Abandoned Fanfiction: Supernatural 'Pushing Daisies' AU.
Like most fanfiction writers, I imagine, I've started quite a few stories that I've never finished. Most of them never get past a few snippets. It's a shame and a waste, but it happens.
Looking through my unfinished fanfiction, however, I've just stumbled across this. It is, essentially, a Supernatural AU inspired by Pushing Daisies, in which Dean Winchester gains Ned's ability to wake the dead by touching them. It's almost a year old, so I doubt I'm ever going to finish it, but it is unusual amongst my abandoned fics in having about 2,500 words of continuous prose, as opposed to comprising only disconnected snippets.
Some of you may already have seen this, as I originally wrote it in the comments to one of futuresoon's entries, but I thought I would post it here, as I quite like what I had. I won't be posting it to any communities, as, well, it's not finished (it fairly obviously doesn't explore the full possibilities of the concept) and I'm unlikely to continue it, but I hope you enjoy it if you read.
It starts during Dean's conversation with the Crossroads Demon all the way back in 'All Hell Breaks Loose Part Two', and it's not rated more than PG-13.
"You can give me ten years," he says, "and then - "
"Ten years?" she asks, with a laugh. "You think so?"
Dean stares. "What?"
She walks slowly towards him, smirking a little. "How do you think this works, Dean? Someone comes up to me with an offer, I have to accept it? This is a business, and I'm pretty sure I can see a bargain coming my way."
Dean grits his teeth. "Nine years."
"Knowing you and your brother, I can probably get you down to a week."
She's probably right, Dean knows, and he hates himself for it. "Seven."
"I don't want your soul," she says, rolling her eyes.
Everything stops. "What? No. No, okay, there's got to be something..."
She says nothing; just watches him, still with that little smirk.
"I swear," he says, "I swear I'm going to kill you."
"Temper, Dean," she says.
Dean can feel his eyes burning. He bites down on his tongue, hard. Begging a demon is humiliating enough; he's not going to cry in front of her.
"Please," he says. "He's my brother."
"Ah," she says, "appealing to my human compassion. Nice strategy."
"There's got to be something I can give you."
"Like I said, I don't want your soul." She's still smiling. "I've got an idea that's way more fun."
-
The facts are these:
Dean can have the power to bring anyone back from the dead, she tells him. Anyone at all, with one touch of his skin to theirs. "Pity you burned Daddy, right?" she asks slyly, and Dean thinks of Sam and doesn't let himself attack her.
Of course, just giving Dean what he wants is no fun, so there are rules. He touches someone once, they come back to life; he touches them again, even the slightest brush of hands, and they drop dead in an instant. "And you can ride the corpse all night if you want," she says, in as casual a tone as if they were discussing last night's television; "it's not working a second time."
And then there's the other rule. The 'if he keeps someone alive for more than sixty seconds, someone else in the vicinity dies' thing.
"You're saying I have to sacrifice someone else to save my brother?" Dean asks.
She shrugs. "That's what you were planning to do anyway, right?"
"I was offering you me. That's different."
"I guess it's your decision, then," she says. "Sam, or the unlucky person walking by."
Dean looks at her. She looks calmly back at him, her arms folded. Waiting.
-
"Fun's beginning sooner than you think, by the way, Deano," she says, when he breaks off the kiss. "This girl was a corpse when I moved in. You remember that side-effect I told you about?" She nods down one of the roads. "You're about to experience it firsthand. Well, not you, but..."
Dean's confused for a moment, but then it clicks. He lunges at the demon. She steps back, laughing; he stumbles, and when he's righted himself she's gone.
He stands there for a moment, just breathing.
He doesn't want to go down the road she nodded to. He really, really doesn't.
He goes down it anyway.
A little distance along, there's a young man, sandy-haired, lying face-down at the side of the road. Dean presses his hands over his face and breathes deeply.
He didn't know. He didn't mean to - fuck, if he'd known...
The sound of a car in the distance reminds him that he should probably get the body away from the road. He crouches down, and as he touches it there's a jolt, a kind of spark, and the young man stirs and lets out a groan.
Dean freezes. Shit. He'd forgotten. How could he have forgotten?
"God, what happened?" the man mutters, rolling onto his back.
Dean, reaching out, hesitates.
"Who are you?" the man asks.
"Dean Winchester," Dean says. "Uh. What's your name?"
"Tom," he says, easing himself up onto his elbows and looking around. "Do you know what happened to me?"
"I'm sorry, Tom," Dean says. He can't meet his eyes. "I am so, so sorry."
Tom frowns. "Why?" he asks, and that's when Dean kills him again.
-
Bobby is sitting with Sam when Dean gets back to the room. Dean's first thought is that there's no way he can revive Sam where Bobby can see it. His second thought is of what could happen to Bobby if he revived Sam now, and it kind of makes him want to throw up.
Bobby looks cautiously up at him.
"Hey," Dean says, trying not to look at Sam. "Uh. Found anything?"
Bobby, obviously relieved that Dean is finally showing interest in the job again, starts on an explanation of the recent demonic omens. Dean's only half-listening, but he catches the important part: they need to go to Wyoming.
"Okay, great," he says. 'Great' probably isn't the right word, he realises as he's saying it, but he guesses Bobby's not about to blame him for being distracted right now. "Uh, how about you go ahead and I meet you there?"
Bobby frowns. His eyes flick for a moment toward Sam. "I think it'd make more sense for us both to go together."
"I know," Dean says, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's just... I have to bury Sam."
There's a short silence. Bobby is looking at him with sympathy, but there's a hint of relief there, too, and Dean doesn't miss it.
"I can stay," Bobby says.
Dean shakes his head. "We don't know how long we've got. Someone needs to be there."
Bobby hesitates for a moment, then he stands. He rests his hand on Sam's shoulder and looks at Dean. "Tell him goodbye from me," he says.
Dean nods. He doesn't have to fake the tears that are trying to escape.
He sits perfectly still for more than an hour after the noise of Bobby's truck has faded into the distance, just to be sure.
-
Dean doesn't bother asking himself any moral questions about what he's doing, about the price, because he already knows what the answers will be. He swears to himself that he is never going to let himself find out about any deaths in this area on this day, and then he touches Sam.
The second Sam shifts and raises a hand to his face, Dean, his heart leaping like he's the heroine of some crappy romance novel, backs away into the corner of the room.
"Oh, man," Sam mutters, after a few seconds. His voice is a little hoarse. "I can't... ow."
"Sammy?" Dean asks. He can hardly believe this is real.
"Dean?"
Suddenly, all Dean wants to do is hug his huge, stupid little brother, and he knows that that's something he'll never be able to do again. He's never been that big on touching, but now that he actually can't touch Sam it suddenly seems like the most important thing in the world, like it's the only way to know Sam's really here, like maybe this is just a hologram and the crossroads demon lied to him so he'd never figure it out.
Sam rolls over on the bed to see him. He laughs. "What're you doing all the way over there?"
"Doesn't matter. How're you feeling?"
Sam frowns. "Uh, been better. My back kind of hurts."
Dean's instinct is to go and check his brother's back, but the moment he begins to move he remembers that he can't touch him. He stops. "Hey, uh, lift up your shirt and I'll take a look."
Sam gives him a slightly puzzled look, but he unbuttons his shirt, shrugs it off and turns so his back faces Dean.
The knife wound is still there, deep and dark and gaping.
Dean swallows. "It looks fine to me," he says.
Sam looks back at him over his shoulder, smiling a little. "Don't you need to be closer?"
Sixty seconds have passed. Dean hadn't even realised he was counting them in his head. "Nah, I can see it from here. You're fine."
Sam looks at him for a moment longer, then shrugs and reaches for his shirt. He frowns at the rips, the mud, the bloodstains on it. "Uh, I think I need to change."
Dean doesn't know whether it's safe to pass Sam a shirt - what if some of his skin flakes get onto it or something? How far does this thing go? - so he just nods toward Sam's bag, which he brought into the room without thinking when it looked like Sam was never going to need it again. Sam pulls it up onto the bed, takes out a shirt that looks pretty much identical to the one he was wearing before and pulls it on.
"What happened?" Sam asks when he's finished doing up the buttons, absently scratching his arm. Dean watches every little movement he makes, remembering how not long ago he thought he might never see any of them again.
"What do you remember?"
Sam massages his forehead. "Uh, pain. And... you were holding me, I think. I think Jake did something to me."
"He stabbed you," Dean says, not quite managing to keep his voice steady. "Thought for a moment you wouldn't pull through, but me and Bobby managed to patch you up." He grins, and it's like that action reminds him that he doesn't have to pretend, that he really does have something to smile about. Sam's here. "'Cause we're awesome."
Sam snorts. "Yeah, well, thanks." He pushes himself off the bed and stands, a little unsteady on his feet, frowning at nothing in particular. "...Jake. What happened to him?"
"He ran off," Dean says, focusing on Sam, ready to move away if he moves closer.
"We need to find him," Sam says. "The demon said..." and he trails off, looking confused.
She lied, Dean's mind whispers, she lied, he's going to drop dead any second now, how the hell can someone live with their spine cut through? "Are you okay? I mean, are you feeling okay? Do you need to rest?"
"I'm fine," Sam says. "It's just... how can we both be alive?"
Dean forces a laugh. "Yeah, I know. All the crap we get into, I can't really believe it either."
"I mean me and Jake," Sam says. "The demon said only one of us was going to get out alive."
There is a brief silence.
"Maybe he thought you were already gone," Dean says, with an uneasy shrug. "I mean, I guess I thought - you know, for a moment..."
"What if the demon comes back for me?" Sam asks.
"Sam," Dean says. "Can't you just... not worry? For, like, a second?"
"We have to worry, Dean," Sam says, staring at him. "We don't know what his plans are, we don't know what Jake - "
But Dean barely hears what he's saying; all he's aware of is the fact that Sam is moving toward him. He backs away, knocking over a lamp, and Sam frowns. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?"
"You can't touch me," Dean says, slipping into the next room and moving to put the table between him and Sam.
Sam laughs. "Okay, the 'no chickflick moments' thing was bad enough, but - "
"I'm not kidding," Dean says. "You cannot touch me. At all."
It takes about a quarter of a second for Sam to go from 'amused' to 'worried'. "Seriously, are you feeling all right?"
Somehow, in Dean's mind, this all worked out perfectly and Sam never had to know what he did. He should have figured that the whole no-touching thing would probably require some kind of explanation.
"Dean - " Sam begins, taking a step toward him.
"If you touch me," Dean says, "you'll die."
Sam stares at him. "I - Dean, what - "
There's no good way of opening this conversation, so Dean goes for the incredibly bad one. "So, there's a crossroads a few miles from here."
"You made a deal?" Sam asks, incredulous and horrified. "Why would you - " and then he realises, his eyes widening. "Dean, did I die?"
So that's one of the things Dean really didn't want Sam to know about down. With any luck, they'll be able to get through this without him finding out about the others.
"You're so stupid," Sam mutters, looking away. "I can't believe... how long?"
"It's not like that," Dean says, quickly. "I've still got my soul."
Sam looks back at him. He's not crying, but Dean can see the strange too-bright gleam of his eyes in the dim light.
"What, you don't believe me?"
"I don't know," Sam says. "I just - how else can I still be here?"
"The demon didn't want my soul. She said she'd bring you back, but if I ever touched you you'd die again."
Sam frowns. "Why would she do that?"
And that doubt frustrates Dean, because he's not lying, okay. Maybe he's not telling Sam everything, but he's not lying. "I don't know, crazy demon sense of humour or something. Does it matter?"
Sam is still looking dubious. "You really don't have a clock counting you down?"
"I swear, Sammy."
There is a silence.
"So," Sam says. "I died."
Dean rolls his eyes to hide his wince. "Okay, we've already gone over this part. You don't have to keep saying it. I can promise you I'm not forgetting any time soon."
"And you went to talk to a crossroads demon."
"Look," Dean says, feeling very tired, "can't we just be happy about this? We're both alive. We're okay. No hellhounds coming to take me away, nothing. We've just got to be careful."
Sam smiles a little, hesitantly, as if he doesn't really know which expression to use and he's guessing. "You can't touch me at all?"
"I don't know how it works," Dean says. "All I know is I'm not doing anything to risk losing you."
Sam nods. So, his look asks, what now?
It's a question Dean hasn't been allowing himself to think about. He knows that this is where he and Sam should separate. Sam's not safe with him. They should head in opposite directions, killing things alone, or maybe Sam will go back to school or marry or something, and maybe every year they'll have an awkward family reunion where they stand at opposite sides of a room and try not to get too close to each other. Dean is the most dangerous thing in Sam's world right now, and he needs to let his brother go.
He can't do it. He's not that strong.
"I guess we go and stop that sonofabitch demon," he says.
Looking through my unfinished fanfiction, however, I've just stumbled across this. It is, essentially, a Supernatural AU inspired by Pushing Daisies, in which Dean Winchester gains Ned's ability to wake the dead by touching them. It's almost a year old, so I doubt I'm ever going to finish it, but it is unusual amongst my abandoned fics in having about 2,500 words of continuous prose, as opposed to comprising only disconnected snippets.
Some of you may already have seen this, as I originally wrote it in the comments to one of futuresoon's entries, but I thought I would post it here, as I quite like what I had. I won't be posting it to any communities, as, well, it's not finished (it fairly obviously doesn't explore the full possibilities of the concept) and I'm unlikely to continue it, but I hope you enjoy it if you read.
It starts during Dean's conversation with the Crossroads Demon all the way back in 'All Hell Breaks Loose Part Two', and it's not rated more than PG-13.
"You can give me ten years," he says, "and then - "
"Ten years?" she asks, with a laugh. "You think so?"
Dean stares. "What?"
She walks slowly towards him, smirking a little. "How do you think this works, Dean? Someone comes up to me with an offer, I have to accept it? This is a business, and I'm pretty sure I can see a bargain coming my way."
Dean grits his teeth. "Nine years."
"Knowing you and your brother, I can probably get you down to a week."
She's probably right, Dean knows, and he hates himself for it. "Seven."
"I don't want your soul," she says, rolling her eyes.
Everything stops. "What? No. No, okay, there's got to be something..."
She says nothing; just watches him, still with that little smirk.
"I swear," he says, "I swear I'm going to kill you."
"Temper, Dean," she says.
Dean can feel his eyes burning. He bites down on his tongue, hard. Begging a demon is humiliating enough; he's not going to cry in front of her.
"Please," he says. "He's my brother."
"Ah," she says, "appealing to my human compassion. Nice strategy."
"There's got to be something I can give you."
"Like I said, I don't want your soul." She's still smiling. "I've got an idea that's way more fun."
-
The facts are these:
Dean can have the power to bring anyone back from the dead, she tells him. Anyone at all, with one touch of his skin to theirs. "Pity you burned Daddy, right?" she asks slyly, and Dean thinks of Sam and doesn't let himself attack her.
Of course, just giving Dean what he wants is no fun, so there are rules. He touches someone once, they come back to life; he touches them again, even the slightest brush of hands, and they drop dead in an instant. "And you can ride the corpse all night if you want," she says, in as casual a tone as if they were discussing last night's television; "it's not working a second time."
And then there's the other rule. The 'if he keeps someone alive for more than sixty seconds, someone else in the vicinity dies' thing.
"You're saying I have to sacrifice someone else to save my brother?" Dean asks.
She shrugs. "That's what you were planning to do anyway, right?"
"I was offering you me. That's different."
"I guess it's your decision, then," she says. "Sam, or the unlucky person walking by."
Dean looks at her. She looks calmly back at him, her arms folded. Waiting.
-
"Fun's beginning sooner than you think, by the way, Deano," she says, when he breaks off the kiss. "This girl was a corpse when I moved in. You remember that side-effect I told you about?" She nods down one of the roads. "You're about to experience it firsthand. Well, not you, but..."
Dean's confused for a moment, but then it clicks. He lunges at the demon. She steps back, laughing; he stumbles, and when he's righted himself she's gone.
He stands there for a moment, just breathing.
He doesn't want to go down the road she nodded to. He really, really doesn't.
He goes down it anyway.
A little distance along, there's a young man, sandy-haired, lying face-down at the side of the road. Dean presses his hands over his face and breathes deeply.
He didn't know. He didn't mean to - fuck, if he'd known...
The sound of a car in the distance reminds him that he should probably get the body away from the road. He crouches down, and as he touches it there's a jolt, a kind of spark, and the young man stirs and lets out a groan.
Dean freezes. Shit. He'd forgotten. How could he have forgotten?
"God, what happened?" the man mutters, rolling onto his back.
Dean, reaching out, hesitates.
"Who are you?" the man asks.
"Dean Winchester," Dean says. "Uh. What's your name?"
"Tom," he says, easing himself up onto his elbows and looking around. "Do you know what happened to me?"
"I'm sorry, Tom," Dean says. He can't meet his eyes. "I am so, so sorry."
Tom frowns. "Why?" he asks, and that's when Dean kills him again.
-
Bobby is sitting with Sam when Dean gets back to the room. Dean's first thought is that there's no way he can revive Sam where Bobby can see it. His second thought is of what could happen to Bobby if he revived Sam now, and it kind of makes him want to throw up.
Bobby looks cautiously up at him.
"Hey," Dean says, trying not to look at Sam. "Uh. Found anything?"
Bobby, obviously relieved that Dean is finally showing interest in the job again, starts on an explanation of the recent demonic omens. Dean's only half-listening, but he catches the important part: they need to go to Wyoming.
"Okay, great," he says. 'Great' probably isn't the right word, he realises as he's saying it, but he guesses Bobby's not about to blame him for being distracted right now. "Uh, how about you go ahead and I meet you there?"
Bobby frowns. His eyes flick for a moment toward Sam. "I think it'd make more sense for us both to go together."
"I know," Dean says, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's just... I have to bury Sam."
There's a short silence. Bobby is looking at him with sympathy, but there's a hint of relief there, too, and Dean doesn't miss it.
"I can stay," Bobby says.
Dean shakes his head. "We don't know how long we've got. Someone needs to be there."
Bobby hesitates for a moment, then he stands. He rests his hand on Sam's shoulder and looks at Dean. "Tell him goodbye from me," he says.
Dean nods. He doesn't have to fake the tears that are trying to escape.
He sits perfectly still for more than an hour after the noise of Bobby's truck has faded into the distance, just to be sure.
-
Dean doesn't bother asking himself any moral questions about what he's doing, about the price, because he already knows what the answers will be. He swears to himself that he is never going to let himself find out about any deaths in this area on this day, and then he touches Sam.
The second Sam shifts and raises a hand to his face, Dean, his heart leaping like he's the heroine of some crappy romance novel, backs away into the corner of the room.
"Oh, man," Sam mutters, after a few seconds. His voice is a little hoarse. "I can't... ow."
"Sammy?" Dean asks. He can hardly believe this is real.
"Dean?"
Suddenly, all Dean wants to do is hug his huge, stupid little brother, and he knows that that's something he'll never be able to do again. He's never been that big on touching, but now that he actually can't touch Sam it suddenly seems like the most important thing in the world, like it's the only way to know Sam's really here, like maybe this is just a hologram and the crossroads demon lied to him so he'd never figure it out.
Sam rolls over on the bed to see him. He laughs. "What're you doing all the way over there?"
"Doesn't matter. How're you feeling?"
Sam frowns. "Uh, been better. My back kind of hurts."
Dean's instinct is to go and check his brother's back, but the moment he begins to move he remembers that he can't touch him. He stops. "Hey, uh, lift up your shirt and I'll take a look."
Sam gives him a slightly puzzled look, but he unbuttons his shirt, shrugs it off and turns so his back faces Dean.
The knife wound is still there, deep and dark and gaping.
Dean swallows. "It looks fine to me," he says.
Sam looks back at him over his shoulder, smiling a little. "Don't you need to be closer?"
Sixty seconds have passed. Dean hadn't even realised he was counting them in his head. "Nah, I can see it from here. You're fine."
Sam looks at him for a moment longer, then shrugs and reaches for his shirt. He frowns at the rips, the mud, the bloodstains on it. "Uh, I think I need to change."
Dean doesn't know whether it's safe to pass Sam a shirt - what if some of his skin flakes get onto it or something? How far does this thing go? - so he just nods toward Sam's bag, which he brought into the room without thinking when it looked like Sam was never going to need it again. Sam pulls it up onto the bed, takes out a shirt that looks pretty much identical to the one he was wearing before and pulls it on.
"What happened?" Sam asks when he's finished doing up the buttons, absently scratching his arm. Dean watches every little movement he makes, remembering how not long ago he thought he might never see any of them again.
"What do you remember?"
Sam massages his forehead. "Uh, pain. And... you were holding me, I think. I think Jake did something to me."
"He stabbed you," Dean says, not quite managing to keep his voice steady. "Thought for a moment you wouldn't pull through, but me and Bobby managed to patch you up." He grins, and it's like that action reminds him that he doesn't have to pretend, that he really does have something to smile about. Sam's here. "'Cause we're awesome."
Sam snorts. "Yeah, well, thanks." He pushes himself off the bed and stands, a little unsteady on his feet, frowning at nothing in particular. "...Jake. What happened to him?"
"He ran off," Dean says, focusing on Sam, ready to move away if he moves closer.
"We need to find him," Sam says. "The demon said..." and he trails off, looking confused.
She lied, Dean's mind whispers, she lied, he's going to drop dead any second now, how the hell can someone live with their spine cut through? "Are you okay? I mean, are you feeling okay? Do you need to rest?"
"I'm fine," Sam says. "It's just... how can we both be alive?"
Dean forces a laugh. "Yeah, I know. All the crap we get into, I can't really believe it either."
"I mean me and Jake," Sam says. "The demon said only one of us was going to get out alive."
There is a brief silence.
"Maybe he thought you were already gone," Dean says, with an uneasy shrug. "I mean, I guess I thought - you know, for a moment..."
"What if the demon comes back for me?" Sam asks.
"Sam," Dean says. "Can't you just... not worry? For, like, a second?"
"We have to worry, Dean," Sam says, staring at him. "We don't know what his plans are, we don't know what Jake - "
But Dean barely hears what he's saying; all he's aware of is the fact that Sam is moving toward him. He backs away, knocking over a lamp, and Sam frowns. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?"
"You can't touch me," Dean says, slipping into the next room and moving to put the table between him and Sam.
Sam laughs. "Okay, the 'no chickflick moments' thing was bad enough, but - "
"I'm not kidding," Dean says. "You cannot touch me. At all."
It takes about a quarter of a second for Sam to go from 'amused' to 'worried'. "Seriously, are you feeling all right?"
Somehow, in Dean's mind, this all worked out perfectly and Sam never had to know what he did. He should have figured that the whole no-touching thing would probably require some kind of explanation.
"Dean - " Sam begins, taking a step toward him.
"If you touch me," Dean says, "you'll die."
Sam stares at him. "I - Dean, what - "
There's no good way of opening this conversation, so Dean goes for the incredibly bad one. "So, there's a crossroads a few miles from here."
"You made a deal?" Sam asks, incredulous and horrified. "Why would you - " and then he realises, his eyes widening. "Dean, did I die?"
So that's one of the things Dean really didn't want Sam to know about down. With any luck, they'll be able to get through this without him finding out about the others.
"You're so stupid," Sam mutters, looking away. "I can't believe... how long?"
"It's not like that," Dean says, quickly. "I've still got my soul."
Sam looks back at him. He's not crying, but Dean can see the strange too-bright gleam of his eyes in the dim light.
"What, you don't believe me?"
"I don't know," Sam says. "I just - how else can I still be here?"
"The demon didn't want my soul. She said she'd bring you back, but if I ever touched you you'd die again."
Sam frowns. "Why would she do that?"
And that doubt frustrates Dean, because he's not lying, okay. Maybe he's not telling Sam everything, but he's not lying. "I don't know, crazy demon sense of humour or something. Does it matter?"
Sam is still looking dubious. "You really don't have a clock counting you down?"
"I swear, Sammy."
There is a silence.
"So," Sam says. "I died."
Dean rolls his eyes to hide his wince. "Okay, we've already gone over this part. You don't have to keep saying it. I can promise you I'm not forgetting any time soon."
"And you went to talk to a crossroads demon."
"Look," Dean says, feeling very tired, "can't we just be happy about this? We're both alive. We're okay. No hellhounds coming to take me away, nothing. We've just got to be careful."
Sam smiles a little, hesitantly, as if he doesn't really know which expression to use and he's guessing. "You can't touch me at all?"
"I don't know how it works," Dean says. "All I know is I'm not doing anything to risk losing you."
Sam nods. So, his look asks, what now?
It's a question Dean hasn't been allowing himself to think about. He knows that this is where he and Sam should separate. Sam's not safe with him. They should head in opposite directions, killing things alone, or maybe Sam will go back to school or marry or something, and maybe every year they'll have an awkward family reunion where they stand at opposite sides of a room and try not to get too close to each other. Dean is the most dangerous thing in Sam's world right now, and he needs to let his brother go.
He can't do it. He's not that strong.
"I guess we go and stop that sonofabitch demon," he says.