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"Really, Sam? You’re summoning me, now?"
Sam shifted on his feet, watching Dean take in the ingredients for a summoning with disdain. He then paced around the demon’s trap, lips curling up into a sneer. After a full circle he gave the invisible barrier an experimental kick. Sam was proud of himself for not jumping when Dean gave a jerk, black eyes snapping up to meet Sam’s.
"Is this really necessary?" Sam steered himself, drawing himself to full height.
"Well, it’s not like you’ve been answering my calls," Sam retorted. He exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair while Dean returned to inspecting the space of his temporary prison.
"I just want to talk, Dean."
"Yeah? And how’s that going for you?" Sam’s jaw clenched.
"Talking to you? Lately? Not very well, actually. I don’t think you’ve really listened to a word I’ve said since you got that damn mark. Or before then, even. You shut me out, Dean. What the hell happened to us being a team, huh?"
Dean stopped, his side to Sam, half of his face shrouded in shadow. His head cocked to the side slightly, the corner of his eyes narrowing in a squint. Sam waited Dean out, wishing he could read his brother’s mind for the umpteenth time.
"That what this is all about?" Dean asked, turning to face Sam once more. His eyes were green and for a second he looked like Sam’s brother, and oh did that hurt. But then he tapped two fingers over his mark and while his eyes didn’t turn black, there was still a darkness in them that threatened to break Sam just from its existence alone.
"And what? You gonna try to cure me now, Sam? Feed me your blood? Make me as weepy and pathetic as Crowley?" Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. Sam, not one to be cowed, folded his arms and shrugged.
"Maybe, if that is what it will take. This isn’t you, Dean. I want my brother back." Dean physically flinched at that and his eyes flickered, black and cold for a split second before he reigned himself in.
"Ever thought that maybe this is who I am, Sam? What I was always going to become? One way or another, this was how things were going to shake down." Sam shook his head in adamant denial.
"No. No, I refuse to believe…"
"You couldn’t have stopped it, Sam. I was marked for Hell before I sold my soul. Cain and Metatron were just…" Anger flared at the sound of Metatron’s name. Sam couldn’t bare to hear any more excuses and snapped.
"If you had just trusted me, Dean, none of this would have happened! You shouldn’t have faced Metatron alone!" His deep bellow ricocheted off the concrete walls of the bunker’s storage room and seemed to hang in the air for a heavy minute. In that time Dean remained still, green eyes narrowed, his body vibrating with restrained energy. Sam swallowed roughly and continued to stare him down.
"He would have killed you, Sam," Dean said eventually, tone low and each word sounding like they were pushed out. Sam’s heart twisted in his chest.
"Yeah, he probably would have, but it would have bought you time, Dean. It could have given you that one minute you needed. It would have been worth…"
"You would have died!" Dean roared. The walls around them quaked as Dean slammed his hands against the invisible barrier, eyes as black as coal and face twisted in an ugly expression of rage. "Don’t you dare fucking say it would have been worth it when he would have slaughtered you!"
"At least you wouldn’t be a fucking demon! You wouldn’t have died in my arms for… I don’t even know what number that was! At least you would still be human, Dean! So yeah, it would have been worth it." Sam took a shuddering breath, meeting the rage in his brother’s stare.
"You really think so, Sam? That the scene you been playing in your head? We go down there together, take Metatron on as a team? And while he’s ripping you apart in front of me and Cas upstairs get his fucking act together and break the tablet that what, last minute I swoop in and kill Metatron with the blade? He’s dead and you’re dead but that’s fine! At least Dean isn’t an honorary member of the black eyed gang so it’s all good, right? It was worth it! That what you think would have went down?"
Sam nodded, unable to trust himself to speak at the moment. Since Dean had come back as a demon all those months ago it was all Sam could think about, dream about. If Dean had just trusted him, they wouldn’t be there, his brother unable to step over a barrier meant for demons, for God’s sake!
Dean was nodding as well, rubbing his chin like he was going over the scenario in his head, contemplating. He shrugged with his mouth, head tipping like he agreed.
"Yeah, okay. Maybe. Except the story’s not over Sam. So here we are, back at that warehouse. You’re dead, bleeding out on the floor. Metatron’s dead, still stuck on the end of my blade, the light show dimming. And then what? Did you think about what would happen after I pulled the first blade out of his rotten corpse?" Dean asked.
"The important part is that you would be…" Sam began to reply, not surprised that Dean didn’t let him get very far.
"Alive? Demon free?" Dean slammed his hands again the barrier once more, nails raking down, turning singed and bloody. Hell fire danced behind his coal black eyes. "Do you see the fatal flaw in your theory yet, Sam? All your martyrdom would have been for nothing because as soon as I pulled the blade out of Metatron’s heart I would have turned it around and plunged it into my own!"
Sam rocked back at the confession, expression breaking. It was a truth he didn’t want to accept, but he could see it in his brother’s eyes, the color of them inconsequential. He felt like he was moments from shattering.
"So you’re saying that no matter what, this is still how things would have gone down?" Sam forgave himself for letting his voice tremble audibly. Dean, for his part, actually looked affected. Sam could almost convince himself that the thing masquerading as his brother was regretful.
"That is exactly what I’m saying, Sam. I wasn’t meant to be saved." Sam had to close his eyes then, had to try to shut out the gentleness in Dean’s voice. He sounded like him, like Sam’s Dean. It was more than he could handle.
"Sam, I’m sorry, but this is how things are gonna be for now on. I was always hell bent, the moment Mom made that deal with Azazel and all but threw you down the pit with me. There is no passing go for me, no collecting two hundred dollars, and there ain’t no coming back from this. The mark’s not going to let you cure me, Sam. You can try, but you’re not gonna get what you want."
Sam nearly choked on a sob.
"When do I ever?" His voice cracked, eyes wet when he opened them again. He stared at Dean searchingly, wanting so badly to believe that he was wrong. Dean stared back and that really was regret in his expression. Demon or not, there was some of the old Dean in there and it was enough for Sam. He hauled in a deep breath and came to a decision. With a nod he steeled himself and stepped into the trap with Dean.
"Sam, what…"
"Okay." Sam reached out for Dean’s arm. Dean jerked back instinctively but he didn’t wrench himself completely away when Sam grabbed him by the wrist to yank his shirt sleeve up, exposing skin. His hands were amazingly steady when he let go to reach into the inside pocket of his black jacket and pull out a knife. He offered the hilt to Dean. Dean stared at it, frowning, then looked up at Sam. He didn’t need to voice the question in his eyes.
"I just want to be with you, Dean. I don’t care what the circumstances are, I just want to be with my brother." He offered the knife again and that time Dean took it, silent and still frowning. Sam stepped back and out of the trap, tearing his eyes away from Dean. He bent down at the edge of the circle and pulled out the weathered knife from his boot. A few scrapes and the seal was broken. Dean was free.
Sam remained knelt, head bowed, unable to look up and see whether or not Dean was still there. Sam wouldn’t blame him if he had left, though. Too much had happened between them. Sam was a fool to even think that Dean would want anything to do with him.
He jerked at the sound of his brother’s voice over the near silent sound of skin splitting around steel.
"There’s no turning back from this either, Sammy."
Sam looked up at the endearment, eyes wide. He barely dared to hope. Barely dared to breathe. Dean stepped out of the circle and offered his uninjured hand to Sam. Dark blood dripped from his other wrist, blackish red rivulets marring his skin. Sam breathed out explosively and clasped Dean’s hand, letting his brother help him up to his feet.
"I know. As long as we’re together, I don’t care," Sam said honestly. Dean looked at Sam solemnly, his eyes green and sad. He lifted the wounded arm up, offered it to Sam. He nodded his assent.
"Thank you," Sam breathed, heart felt. His hands were trembling then, relief and gratitude and hope crashing down on him in waves. With utmost tenderness he grasped Dean’s arm and brought the cut to his lips.
"Thank you, Dean." The first taste of Dean’s blood was sharp and burned down his throat like cheap whiskey. Tears trickled down Sam’s cheek. Dean’s hand clasped around the back of Sam’s head and Sam let out a whimper at the gentleness in his brother’s touch.
"It’s okay, Sammy. Everything’s gonna be alright now. Just you and me against the world." Sam gripped Dean’s arm tighter, sank his teeth into the wound to encourage more blood to coat his tongue and slide down his throat. He was already feeling lighter, stronger. Drinking his brother’s blood made Sam feel like he was finally coming home.