Touch Lightly Lest I Break, R, 1/1, Post 5x08
This got really long. Also, it's a shade darker and angstier than I usually go.
Title: Touch Lightly Lest I Break
Rating: R
Chapter: 1 of 1
Wordcount: 3,745
Prompt: #172 - Irenic for tamingthemuse
Spoilers: Post 5x08: Changing Channels.
Disclaimer: Not mine in the slightest.
Summary: Dean disappeared on a warm, nice night in the middle of Chicago.
Warnings: high levels of angst, graphic imagery, language. I hurt both boys in this one considerably.
You're welcome to friend me for the fic as always: it's made public all the time.
A/N: If I break the boys, I put them back together. This fic is not an exception to that rule: please bear this in mind.
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The light was harsh in his eyes, which was almost a benefit. It kept him from seeing her broad, malicious grin. Cat who ate the fuckin' canary, and she was loving it. She had every right to: six days, and she'd kept him hidden. It was long enough to whittle him down from a spitting, sarcastic fighter to a silent prisoner.
Long enough to certainly drive his brother insane.
“He's never going to find you,” she whispered, and he jerked away from her voice at his ear. He'd missed her moving around to behind him. Freakin' light. “He can search all he wants, but you? You're mine, Winchester.”
It'd been other things, the first few days. How his brother wasn't looking, how he didn't give two shits about what happened to him. How he was fine with letting his brother go, a missing persons report never to be found. She'd whispered it enough that his ear had started to tickle and burn from her warm breath.
Days three and four (and he had to keep track or he'd lose his mind) she'd resorted to another tactic. “We're gonna carve you up, serve you on a platter to him,” she'd screamed in his face. “And I'm gonna make you both watch when I do it!”
He hadn't responded then. He still wasn't responding now, not when she'd left him alone yesterday. Left him alone in the dark room, tied to the same stupid chair he'd been in for the past several days. Now she was back and whispering again, but there was something different today. Something he knew he wasn't going to like.
“We're getting tired of his wandering around like a stupid dog,” she continued, coming back around to the front. The light blinded him from seeing her, but when she stepped in front of him, his eyes immediately locked onto the weapon in her hand. His eyes flew to her face, the knowing smirk. “Time to give your brother his ultimatum.”
The weapon came down on his fingers and Dean finally screamed.
Dean disappeared on a warm, nice night in the middle of Chicago. It shouldn't have happened, but Sam was starting to suspect that the city was cursed for them. Nothing ever went right in Chicago, and this was a huge reason to never grace the Windy City again.
Day one and two were filled with the usual amount of worry. When nothing emerged, day three was spent putting out feelers wherever he could, expanding his search pool. There were few hunters Sam could turn to now, but god knew he'd do anything for Dean, including putting his own life on the line.
Day four and five had him winding down into a slow huddling mass of panic. He called in Castiel and asked him to sweep the town for anything demonic. If he couldn't find Dean because of the rib tattoos, then maybe he could find him by locating what took him. The amount of demons in the city was staggering, though, and it would take awhile to search them all. Too long. He began searching the hotter zones anyways, and Sam went back over everything again. Where they'd been, what they'd been doing, where they'd left themselves open.
Day six, he got the box.
“You have to know what they want,” Castiel said, and the angel actually sounded like he was worried about him. It was amusing in the way that it wasn't, not with the note that gave a single address.
Not with his brother's finger, ring and all, tucked neatly in a gift box, complete with gift paper and a fucking ribbon around the knuckle. It was now on ice, because it had looked freshly cut, and if Dean had any chance of recovering his finger, Sam had to go now.
“Sam,” Castiel said, infuriatingly frustrated, and Sam swirled around hard and fast.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Castiel stared at him. Sam tried to bring his breathing back to normal, tried to pull his fingers from his own hair because it hurt, but if he didn't clutch at his hair he was going to clutch at the angel. “Tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do, Castiel? They have Dean.” Well, most of him, and Sam gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth. Three swallows later and the bile was back in the bottom of his esophagus. He couldn't get it to go back all the way, hadn't been able to since he'd opened the box and thrown up two hours ago.
“Sam-”
“They have Dean,” and Sam was turning back around to gathering all his weapons up. Silver bullets, holy water, demon-killing knife. He refused to think of it as Ruby's anymore. Ruby had taken more than she'd given them: it was their knife, now. And tonight, Sam planned on using it to get his brother back.
Castiel moved into Sam's line of vision. “I am not asking you to be irenic, but I am asking you to try and think,” the angel insisted, even as Sam snorted at his use of words. “They're asking you for one reason. They want you to come to them so they can kill you. And after they kill you, they'll kill Dean.”
Sam slowed his packing at that. “We need a better plan,” Castiel said, softer now. “I am only one angel. There's not much I can do for you if their numbers are greater than ours, and I can almost certainly promise you that they are.” He moved one step closer - Dean was right, they were gonna have to talk about personal space with him - and laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. “If you go in there now, like this, they'll certainly kill your brother. They'd take you both.”
And then, just because he was a sadistic bastard, Castiel added the final blow. “Even if Dean somehow managed to get out, your brother would lose you.”
“If it gets him out alive, that's all I care about,” Sam whispered. Castiel's face tightened up, so Sam beat him to the punch. “My life isn't worth anything. Not like his life is.”
“It means something to Dean,” Castiel argued. “And to your friend, Bobby. Other hunters value you as well.”
“Enough that they want me dead,” he muttered. His eyes flew to the clock: they were wasting time arguing over something that was relatively easy to see. For god's sakes, Sam's life meant nothing compared to Dean's. Dean was the only reason Sam was still going, and if he lost his brother now, there was no point to Sam living. Hell, Sam was pretty certain most days that there was no point to Sam living, but Dean still wanted him around, so he'd stay around.
When he glanced back at Castiel, the angel was regarding him with a tilt of his head and a frown on his face. His face cleared after a moment, but something had obviously struck him as weird. Probably how the demon kid could have such intense feelings of humanity. “You're right in saying we're running out of time. We need a new plan, though. Yours will not do anything except give them what they want. If I thought any of my brethren would help without risking Zachariah's notice, I would call on them, but no one is on our side.”
Sam could've sworn he could feel the heat of the light bulb when it went off over his head. It was insane, it was crazy, and considering how things had ended between them before, the chances of help were slim. But he had to try. “They want me, Castiel,” he said. Castiel began to frown once more. Sam didn't care.
“Sam-”
“They can have me.”
The knock at the warehouse door sent Dean's already fast heartbeat through the roof. The dumbass had actually shown up. That stupid sonuvabitch had actually fucking come, and Meg looked like it was Christmas.
Two demons opened the door, and sure as hell, Sam was the one that walked through. “Sam,” Dean started, trying to warn him of what had to be obvious, but Meg was already sidling her way up to him.
“I'm sure you figured out what we want,” she said. Sam's lips tightened but he nodded. “I gotta say, Sammy, I didn't think you'd be this easy to pull in.”
“Let him go,” Sam said, voice low and wrecked. The kid looked a mess, and Dean couldn't hide a wince. She'd driven his brother nuts all right. “You want me, you have me. Just let him go.”
Meg pretended to ponder it, but Dean knew what she'd do. There wasn't any thinking involved. She had what she wanted, and she was going to take it. “Sammy, no,” Dean tried again, but the asshole wouldn't even look at him, kept his goddamned gaze on Meg the whole time. His brother wasn't ignorant of the two demons behind him, but what Sam didn't know was that there were three more in the shadows, but he had to have planned for this, right? Sam wasn't stupid. Made some bad decisions, sure, but the kid wasn't stupid. Not this type of stupid.
But looking at him, clearly on the verge of panic and fear, hands shaking a little, not a damn weapon on him, Dean was pretty certain his little brother had passed stupid into insane awhile back. Which meant there wasn't a plan, and that Sam had taken off as soon as Meg had told him where they were. Goddamn him.
He could still save one of them, though. “Sammy, get out of here, now,” he said as harshly as he could. Sam did turn and look at him then, bewildered, and Dean glared at him, put all his terror and pain into it and said again, “Get the fuck out of here. I mean it, Sammy, just-”
“I warned you that I'd gag you,” Meg said. Actually, she'd threatened to do worse than gag, but Dean didn't care, not if his words would knock some kind of sense into Sam and get him the hell away from there. “Sam's come of his own free will, Dean. He's a big boy now.”
“You stay the hell away from him you skank,” Dean snapped, but it didn't matter. Meg had a triumphant look on her face as Sam turned back to her.
“Let him go,” Sam pleaded again, and Meg smiled, smiled, and Dean knew he was screwed. They were both screwed. “You wanted me.”
“That's right.”
The blade slid through Sam like butter, and Dean could hear himself screaming again, unable to stop. Sam's eyes were wide in pain, and he gasped as the blade was yanked out of him. Then he was falling to his knees, eyes already closing, and Dean wasn't there to catch him this time. He hit the ground with an audible thud, face turned towards Dean, blood sliding between his lips. It started to pool on the concrete beneath him, and Dean didn't realize he was still screaming until Meg backhanded him and silenced him. “Big boy can make his own choices,” she said.
That was when hell broke loose.
Castiel was right there, killing demons right and left, too late. Meg started shouting and ran for him, only stopped when she fell on a blade. She lit up from the inside, and from the shadows stepped Sam.
Dean stared, didn't think he was breathing. Turned to the floor where Sam's body still lay, blood dark and red, lips pale and blue. Turned back to where Meg was lighting up for the last time, and Sam was shoving her off the blade with a ferociousness Dean didn't think he had, couldn't have because he was dead, he didn't understand-
The last demon fell, and both Castiel and Sam hurried to his side. “You're gonna be okay,” Sam soothed, his shaking fingers trying to work on the knots that bound Dean's feet. “I promise, Dean, you're gonna be fine.”
Castiel had his arms free faster than Sam had his legs, but soon he was free. The first thing he did was shoot up out of the chair and grab Sam by the shoulders, shoving him back. “You, but, you, Sam, you-” and he couldn't get his lips to work right until he saw something that stopped them all together.
The body of Sam flickered for a moment, then slid into a form Dean knew too well. Gabriel picked himself up and shook out his shirt, Sam's shirt, blood spatter disappearing. He met Dean's gaze and pursed his lips. “I owed you,” he grumbled, but Dean was already turning back to Sam. Sam, who was staring at him with eyes that weren't dead, Sam who hadn't stepped in earlier to stop Dean from having to see the repeat of the worst event in his life.
“You sonuvabitch,” Dean rasped. His hands were trembling with rage, hot and white rage that coursed through him, and he was either going to start punching or sob until he was sick. He grabbed Sam hard enough to bruise him, ignoring the burst of pain it cost him. “You fucking sonuvabitch, how could you-”
“They had you,” Sam screamed suddenly, and up close, Dean could see what Gabriel hadn't imitated: the red-rimmed eyes, the wild look of panic and sheer terror, the trembling that was turning to shivers that wracked his whole body. “They sent me your fucking finger and I didn't, Dean, I didn't have anything else that I could do, it's been six days and I'm sorry but I had to, I had to.”
Silence fell in the wake of his little brother's shouts. Part of what he'd said registered, and Dean frowned, still trying to steady himself after Sam's explosion. “Finger? Sammy, what...”
Sam began grabbing for Dean, snagging his arms and pulling his hands up to his face. All ten digits stared back at him, though two were sprained, one was bruised, and one was definitely broken. Courtesy of Meg and her freaking steel bar. It had hurt like a bitch, but the worst damage was being done now. Sam's eyes were as wide as Dean had ever seen them, and even as he watched, his brother fell apart. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his mouth parted like a fish trying for air, and little gasps were trying to bring in air. “Oh god,” Sam whispered, biting his lip, stumbling backwards. “Oh god...”
His legs gave way and Dean lunged forward. His good hand wrapped tight in Sam's shirt and pulled his brother towards him. Kid felt like bone and god, even Meg had fed him. Not a lot, but enough, and when was the last time he'd eaten? Or slept?
Sam stood and shook and shook, and Dean held on.
Sleeping was hazy. It seemed like every single time he closed his eyes Sam could see the damning finger, Dean's ring near the base with blood, flesh, and a tiny portion of bone sticking through. He vaguely remembered shouting for Dean, feeling sick again, but memories of familiar hands complete with all ten fingers holding him, shushing him, helped ease him back to sleep again and again.
When Sam woke up all the way, the sun was peeking through the drapes of the motel. Afternoon of some day, then. Sam hadn't counted days in awhile.
Dean was directly in his line of vision, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, standing and doing absolutely nothing. His hand was bandaged, a splint taking care of the broken one. They were all there, though. They were all fine.
Dean glanced over at him, then did a double take when he saw that Sam was awake. “Hey,” he said, and god, he was actually smiling. Like he hadn't been kidnapped and tortured for days, and Sam hadn't even asked what else had happened to Dean during those days. Just left himself being the one that Dean had to take care of instead of the other way around, and that wasn't right. Not right at all.
“Sam?”
The smile was gone, and a growing frown was rapidly taking its place. “You okay?” Dean asked, concerned, and that was the final straw.
“I should be asking you that,” Sam said, pushing himself up and out of the bed. His body ached like he'd been through the wringer, and he shoved it aside. Just the affects of being tense, anxious, for days on end.
Except Dean was pushing him back down onto the bed with his good hand, and fighting him off when he had only one hand was just cruel. “Dean-” he tried protesting anyways.
“You've been out for two days, Sammy,” Dean said. “I'm fine. My hand's sore, obviously, but besides that and verbal abuse, she didn't really touch me. She wanted you,” and Dean's voice fell, leaving Sam feeling even worse than before. He'd known on a level that Dean would be upset over Sam dying, but when they'd sent Gabriel in to keep Meg occupied, they'd all known what she would do to Sam. Sam hadn't truly thought it was that big of a thing.
Except...god, the look on Dean's face. The utter horror, the stunned grief, and then his brother had started screaming for him, tearing at his bonds, eyes filling with tears and washing his face. No, Sam hadn't been prepared for that. Or the helpless rage that Dean had had when he'd put two and two together and realized how they'd played Meg. And yet all of it had vanished when Sam had lost his shit, letting days of fear out.
He tuned back in to realize Dean was still talking. “...sick for the past couple of hours, so either you picked something up, or your dreams just suck that much.” He paused, then winced imperceptibly. “Kinda gonna have to go with the latter.”
Now that it was mentioned, Sam could feel his stomach churning restlessly still, as if not sure how to settle. His mouth felt dry, but water didn't sound appealing. Nothing sounded good. It was just enough that Dean was alive and the finger in the ice bucket wasn't his.
The finger. And Sam found himself gagging all over again.
“No, enough, shh, you're fine, Sam stop please,” Dean said as he pulled Sam up against him. “You're fine, I'm fine. Just...just breathe, okay? It's gone, Castiel and I got rid of it. I've got my ring back for whenever my fingers stop swelling, we tossed the finger, just breathe, c'mon, breathe Sammy.”
A few minutes of this helped. Enough that when Sam managed to sit up on his own, Dean looked like he wanted to say something. One look at Sam, who was staying up under his own power, apparently allowed him to do so. “Cas and I also talked about a couple of things. Like hunters wanting you dead or something, which I'm gonna want you to elaborate on in a heavy amount of detail.”
“No, you don't,” Sam said quietly. “Trust me.”
“Yeah, I do, and trust me, Sam. I really want to know. But that's not what I really want to know. Because Cas told me you were fine with letting you die while I lived because you seem to think that your life isn't worth as much as mine. I wouldn't even be bringing this up except you've been making yourself sick over this. You crashed before we got back to the motel Sam. Cas had to help carry you in.”
The image made Sam cringe, which he figured was exactly what his brother intended. “You wanna explain what the fuck he was talking about? Tell me he was joking.”
Sam stared at the bedsheet wrapped around him from the waist down. A moment later Dean cursed, harsh and with vigor. The next moment after that found Dean dipping around and down to find Sam's gaze. “Tell me you don't believe that,” he said, his voice softer but still just as sincere as his swearing. “Sammy.”
And there was nothing else Sam could say. “It's the truth,” he said helplessly with a shrug of his shoulders. “You know it is.”
“No, I don't.” Dean wiped his good hand over his face. “You mean something to a lot of people, good people. The ones who think otherwise are fucking assholes who I'm gonna fill with lead as soon as I find them.”
The threat shouldn't have felt as good as it did, but it was a balm. “If there's nothing else, though...you mean more than something to me,” Dean said. “Goddamnit Sam, you mean pretty much everything, and you always have.”
“I fucked up,” Sam whispered, feeling his chest caving in. It hurt to breathe, but Dean's hand weighed his shoulder down and helped keep him together. His bad hand was laying across Sam's covered knee, and Sam gently took it in his. Even with the bandages and braces, there were still five fingers.
“I know. You shouldn't have gone in there for me.”
One blink, two, before it registered what Dean was saying. “No, I meant about...about that night-”
“I know,” Dean said again. “I did too, well before that night. Let it go, Sammy.”
That Sam couldn't do as easily as Dean apparently could, but Dean still wanted him around. And that meant something to Sam.
The sun was starting to cast a red hue to the room as it began to set. Sam fully planned on leaving Chicago tomorrow morning, before the curse of the city could pull one of them back in, if not both of them. For now, Dean wasn't disappearing, Sam didn't have to count days, and he could sit with his brother and just be, which seemed to mean something to Dean.
It would mean something to Sam too, then.
END
~Nebula
Title: Touch Lightly Lest I Break
Rating: R
Chapter: 1 of 1
Wordcount: 3,745
Prompt: #172 - Irenic for tamingthemuse
Spoilers: Post 5x08: Changing Channels.
Disclaimer: Not mine in the slightest.
Summary: Dean disappeared on a warm, nice night in the middle of Chicago.
Warnings: high levels of angst, graphic imagery, language. I hurt both boys in this one considerably.
You're welcome to friend me for the fic as always: it's made public all the time.
A/N: If I break the boys, I put them back together. This fic is not an exception to that rule: please bear this in mind.
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The light was harsh in his eyes, which was almost a benefit. It kept him from seeing her broad, malicious grin. Cat who ate the fuckin' canary, and she was loving it. She had every right to: six days, and she'd kept him hidden. It was long enough to whittle him down from a spitting, sarcastic fighter to a silent prisoner.
Long enough to certainly drive his brother insane.
“He's never going to find you,” she whispered, and he jerked away from her voice at his ear. He'd missed her moving around to behind him. Freakin' light. “He can search all he wants, but you? You're mine, Winchester.”
It'd been other things, the first few days. How his brother wasn't looking, how he didn't give two shits about what happened to him. How he was fine with letting his brother go, a missing persons report never to be found. She'd whispered it enough that his ear had started to tickle and burn from her warm breath.
Days three and four (and he had to keep track or he'd lose his mind) she'd resorted to another tactic. “We're gonna carve you up, serve you on a platter to him,” she'd screamed in his face. “And I'm gonna make you both watch when I do it!”
He hadn't responded then. He still wasn't responding now, not when she'd left him alone yesterday. Left him alone in the dark room, tied to the same stupid chair he'd been in for the past several days. Now she was back and whispering again, but there was something different today. Something he knew he wasn't going to like.
“We're getting tired of his wandering around like a stupid dog,” she continued, coming back around to the front. The light blinded him from seeing her, but when she stepped in front of him, his eyes immediately locked onto the weapon in her hand. His eyes flew to her face, the knowing smirk. “Time to give your brother his ultimatum.”
The weapon came down on his fingers and Dean finally screamed.
Dean disappeared on a warm, nice night in the middle of Chicago. It shouldn't have happened, but Sam was starting to suspect that the city was cursed for them. Nothing ever went right in Chicago, and this was a huge reason to never grace the Windy City again.
Day one and two were filled with the usual amount of worry. When nothing emerged, day three was spent putting out feelers wherever he could, expanding his search pool. There were few hunters Sam could turn to now, but god knew he'd do anything for Dean, including putting his own life on the line.
Day four and five had him winding down into a slow huddling mass of panic. He called in Castiel and asked him to sweep the town for anything demonic. If he couldn't find Dean because of the rib tattoos, then maybe he could find him by locating what took him. The amount of demons in the city was staggering, though, and it would take awhile to search them all. Too long. He began searching the hotter zones anyways, and Sam went back over everything again. Where they'd been, what they'd been doing, where they'd left themselves open.
Day six, he got the box.
“You have to know what they want,” Castiel said, and the angel actually sounded like he was worried about him. It was amusing in the way that it wasn't, not with the note that gave a single address.
Not with his brother's finger, ring and all, tucked neatly in a gift box, complete with gift paper and a fucking ribbon around the knuckle. It was now on ice, because it had looked freshly cut, and if Dean had any chance of recovering his finger, Sam had to go now.
“Sam,” Castiel said, infuriatingly frustrated, and Sam swirled around hard and fast.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Castiel stared at him. Sam tried to bring his breathing back to normal, tried to pull his fingers from his own hair because it hurt, but if he didn't clutch at his hair he was going to clutch at the angel. “Tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do, Castiel? They have Dean.” Well, most of him, and Sam gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth. Three swallows later and the bile was back in the bottom of his esophagus. He couldn't get it to go back all the way, hadn't been able to since he'd opened the box and thrown up two hours ago.
“Sam-”
“They have Dean,” and Sam was turning back around to gathering all his weapons up. Silver bullets, holy water, demon-killing knife. He refused to think of it as Ruby's anymore. Ruby had taken more than she'd given them: it was their knife, now. And tonight, Sam planned on using it to get his brother back.
Castiel moved into Sam's line of vision. “I am not asking you to be irenic, but I am asking you to try and think,” the angel insisted, even as Sam snorted at his use of words. “They're asking you for one reason. They want you to come to them so they can kill you. And after they kill you, they'll kill Dean.”
Sam slowed his packing at that. “We need a better plan,” Castiel said, softer now. “I am only one angel. There's not much I can do for you if their numbers are greater than ours, and I can almost certainly promise you that they are.” He moved one step closer - Dean was right, they were gonna have to talk about personal space with him - and laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. “If you go in there now, like this, they'll certainly kill your brother. They'd take you both.”
And then, just because he was a sadistic bastard, Castiel added the final blow. “Even if Dean somehow managed to get out, your brother would lose you.”
“If it gets him out alive, that's all I care about,” Sam whispered. Castiel's face tightened up, so Sam beat him to the punch. “My life isn't worth anything. Not like his life is.”
“It means something to Dean,” Castiel argued. “And to your friend, Bobby. Other hunters value you as well.”
“Enough that they want me dead,” he muttered. His eyes flew to the clock: they were wasting time arguing over something that was relatively easy to see. For god's sakes, Sam's life meant nothing compared to Dean's. Dean was the only reason Sam was still going, and if he lost his brother now, there was no point to Sam living. Hell, Sam was pretty certain most days that there was no point to Sam living, but Dean still wanted him around, so he'd stay around.
When he glanced back at Castiel, the angel was regarding him with a tilt of his head and a frown on his face. His face cleared after a moment, but something had obviously struck him as weird. Probably how the demon kid could have such intense feelings of humanity. “You're right in saying we're running out of time. We need a new plan, though. Yours will not do anything except give them what they want. If I thought any of my brethren would help without risking Zachariah's notice, I would call on them, but no one is on our side.”
Sam could've sworn he could feel the heat of the light bulb when it went off over his head. It was insane, it was crazy, and considering how things had ended between them before, the chances of help were slim. But he had to try. “They want me, Castiel,” he said. Castiel began to frown once more. Sam didn't care.
“Sam-”
“They can have me.”
The knock at the warehouse door sent Dean's already fast heartbeat through the roof. The dumbass had actually shown up. That stupid sonuvabitch had actually fucking come, and Meg looked like it was Christmas.
Two demons opened the door, and sure as hell, Sam was the one that walked through. “Sam,” Dean started, trying to warn him of what had to be obvious, but Meg was already sidling her way up to him.
“I'm sure you figured out what we want,” she said. Sam's lips tightened but he nodded. “I gotta say, Sammy, I didn't think you'd be this easy to pull in.”
“Let him go,” Sam said, voice low and wrecked. The kid looked a mess, and Dean couldn't hide a wince. She'd driven his brother nuts all right. “You want me, you have me. Just let him go.”
Meg pretended to ponder it, but Dean knew what she'd do. There wasn't any thinking involved. She had what she wanted, and she was going to take it. “Sammy, no,” Dean tried again, but the asshole wouldn't even look at him, kept his goddamned gaze on Meg the whole time. His brother wasn't ignorant of the two demons behind him, but what Sam didn't know was that there were three more in the shadows, but he had to have planned for this, right? Sam wasn't stupid. Made some bad decisions, sure, but the kid wasn't stupid. Not this type of stupid.
But looking at him, clearly on the verge of panic and fear, hands shaking a little, not a damn weapon on him, Dean was pretty certain his little brother had passed stupid into insane awhile back. Which meant there wasn't a plan, and that Sam had taken off as soon as Meg had told him where they were. Goddamn him.
He could still save one of them, though. “Sammy, get out of here, now,” he said as harshly as he could. Sam did turn and look at him then, bewildered, and Dean glared at him, put all his terror and pain into it and said again, “Get the fuck out of here. I mean it, Sammy, just-”
“I warned you that I'd gag you,” Meg said. Actually, she'd threatened to do worse than gag, but Dean didn't care, not if his words would knock some kind of sense into Sam and get him the hell away from there. “Sam's come of his own free will, Dean. He's a big boy now.”
“You stay the hell away from him you skank,” Dean snapped, but it didn't matter. Meg had a triumphant look on her face as Sam turned back to her.
“Let him go,” Sam pleaded again, and Meg smiled, smiled, and Dean knew he was screwed. They were both screwed. “You wanted me.”
“That's right.”
The blade slid through Sam like butter, and Dean could hear himself screaming again, unable to stop. Sam's eyes were wide in pain, and he gasped as the blade was yanked out of him. Then he was falling to his knees, eyes already closing, and Dean wasn't there to catch him this time. He hit the ground with an audible thud, face turned towards Dean, blood sliding between his lips. It started to pool on the concrete beneath him, and Dean didn't realize he was still screaming until Meg backhanded him and silenced him. “Big boy can make his own choices,” she said.
That was when hell broke loose.
Castiel was right there, killing demons right and left, too late. Meg started shouting and ran for him, only stopped when she fell on a blade. She lit up from the inside, and from the shadows stepped Sam.
Dean stared, didn't think he was breathing. Turned to the floor where Sam's body still lay, blood dark and red, lips pale and blue. Turned back to where Meg was lighting up for the last time, and Sam was shoving her off the blade with a ferociousness Dean didn't think he had, couldn't have because he was dead, he didn't understand-
The last demon fell, and both Castiel and Sam hurried to his side. “You're gonna be okay,” Sam soothed, his shaking fingers trying to work on the knots that bound Dean's feet. “I promise, Dean, you're gonna be fine.”
Castiel had his arms free faster than Sam had his legs, but soon he was free. The first thing he did was shoot up out of the chair and grab Sam by the shoulders, shoving him back. “You, but, you, Sam, you-” and he couldn't get his lips to work right until he saw something that stopped them all together.
The body of Sam flickered for a moment, then slid into a form Dean knew too well. Gabriel picked himself up and shook out his shirt, Sam's shirt, blood spatter disappearing. He met Dean's gaze and pursed his lips. “I owed you,” he grumbled, but Dean was already turning back to Sam. Sam, who was staring at him with eyes that weren't dead, Sam who hadn't stepped in earlier to stop Dean from having to see the repeat of the worst event in his life.
“You sonuvabitch,” Dean rasped. His hands were trembling with rage, hot and white rage that coursed through him, and he was either going to start punching or sob until he was sick. He grabbed Sam hard enough to bruise him, ignoring the burst of pain it cost him. “You fucking sonuvabitch, how could you-”
“They had you,” Sam screamed suddenly, and up close, Dean could see what Gabriel hadn't imitated: the red-rimmed eyes, the wild look of panic and sheer terror, the trembling that was turning to shivers that wracked his whole body. “They sent me your fucking finger and I didn't, Dean, I didn't have anything else that I could do, it's been six days and I'm sorry but I had to, I had to.”
Silence fell in the wake of his little brother's shouts. Part of what he'd said registered, and Dean frowned, still trying to steady himself after Sam's explosion. “Finger? Sammy, what...”
Sam began grabbing for Dean, snagging his arms and pulling his hands up to his face. All ten digits stared back at him, though two were sprained, one was bruised, and one was definitely broken. Courtesy of Meg and her freaking steel bar. It had hurt like a bitch, but the worst damage was being done now. Sam's eyes were as wide as Dean had ever seen them, and even as he watched, his brother fell apart. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his mouth parted like a fish trying for air, and little gasps were trying to bring in air. “Oh god,” Sam whispered, biting his lip, stumbling backwards. “Oh god...”
His legs gave way and Dean lunged forward. His good hand wrapped tight in Sam's shirt and pulled his brother towards him. Kid felt like bone and god, even Meg had fed him. Not a lot, but enough, and when was the last time he'd eaten? Or slept?
Sam stood and shook and shook, and Dean held on.
Sleeping was hazy. It seemed like every single time he closed his eyes Sam could see the damning finger, Dean's ring near the base with blood, flesh, and a tiny portion of bone sticking through. He vaguely remembered shouting for Dean, feeling sick again, but memories of familiar hands complete with all ten fingers holding him, shushing him, helped ease him back to sleep again and again.
When Sam woke up all the way, the sun was peeking through the drapes of the motel. Afternoon of some day, then. Sam hadn't counted days in awhile.
Dean was directly in his line of vision, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, standing and doing absolutely nothing. His hand was bandaged, a splint taking care of the broken one. They were all there, though. They were all fine.
Dean glanced over at him, then did a double take when he saw that Sam was awake. “Hey,” he said, and god, he was actually smiling. Like he hadn't been kidnapped and tortured for days, and Sam hadn't even asked what else had happened to Dean during those days. Just left himself being the one that Dean had to take care of instead of the other way around, and that wasn't right. Not right at all.
“Sam?”
The smile was gone, and a growing frown was rapidly taking its place. “You okay?” Dean asked, concerned, and that was the final straw.
“I should be asking you that,” Sam said, pushing himself up and out of the bed. His body ached like he'd been through the wringer, and he shoved it aside. Just the affects of being tense, anxious, for days on end.
Except Dean was pushing him back down onto the bed with his good hand, and fighting him off when he had only one hand was just cruel. “Dean-” he tried protesting anyways.
“You've been out for two days, Sammy,” Dean said. “I'm fine. My hand's sore, obviously, but besides that and verbal abuse, she didn't really touch me. She wanted you,” and Dean's voice fell, leaving Sam feeling even worse than before. He'd known on a level that Dean would be upset over Sam dying, but when they'd sent Gabriel in to keep Meg occupied, they'd all known what she would do to Sam. Sam hadn't truly thought it was that big of a thing.
Except...god, the look on Dean's face. The utter horror, the stunned grief, and then his brother had started screaming for him, tearing at his bonds, eyes filling with tears and washing his face. No, Sam hadn't been prepared for that. Or the helpless rage that Dean had had when he'd put two and two together and realized how they'd played Meg. And yet all of it had vanished when Sam had lost his shit, letting days of fear out.
He tuned back in to realize Dean was still talking. “...sick for the past couple of hours, so either you picked something up, or your dreams just suck that much.” He paused, then winced imperceptibly. “Kinda gonna have to go with the latter.”
Now that it was mentioned, Sam could feel his stomach churning restlessly still, as if not sure how to settle. His mouth felt dry, but water didn't sound appealing. Nothing sounded good. It was just enough that Dean was alive and the finger in the ice bucket wasn't his.
The finger. And Sam found himself gagging all over again.
“No, enough, shh, you're fine, Sam stop please,” Dean said as he pulled Sam up against him. “You're fine, I'm fine. Just...just breathe, okay? It's gone, Castiel and I got rid of it. I've got my ring back for whenever my fingers stop swelling, we tossed the finger, just breathe, c'mon, breathe Sammy.”
A few minutes of this helped. Enough that when Sam managed to sit up on his own, Dean looked like he wanted to say something. One look at Sam, who was staying up under his own power, apparently allowed him to do so. “Cas and I also talked about a couple of things. Like hunters wanting you dead or something, which I'm gonna want you to elaborate on in a heavy amount of detail.”
“No, you don't,” Sam said quietly. “Trust me.”
“Yeah, I do, and trust me, Sam. I really want to know. But that's not what I really want to know. Because Cas told me you were fine with letting you die while I lived because you seem to think that your life isn't worth as much as mine. I wouldn't even be bringing this up except you've been making yourself sick over this. You crashed before we got back to the motel Sam. Cas had to help carry you in.”
The image made Sam cringe, which he figured was exactly what his brother intended. “You wanna explain what the fuck he was talking about? Tell me he was joking.”
Sam stared at the bedsheet wrapped around him from the waist down. A moment later Dean cursed, harsh and with vigor. The next moment after that found Dean dipping around and down to find Sam's gaze. “Tell me you don't believe that,” he said, his voice softer but still just as sincere as his swearing. “Sammy.”
And there was nothing else Sam could say. “It's the truth,” he said helplessly with a shrug of his shoulders. “You know it is.”
“No, I don't.” Dean wiped his good hand over his face. “You mean something to a lot of people, good people. The ones who think otherwise are fucking assholes who I'm gonna fill with lead as soon as I find them.”
The threat shouldn't have felt as good as it did, but it was a balm. “If there's nothing else, though...you mean more than something to me,” Dean said. “Goddamnit Sam, you mean pretty much everything, and you always have.”
“I fucked up,” Sam whispered, feeling his chest caving in. It hurt to breathe, but Dean's hand weighed his shoulder down and helped keep him together. His bad hand was laying across Sam's covered knee, and Sam gently took it in his. Even with the bandages and braces, there were still five fingers.
“I know. You shouldn't have gone in there for me.”
One blink, two, before it registered what Dean was saying. “No, I meant about...about that night-”
“I know,” Dean said again. “I did too, well before that night. Let it go, Sammy.”
That Sam couldn't do as easily as Dean apparently could, but Dean still wanted him around. And that meant something to Sam.
The sun was starting to cast a red hue to the room as it began to set. Sam fully planned on leaving Chicago tomorrow morning, before the curse of the city could pull one of them back in, if not both of them. For now, Dean wasn't disappearing, Sam didn't have to count days, and he could sit with his brother and just be, which seemed to mean something to Dean.
It would mean something to Sam too, then.
END
~Nebula