost immediately, so it was obvious the kid was avoiding him.
And that was just fine with Dean; he was still trying to figure out what to do about his brother. Sam was sorry for what he’d done; the kid hadn’t changed so much while Dean was in Hell that he couldn’t read the guilt and self-loathing practically rolling off his little brother. But that didn’t just erase the fact Sam had chosen a demon over him, nearly killed him while strung out on what had to be the vilest drug on the planet, and then freed the freaking Devil.
Whenever he looked at his brother, he could almost feel Sam’s hands around his throat all over again.
So Dean figured he was justified in not knowing quite what to feel towards Sam.
Or in wanting Sam to suffer more than he already was. The one thing Winchesters didn’t screw with was family, but Sam had never exactly stuck to that rule. He’d run off to Flagstaff for two weeks the first chance he’d gotten as a kid and then had dumped his family for Stanford years later, hoping to make the separation permanent. Dean didn’t know why he was so surprised, really, that Sam had turned on him. But he’d come back the moment he realized how bad he’d fucked up, like family meant something to him. And if that made Dean want to see his brother begging on his knees for forgiveness, well, that seemed perfectly understandable.
Dean figured he really had no reason to feel guilty for going after the djinn on his own. Sam was still a capable hunter, but it was damn near impossible-and dangerous-to hunt with someone you couldn’t trust to have your back. Sam had already stabbed Dean there once, so to speak, and he wasn’t really feeling up to leaving it open again so soon.
While Sam had been off at the library, Dean had written him a note and headed off to take care of the djinn himself. He’d found the warehouse without any trouble, and was almost disappointed at how easy some supernaturals made it to find them. Because, really, an abandoned warehouse just screamed optimal location for evil.
And now that he was out of the motel room that felt like a low pressure system had settled over it whenever Sam was around, Dean was itching to burn off some excess energy. He snuck into the warehouse, secured the perimeter in record time, and found the djinn feeding on a teenager who looked like he’d been there awhile.
That had to have been Joey Marshall, third victim in a string of missing foster kids. He’d been missing two weeks when the Winchesters had rolled into town, though between the pallor of his skin and the grime he covered in, it was hard to tell for sure.
Holding the silver knife he’d dipped in a jar of lamb’s blood sitting in the front seat of the Impala, Dean contemplated his next move. Had Sam been there, they could have hemmed the djinn in from two sides. But Sam wasn’t there, which meant a sneak attack was Dean’s best shot. Djinn were fast sons of bitches; crafty too, so Dean would rather not face the thing head on without any backup.
That was when the electric blue eyes that still haunted his dreams on occasion lit up the shadows in front of him and everything had faded away.
Huh.
The djinn must have gotten to him after all. Frustrated, Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He eyed the knife in the front seat; he just had to stab himself to get back to the real world-assuming the djinn had dosed him-but he didn’t know what the genie was playing at. The last one he’d tangled with had just been after food, but this one was going after specific targets. Sam had said something, in one of his brief moments of speech in the last week, about the strange choice of targets.
Dean had to concede that his brother was right; foster kids would undoubtedly have fantasies they wanted to escape into more intensely than most people, but they were also likely to be less energetic and lively in the first place, which was precisely what djinn fed on. Something else was going on here. And going on a hunt without all the facts drove Dean up the wall. He supposed that meant enlisting Sam’s help, assuming they were actually hunters in this world. Or on speaking terms.
Not that they were on the best terms in the real world either. But still.
Finding his brother meant figuring out where the hell he was first. Dean twisted around to look out each window, peering through the darkness that had fallen and cursed. He’d ended up in a rundown part of town. The police had assumed the kids that had gone missing had left their foster homes for the streets to sell drugs or join a gang; it was fairly common, they said-and this looked like the seediest part of town where kids who weren’t wanted would retreat. And a car like the Impala would attract unwanted attention.
Hell, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t been approached already.
He frowned as he glanced around the street again. There were people peering out curtained windows and around alleyway corners. In the dim street light, Dean thought the drug dealers and gang bangers looked...wary. That set alarm bells ringing in his head, but Dean wasn’t going to complain. If he could get back to the motel without him or his girl getting shot at, he’d throw a thank you on high to whoever might be listening at the moment.
Dean felt eyes on the back of his neck the entire drive out of the neighborhood. What the hell kind of place had the djinn sent him to, anyway?
Over an hour and numerous wrong turns later, Dean pulled up in front of the Cave of Wonders Motel. At first he thought he’d gotten the wrong place, but the motel was at the same address the Red Rock Motel had been in the real world and the basic architecture was the same. Dean rolled his eyes as he got out of the car; clearly the djinn thought it was funny.
After checking to make sure the Impala was still a rolling armory-“Not a civilian this time,” he noted-Dean pulled out the keycard for room 12. He paused briefly as he realized Sam might not actually be in the room; he still didn’t know what the twist was on this world, but figured he’d take his chances.
Some of the tension left his shoulders when the lock on the door blinked green. He swung the door open and froze in the doorway. The room was trashed, like there had been a struggle. Chairs were upturned, sheets tangled on the floor, glass shards trailed out of the bathroom, and blood was streaked on the carpet and walls. Panic surged up in Dean’s gut.
Sam lay asleep on the far bed, on his side facing the door and curled in on himself. Sam only curled up like that when he was hurt or sick, and despite his earlier irritation, Dean was suddenly worried. Sam’s left wrist was handcuffed to the bed frame and Dean did his best not to flash back to the panic room. What the hell was going on?
“Sam,” Dean said, still frozen in the doorway. His brother didn’t stir. “Sam,” he repeatedly more loudly.
Sam’s face scrunched up a moment like he was struggling to regain consciousness, but then his eyes flew open. He jerked upright, the handcuff clanking in protest, and his eyes raked wildly over the room before finding Dean. But instead of the haunted guilt and self-hatred Dean had seen in those hazel eyes over the last few weeks, there was nothing but pure terror. This was the look that had been on Sam’s face when the door to Lucifer’s cage had opened.
Something twisted inside Dean at the thought that his little brother was as afraid of him as the Devil.
“Dean,” Sam rasped and Dean winced. Sam sounded like he’d been yelling. Combined with the cuff and the look of the room, Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “I’m sorry, I-”
Dean stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Sam gulped as the door shut and he shrank back into himself, doing his best turtle impression. Dean frowned as he registered what Sam had been saying.
“Sorry for what?” Sam swallowed and Dean stepped further into the room. “Sam, what is it?”
“I’m sorry, I tried to stay awake,” Sam blurted out, sounding more like six year old Sammy than twenty-six year old Sam. “I know you always want to be ready to make a quick getaway after a job, but…”
“But what?” Dean asked, having no idea what else to say.
“I passed out,” Sam muttered, his eyes sinking to the floor like he was ashamed.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. Sam had been hurt badly enough to pass out? And he’d left him? “What?”
“M’sorry,” Sam practically whimpered. It was a sound Dean had never heard his brother make and would be happy to never hear it again. “Please, don’t hurt me again, Dean. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Just please…”
“Wait, I did this?” Dean demanded, waving his arms to indicate the room.
When Sam didn’t say anything, Dean moved in between the beds. Sam sucked in a shaky breath and looked like he wanted to bolt, only the handcuffs kept him in place. That was when Dean got a good look at his brother. Livid bruises were forming across Sam’s jaw and eye. Blood had caked against his temple and there was also blood matted in his hair. Finger-shaped bruises circled his neck, disappearing under his shirt. Sam held his free hand around his middle like he’d cracked some ribs. His shirt and jeans were ripped and smeared with blood and his left wrist was raw from chafing against the cuff.
He looked like he’d gone several rounds with a poltergeist and lost.
“Sam, did I do this?” Dean repeated quietly.
Sam refused to meet his eyes. “It was my fault. I can’t do anything right, I know. The cop tailed me from the diner and I was too careless to notice. If I’d seen him, you wouldn’t have had to kill him and bring attention to yourself.”
Dean’s jaw dropped. Kill him? he mouthed in horror at the words coming out of Sam’s mouth so casually. But his little brother wasn’t looking at him and kept talking.
“I’m worthless,” he whispered. “The cop followed me and then I didn’t even get your dinner right. God, I’m such an idiot, I’m sorry. Please, Dean, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me again. I can make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me?” Dean echoed, feeling like a complete idiot. His brain was still trying to process what was going on.
Sam looked up through his shaggy bangs with bright eyes. “I’ll do anything. Please, just give me another chance.”
“Sam-”
“I know, you’ve given me so many chances and I keep messing up. I don’t deserve it, but I’m trying. God, I’m trying.” Sam winced and bit his lip, as if he was suddenly afraid he’d said too much.
Dean flinched, feeling like he’d been punched. That was basically what his Sam had been trying to tell him, trying to prove to him, since they’d gotten back on the road together-just without the overt terror.
Then again, Sam tended to internalize everything. If he were afraid, he wouldn’t show it; he’d suck it up and keep it to himself rather than let it get in the way of a hunt. Dean suddenly felt like a total dick.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I…need to think.”
“Of course, I’m sorry,” Sam hastily apologized. “Wh-what do you want me to do?” he asked. “When you left, I didn’t know-” He trailed off at the startled look on Dean’s face.
Dean was still trying to reconcile this Sam with his brother. What was going on in this world? He shook his head.
“Take a shower, Sam. Get cleaned up.” He was having a hard time looking at the bloodied facsimile of his brother-especially when he, or this world’s version of him, had been the cause of it.
Sam nodded silently and made to stand, but the cuff pulled him back down and he blinked at it for a long moment before looking back at Dean. “Key?” he asked meekly.
Oh, right. Dean cast around the trashed room blankly. If I were a key where would I hide? He patted his jacket and shirt pockets. When he patted his jeans, he felt a key-shaped lump in the front pocket. He pulled it out and glowered at it like it was causing him all these issues, not the damn djinn. He reached over and tried to ignore Sam tensing when he was within reach. He unlocked the cuff and Sam rose unsteadily to his feet.
He didn’t look back as he picked his way gingerly through the wreckage of their room to the bathroom and shut the door. The shower turned on moments later and Dean felt his shoulders droop. He couldn’t handle this much longer, seeing his brother so afraid of him. What could he have possibly done to scare Sam like this?
Part 2
Author: purplehrdwonder
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word count: ~5,900
Summary: Still angry at Sam for his betrayal and starting the Apocalypse, Dean harbors some less than pleasant wishes toward his brother, and a run-in with a djinn gives him exactly what he wants...
Spoilers: Through 5.06
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
This was written for authoressnebula's prompt at the ohsam Comment Fic Meme going on right now.
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"We would often be sorry if our wishes were granted."
-- Aesop
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The first thing Dean became aware of was the jack hammering inside his skull. He might not have a point of reference for that torment exactly, but he did for a drill in his skull and it was pretty damn close, so he figured he’d stick with the analogy. Hell, the gift that just kept on giving-especially now that Lucifer had been popped from his box thanks to a certain demon fucking, blood drinking, betraying little brother Dean would decline to name at the moment.
Not that he was bitter or anything.
Dean groaned and tried opening his eyes but found the world spinning around him. Didn’t that just figure? How the hell had he ended up on a carousel? His stomach turned rebelliously and he screwed his eyes shut, letting the wave of nausea pass.
Once he was feeling steadier, he took a breath and opened his eyes again. Nothing seemed to be moving this time, so apparently not a carousel after all. He blinked when he realized he was sitting behind the wheel of the Impala. Weird. But it meant that he wouldn’t have to call Sam for help, and he’d be thankful for even the smallest things at this point.
After the whole Jesse thing, Sam had been quieter than usual while they looked into what seemed like a fairly straightforward djinn case. Once they’d gotten to town, he’d headed right for the library, only coming back to the motel room when the library closed. They knew pretty much all they needed to about djinns after their last encounter and they’d picked out the likeliest spot for the djinn to be holed up almost immediately, so it was obvious the kid was avoiding him.
And that was just fine with Dean; he was still trying to figure out what to do about his brother. Sam was sorry for what he’d done; the kid hadn’t changed so much while Dean was in Hell that he couldn’t read the guilt and self-loathing practically rolling off his little brother. But that didn’t just erase the fact Sam had chosen a demon over him, nearly killed him while strung out on what had to be the vilest drug on the planet, and then freed the freaking Devil.
Whenever he looked at his brother, he could almost feel Sam’s hands around his throat all over again.
So Dean figured he was justified in not knowing quite what to feel towards Sam.
Or in wanting Sam to suffer more than he already was. The one thing Winchesters didn’t screw with was family, but Sam had never exactly stuck to that rule. He’d run off to Flagstaff for two weeks the first chance he’d gotten as a kid and then had dumped his family for Stanford years later, hoping to make the separation permanent. Dean didn’t know why he was so surprised, really, that Sam had turned on him. But he’d come back the moment he realized how bad he’d fucked up, like family meant something to him. And if that made Dean want to see his brother begging on his knees for forgiveness, well, that seemed perfectly understandable.
Dean figured he really had no reason to feel guilty for going after the djinn on his own. Sam was still a capable hunter, but it was damn near impossible-and dangerous-to hunt with someone you couldn’t trust to have your back. Sam had already stabbed Dean there once, so to speak, and he wasn’t really feeling up to leaving it open again so soon.
While Sam had been off at the library, Dean had written him a note and headed off to take care of the djinn himself. He’d found the warehouse without any trouble, and was almost disappointed at how easy some supernaturals made it to find them. Because, really, an abandoned warehouse just screamed optimal location for evil.
And now that he was out of the motel room that felt like a low pressure system had settled over it whenever Sam was around, Dean was itching to burn off some excess energy. He snuck into the warehouse, secured the perimeter in record time, and found the djinn feeding on a teenager who looked like he’d been there awhile.
That had to have been Joey Marshall, third victim in a string of missing foster kids. He’d been missing two weeks when the Winchesters had rolled into town, though between the pallor of his skin and the grime he covered in, it was hard to tell for sure.
Holding the silver knife he’d dipped in a jar of lamb’s blood sitting in the front seat of the Impala, Dean contemplated his next move. Had Sam been there, they could have hemmed the djinn in from two sides. But Sam wasn’t there, which meant a sneak attack was Dean’s best shot. Djinn were fast sons of bitches; crafty too, so Dean would rather not face the thing head on without any backup.
That was when the electric blue eyes that still haunted his dreams on occasion lit up the shadows in front of him and everything had faded away.
Huh.
The djinn must have gotten to him after all. Frustrated, Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He eyed the knife in the front seat; he just had to stab himself to get back to the real world-assuming the djinn had dosed him-but he didn’t know what the genie was playing at. The last one he’d tangled with had just been after food, but this one was going after specific targets. Sam had said something, in one of his brief moments of speech in the last week, about the strange choice of targets.
Dean had to concede that his brother was right; foster kids would undoubtedly have fantasies they wanted to escape into more intensely than most people, but they were also likely to be less energetic and lively in the first place, which was precisely what djinn fed on. Something else was going on here. And going on a hunt without all the facts drove Dean up the wall. He supposed that meant enlisting Sam’s help, assuming they were actually hunters in this world. Or on speaking terms.
Not that they were on the best terms in the real world either. But still.
Finding his brother meant figuring out where the hell he was first. Dean twisted around to look out each window, peering through the darkness that had fallen and cursed. He’d ended up in a rundown part of town. The police had assumed the kids that had gone missing had left their foster homes for the streets to sell drugs or join a gang; it was fairly common, they said-and this looked like the seediest part of town where kids who weren’t wanted would retreat. And a car like the Impala would attract unwanted attention.
Hell, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t been approached already.
He frowned as he glanced around the street again. There were people peering out curtained windows and around alleyway corners. In the dim street light, Dean thought the drug dealers and gang bangers looked...wary. That set alarm bells ringing in his head, but Dean wasn’t going to complain. If he could get back to the motel without him or his girl getting shot at, he’d throw a thank you on high to whoever might be listening at the moment.
Dean felt eyes on the back of his neck the entire drive out of the neighborhood. What the hell kind of place had the djinn sent him to, anyway?
Over an hour and numerous wrong turns later, Dean pulled up in front of the Cave of Wonders Motel. At first he thought he’d gotten the wrong place, but the motel was at the same address the Red Rock Motel had been in the real world and the basic architecture was the same. Dean rolled his eyes as he got out of the car; clearly the djinn thought it was funny.
After checking to make sure the Impala was still a rolling armory-“Not a civilian this time,” he noted-Dean pulled out the keycard for room 12. He paused briefly as he realized Sam might not actually be in the room; he still didn’t know what the twist was on this world, but figured he’d take his chances.
Some of the tension left his shoulders when the lock on the door blinked green. He swung the door open and froze in the doorway. The room was trashed, like there had been a struggle. Chairs were upturned, sheets tangled on the floor, glass shards trailed out of the bathroom, and blood was streaked on the carpet and walls. Panic surged up in Dean’s gut.
Sam lay asleep on the far bed, on his side facing the door and curled in on himself. Sam only curled up like that when he was hurt or sick, and despite his earlier irritation, Dean was suddenly worried. Sam’s left wrist was handcuffed to the bed frame and Dean did his best not to flash back to the panic room. What the hell was going on?
“Sam,” Dean said, still frozen in the doorway. His brother didn’t stir. “Sam,” he repeatedly more loudly.
Sam’s face scrunched up a moment like he was struggling to regain consciousness, but then his eyes flew open. He jerked upright, the handcuff clanking in protest, and his eyes raked wildly over the room before finding Dean. But instead of the haunted guilt and self-hatred Dean had seen in those hazel eyes over the last few weeks, there was nothing but pure terror. This was the look that had been on Sam’s face when the door to Lucifer’s cage had opened.
Something twisted inside Dean at the thought that his little brother was as afraid of him as the Devil.
“Dean,” Sam rasped and Dean winced. Sam sounded like he’d been yelling. Combined with the cuff and the look of the room, Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “I’m sorry, I-”
Dean stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Sam gulped as the door shut and he shrank back into himself, doing his best turtle impression. Dean frowned as he registered what Sam had been saying.
“Sorry for what?” Sam swallowed and Dean stepped further into the room. “Sam, what is it?”
“I’m sorry, I tried to stay awake,” Sam blurted out, sounding more like six year old Sammy than twenty-six year old Sam. “I know you always want to be ready to make a quick getaway after a job, but…”
“But what?” Dean asked, having no idea what else to say.
“I passed out,” Sam muttered, his eyes sinking to the floor like he was ashamed.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. Sam had been hurt badly enough to pass out? And he’d left him? “What?”
“M’sorry,” Sam practically whimpered. It was a sound Dean had never heard his brother make and would be happy to never hear it again. “Please, don’t hurt me again, Dean. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Just please…”
“Wait, I did this?” Dean demanded, waving his arms to indicate the room.
When Sam didn’t say anything, Dean moved in between the beds. Sam sucked in a shaky breath and looked like he wanted to bolt, only the handcuffs kept him in place. That was when Dean got a good look at his brother. Livid bruises were forming across Sam’s jaw and eye. Blood had caked against his temple and there was also blood matted in his hair. Finger-shaped bruises circled his neck, disappearing under his shirt. Sam held his free hand around his middle like he’d cracked some ribs. His shirt and jeans were ripped and smeared with blood and his left wrist was raw from chafing against the cuff.
He looked like he’d gone several rounds with a poltergeist and lost.
“Sam, did I do this?” Dean repeated quietly.
Sam refused to meet his eyes. “It was my fault. I can’t do anything right, I know. The cop tailed me from the diner and I was too careless to notice. If I’d seen him, you wouldn’t have had to kill him and bring attention to yourself.”
Dean’s jaw dropped. Kill him? he mouthed in horror at the words coming out of Sam’s mouth so casually. But his little brother wasn’t looking at him and kept talking.
“I’m worthless,” he whispered. “The cop followed me and then I didn’t even get your dinner right. God, I’m such an idiot, I’m sorry. Please, Dean, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me again. I can make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me?” Dean echoed, feeling like a complete idiot. His brain was still trying to process what was going on.
Sam looked up through his shaggy bangs with bright eyes. “I’ll do anything. Please, just give me another chance.”
“Sam-”
“I know, you’ve given me so many chances and I keep messing up. I don’t deserve it, but I’m trying. God, I’m trying.” Sam winced and bit his lip, as if he was suddenly afraid he’d said too much.
Dean flinched, feeling like he’d been punched. That was basically what his Sam had been trying to tell him, trying to prove to him, since they’d gotten back on the road together-just without the overt terror.
Then again, Sam tended to internalize everything. If he were afraid, he wouldn’t show it; he’d suck it up and keep it to himself rather than let it get in the way of a hunt. Dean suddenly felt like a total dick.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I…need to think.”
“Of course, I’m sorry,” Sam hastily apologized. “Wh-what do you want me to do?” he asked. “When you left, I didn’t know-” He trailed off at the startled look on Dean’s face.
Dean was still trying to reconcile this Sam with his brother. What was going on in this world? He shook his head.
“Take a shower, Sam. Get cleaned up.” He was having a hard time looking at the bloodied facsimile of his brother-especially when he, or this world’s version of him, had been the cause of it.
Sam nodded silently and made to stand, but the cuff pulled him back down and he blinked at it for a long moment before looking back at Dean. “Key?” he asked meekly.
Oh, right. Dean cast around the trashed room blankly. If I were a key where would I hide? He patted his jacket and shirt pockets. When he patted his jeans, he felt a key-shaped lump in the front pocket. He pulled it out and glowered at it like it was causing him all these issues, not the damn djinn. He reached over and tried to ignore Sam tensing when he was within reach. He unlocked the cuff and Sam rose unsteadily to his feet.
He didn’t look back as he picked his way gingerly through the wreckage of their room to the bathroom and shut the door. The shower turned on moments later and Dean felt his shoulders droop. He couldn’t handle this much longer, seeing his brother so afraid of him. What could he have possibly done to scare Sam like this?
Part 2