Chapter Text
Sam groaned in the passenger seat as Dean slammed his foot on the gas, forcing the Impala’s tires to squeal on the pavement as he swerved onto the road. Dean glanced over at Sam who was shaking and sweating, his breaths staggering as he clutched at himself in pain. Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder to pull him back upright to try to keep him awake and he could feel the heat radiating off of him. He touched his neck and knew right away that his fever was dangerously high, “Sam, it’s gonna be alright. Try to get your shirt off.”
He rolled down the windows and blasted the air conditioning, trying to get the temperature down. His teeth chattered but he ignored his discomfort, trying to keep the car steady when Sam finished unbuttoning his shirt and he helped him tug the sleeves off. Dean watched in terror as Sam was practically convulsing, his tremors were so bad. Sam’s eyelids kept dropping and his neck could hardly hold his head up and Dean barked, “Dammit, Sammy, stay with me! Don’t you dare pass out!”
Sam moaned quietly, “Dean… It hurts.”
“It’s okay, little brother. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me Sammy?” Dean could hear the tremble in his voice but he ignored his fear and kept driving, hoping he’d make it to the hospital in time. When Sam leaned limply against the car door Dean cursed under his breath, “Dammit. Cas, where the hell are you? You can’t let me lose Sam.” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and swerved in front of the emergency room entrance, not bothering to park his car as he pulled Sam out and carried him into the entrance.
As soon as Sam was taken away, Dean felt helpless. This was out of his hands now and he could only pray that the hospital staff could at least keep Sam alive. That is, if there was anyone left to pray to. He stood just outside of the room Sam was in, listening to doctors and nurses call out a bunch of medical terms and numbers he couldn’t understand, but their tone let him know how dire the situation was. He could hear a heart monitor beeping way too rapidly and he prayed, despite seeing the angels fall, hoping that someone out there would hear him and answer his pleas.
He’d barely muttered a word before he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it nonetheless with a gruff, “What?” There was silence on the other end and Dean’s patience was getting particularly thin, “Who the hell is this? Hello?”
“…Hello, Dean.”
“Cas? Cas, where the hell are you? What’s going on? Can you get here?”
Dean could hear Castiel’s tired voice on the other end, “I’m fallen, as are the rest of the angels. I can’t do much of anything anymore.”
Dean let out a shaky sigh and after a moment he said, “Listen, Cas, I’m sorry, really, I am. I just… Cas, it’s Sam.” He pretended he didn’t hear his voice crack and hope Cas would do the same.
Castiel’s tone seemed to shift when he asked, “I… I heard your call.” He paused before deciding not to tell Dean it was the last thing he heard before he fell. There were much bigger concerns now, “What happened? Did you stop him from completing the trial?”
“Yeah, but Cas, there was a rebound or something, hit him real hard. He’s getting work on now and uh… I dunno, Cas.”
Castiel said, “I’ll be on my way as soon as I figure out where I am. I’m sorry I can’t be of any help.”
Dean ran a hand through his hair, “I get it. Just… just come when you can.” The last bit came out a little breathlessly and Dean hung up before Castiel could react to it.
For the next twenty minutes, Dean continued to stand right outside of the room, refusing to wait in the visitor’s lounge. Nurses walked in with tubs of ice and back out with bloody gloves. So they’d started operating. Dean muttered under his breath, “Just great,” when a doctor came out.
The doctor turned to Dean and removed her mask, “You’re the one who brought the patient in, yes?”
Dean nodded, suddenly feeling very nervous, “Yes, I-I’m his brother. How’s he doing?”
“We’re not exactly sure what’s wrong with him. He’s suffering from a whole range of symptoms from fever to pulmonary edema. We’re working hard to treat the individual symptoms, but there’s something we can’t identify that’s making him difficult to stabilize.”
Dean rubbed a hand over his cheek and asked, “Doc, is he gonna be alright?”
The doctor pursed her lips, “We’re trying our best. But I don’t want to give you false hope. He’s slipping, and we’re slowing it down. But I don’t know for sure yet if we can stop it.”
Dean let out a shudder, feeling the prick of tears at his eyes. He was about to ask another question when a series of buzzing and beeping noises blared out of the room. The doctor said a quick, “Excuse me,” before rushing back in, flinging aside the curtains around the operating table and failing to close them behind her properly.
Dean followed in behind her, staring at Sam. His brother’s shirt was cut open and he had needles stuck in and taped to his arms. There was even a thin tube coming out from a hole cut in between his ribs, slowly streaming out pink fluid. A mask covered his pale face and he was not moving at all. Dean grabbed Sam’s ankle, the only part of him he could reach in the room crowded with medical staff, hoping that somehow Sam could feel him and try muddle through the darkness back towards him and into consciousness. He stared at his eyes, almost willing them to open, but they didn’t.
A nurse touched Dean’s wrist, “You’re gonna have to let go, buddy.”
Dean’s head shot up, “What! No!”
The nurse explained, “His heart has stopped. We’re going to have to try and shock him back. You can’t be touching him.”
Dean’s stomach lurched as he reluctantly let go of Sam and stepped back, muttering an unheard apology to the nurse for his misunderstanding. He could hardly hear anything with his heart pounding in his ears as a doctor placed two paddles on Sam’s chest and side, causing him to lurch up from the bed. But when he fell back down, he didn’t move again.
Nurses kept bumping into Dean as they rushed into and out of the room until one of them escorted him out of the room. And he let him because he couldn’t even really get a sound out of his mouth to protest. But he waited by the doorframe, remembering Naomi’s words as they echoed in his head- If Sam completes those trials, he is going to die. It was always God’s intention. The ultimate sacrifice. And Dean was furious. What ever happened to the tablet saying they shouldn’t fear death? And Metatron just let them blindly stay on course without a word, knowing how that story would end.
The steady tone still coming from the heart monitor brought Dean back to the present and he peered back into the room as the doctor tried twice, three times more to jump start Sam’s heart. Dean could hardly breathe as he waited for the monitor to start beeping again, but it just wouldn’t change from that endless, eternal tone.
Finally the doctor passed the shock panels to a nurse and sighed as she looked up at the clock, “I’m gonna call it. Time of death, twelve thirty-eight.”
His body was heavy. He couldn’t lift his limbs or his head. He couldn’t get a sound out of his throat. The most Sam could do was open his eyes, just barely.
“There he is.” Sam recognized Dean’s voice, but his tone was so gentle, he doubted it for a moment. Dean let out a breath of relief, “Glad you’re up. Thought you’d be out a lot longer.”
Sam vaguely remembered Cas saying, “I will save Sam, but only if you stand down,” before touching a hand to his head. And then he was here. Sam wanted to say something, but he could hardly get his tongue to move. It was a little frightening, but Dean seemed to notice his unease and rest a hand on his arm, rubbing it up and down to comfort him, “It’s alright, kiddo. You can go back to sleep. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Sam noticed the quiver in Dean’s smile and wanted to tell him to quit worrying so much about him. He’d be fine, he knew it. Go and leave him, he didn’t want to be a burden. But at the same time, having his brother watching over him made him feel as though he could let everything go. A nostalgic kind of warmth spread through him, and he closed his eyes, happy.
When he opened them again, the sun was bright in his eyes and he heard dramatic shouting all around him. He parried his opponent’s sword with his own before jabbing him in the chest with a soft thud. The man cried out and put both hands up to where his wound would be and Sam tried to contain a laugh as the man spent a long time groaning before he collapsed on the ground, defeated.
“Nice one, Sir Sam!” Sam turned to see Charlie giving him a wink before pelting a small green beanbag at an orc, “Dark magic!”
Sam felt someone press against his back and looked over his shoulder to see the back of someone’s head, covered in long blonde hair. It took him a moment to remember that Dean had put on a wig. Dean was fending off two warriors from… Sam couldn’t remember what clan the people in yellow were from… and he panted, “Little help here, Sam?”
Sam smirked as he turned and took on one of Dean’s attackers. Just as he defeated her, he heard Dean’s roar as he swung the sword with way too much gusto into the poor teen’s side, who let out a pitiful cry of real pain before getting back into character and pretending to die. Dean turned back to Sam with the biggest, smarmiest grin on his face as he showed off his victory. They each helped the defeated back up on their feet and Dean wiped at the sweat on his forehead, ruining his war paint, “Damn, this hair is hot. I don’t know how you do it, Sammy.” He teasingly tugged at Sam’s ponytail before he watched others fighting and falling and just having a good time. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to look Sam in the eye as he said over the noise of the ongoing battle, still breathing hard from exertion, “I feel like a total dork, but I’m kinda loving this. This is the best.”
Sam smiled, “I agree.” Sure, the battling was fun. It was great to fight without actually fighting for once. It was so carefree, Sam felt like he could float away if he wanted to. But what he really liked best was seeing this side of Dean, a side he hadn’t seen since they were kids, if ever. Dean had pushed his own desires aside for so long, taking care of Sam when they were kids, taking care of everybody but himself. He was finally starting to be more than the responsibilities he took on. Just seeing Dean let go, dropping all the weight off his shoulders, even if it was only for an hour or two… it really warmed Sam’s heart, helping to forget all of his baggage too, if only for this moment.
He felt the thud of a prop sword against his forearm, and he was about to turn around to face his challenger when his mind’s eye flashed images in his head. Pain shot through his body as Dean wrapped up his bloodied hand, and again when he was in Dean’s arms. He was in the Impala, feeling on fire as the windows let in a rush of cool night air that did nothing to ease the burning, throbbing sensation under his skin in every inch of him as he heard Dean’s panicked voice, unable to make out the words as his elevated heartbeat pounded in his ears, amplifying his own groans and muffling everything else.
The memories rushed through him in the blink of an eye and suddenly he was in a forest. It was unfamiliar, and he kept his eyes wide, slowly twirling around to take in his surroundings and checking his belt and pockets to see if he had any weapons. He didn’t.
He didn’t know how he got here. He remembered waking up with Dean watching over him. It was after Cas had broken the wall in his mind, leaving him defenseless against the memories of hell. But this time around he didn’t feel the intense pain, only warmth. Then suddenly he was at the roleplay battle with Dean and Charlie. And then he was here. Was he dreaming?
He heard the snap of a branch behind him and spun around towards it, his hands raised in front of him, poised to strike. He saw a figure peek out from behind a tree before walking out, hands held up on either side of their head to demonstrate peaceful intent. Sam just barely lowered his hand, still wary as he squinted at the faraway figure, “Who are you!”
“Peace, brother! Chill out, it’s just me.”
Sam recognized the voice, familiar but a distant memory. Suddenly, his heart sunk in realization as he asked, “Ash?”
Ash came closer and gave him a half smile, “I’d say I’m happy to see you, but considering the circumstances…”
Sam lowered his arms and breathed, “I’m dead, then?”
“Sorry, man.”
Sam asked, “Is Dean? Do you know?”
“As far as I can tell, he still walks the earth.” Ash gave Sam a pat on the shoulder, “C’mon, let’ go get you something to drink.”
Sam lets Ash lead the way and he asks, “How did you find me?”
Ash explains, “Well, since the last time you were here, I’ve developed a few new programs. Got one that can search for the essence of a soul, kind of like a signature. I was able to trace your soul and find your heaven pretty quick. Let me tell you, Sam; not a lot of souls like yours. Picked up your scent in no time.”
As they walked, Sam’s living memories started coming back, “Hey, Ash. Did you manage to get that frequency program working? Read the angel radio?”
Ash shrugged as they approached the Roadhouse in his own heaven, “I thought I had it up and running a while ago. But I musta screwed something up since it stopped detecting anything a few hours ago.”
As Ash opened the door, Sam said, “No, it wasn’t the program.”
Ash was about to press Sam for an explanation when Sam stopped short. Right before him, behind the bar, was Ellen. She smiled, “Hey there, Sam. Long time, no see.”
Sam approached the bar, “Ellen, I-… It’s good to see you.”
Ash left them as he went to the adjacent room and Ellen said somberly, “I wish I could say the same. It’s too bad you’re up here.”
“Better than the basement.”
“Sam!” Sam turned to see Jo coming from the back, followed by Ash with his computer. Jo gave Sam a hug, “Been a while.”
Knowing she wouldn’t want to hear any apologies, Sam just squeezed Jo back, trying to communicate how sorry he was for the circumstances of her death before letting her go, “Hey, Jo.”
Jo sat beside him and asked, “What are you here for? Details.”
As Ash tapped away at his keyboard, Sam explained everything, getting them up to speed. The Leviathan. The tablets. Dean returning from purgatory. Kevin. Crowey. The trials. Closing the gates. Cas. Naomi. Metatron. He explained, “I was about to finish the last trial when Dean stopped me. He… well, we thought it was over, but whatever was in me got so much worse. Dean was trying to get me to the car and one of the last things I remember was seeing beams of light falling from the sky. Dean said it was the angels falling. All of them.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Ellen huffed, “Damn.”
Sam nodded and said to Ash, “It’s probably why your program isn’t working. There aren’t any angels left to listen to. Except for Metatron.”
“Yep. Had to be that. I don’t write bad code.” Ash snapped his laptop shut and asked, “So, Sam, what do you want to do about it?”
Sam stuttered, “D-do about it?”
Ellen sighed, “Listen, kid. The angels are down there. The living hunters are probably going to have to deal with a new wave of demons now that hell’s king’s been dethroned. And the bastard that tricked everybody into this mess is up here where we can reach him. So we’ll ask again: what do you want to do about it?”
Sam said, “Of course I want to fight.”
Ellen gave the bar a slap and smiled, “Good. We’ll rally the whole gang.”
Sam protested, “Ellen, no. I can’t ask you guys to do this with me. I mean, you’re supposed to be, you know, resting in peace.”
Ellen snapped, “Well, so are you! I don’t wanna hear it, Sam.”
Sam sighed, “Ellen, I… You guys are in heaven. I mean, you’ve got to be happy here. You can’t just jump right back into the fire. I don’t want you to.”
Jo said softly, “Sam, listen. We all got pulled out of this war before our time.” Sam immediately melted into guilt and opened his mouth to speak, but Jo cut him off sharply, “Stop. This isn’t about you, or Dean or the angels. This is about finishing what we started. Hunting 101, it’s hard to rest in peace when you’ve got unfinished business.” After a moment, Jo’s face softened into a small smile, “Besides, heaven’s nice and all. But when a job like this comes up, it’s suddenly not that exciting anymore.”
Sam frowned. He’d already lost them all, and it was because they were involved with him and Dean. He wasn’t exactly willing to pull them back into the fray. But seeing them hanging on to his silence, waiting for him to say something so they could argue until he agreed, it was hard to see how this would go any other way. He sighed, “Okay. I guess we’re doing this.”
Dean leaned up against the Impala, watching people walk by and glaring at them if they looked at him. This wasn’t a good time to test his patience. He wasn’t sure if there would ever be a better time.
It had taken a lot of paperwork, and after struggling to fill it with all of Sam’s false information (fake name, fake birthday, fake home town), he’d managed to take his body with him. He’d had to go through the same onerous task when his father died, but at least he’d also had Sam to help him. This time he was alone, and he cursed the stupid laws in place that made things so difficult when they were already at their worst.
He’d left Sam behind at the bunker with an uneasy Kevin who he knew was only sticking around because he pitied Dean, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t like leaving Sam alone, even though there was nothing on this world that could do him any more harm now.
Dean felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his phone to read out a text: U ok? I’ll be there 2nite.
Dean sighed and sent a quick text back: I’m fine. See you then, Charlie. She meant well, but Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about Charlie coming over. She’d texted him as soon as the angels fell and the news was falsely reporting the event as an “unexpected meteor shower”, asking if they knew what the shoddy cover was hiding. Dean hadn’t noticed the text until he looked at his phone the next day when he was tempted to call Sam’s phone just to hear his voicemail recording. He briefly explained what happened in a text, wanted somebody else beside him to know for reasons he couldn’t yet fathom. When he ignored a dozen of Charlie’s back-to-back calls, she announced she would leave for the bunker immediately and she’d be there the next day.
It’s not that Dean felt she shouldn’t come. She’d become a good friend. Hell, a great one. She’d even hunted with them, though she didn’t really make a habit of it on her own. She deserved to be there. Sam was her friend too, after all. But something about it made Dean uneasy, and he wasn’t sure what it was. He almost didn’t want to see her. But she was adamant. Knowing Dean wasn’t going to answer her calls, she instead texted him every few hours, making sure he was okay. He didn’t know why she was so persistent, but it really bothered him. It was reminding him of Sam.
A bus pulled up in front of the station and Dean waited as people got off on the opposite side. He pocketed his phone and took a few steps toward the bus when he saw Castiel come around the front of it. Castiel hadn’t seen him yet and was glancing around the parking lot with that stern gaze he usually wore, looking for him. But something was… off. Well, of course something was off, Dean thought; he’s only just turned into a human. He could only imagine how strange that might be for someone that used to have divine capabilities.
Finally, Castiel spotted him and his brows furrowed in concern when he caught Dean’s eye. Dean cleared his throat and waited for Castiel to approach him before he said, “Surprised you made it. I didn’t know you knew how to use public transportation.”
Castiel frowned, “I learned a few months back. It’s a good thing I did. It’s proven to be useful.” He stared at Dean, those blue eyes still just as intense as always, even without heaven’s power behind them. But his eyes were tired. He had the shadow of a beard. His jacket was dirty and his hair was all over the place and his posture was not as straight and rigid as it used to be.
Dean muttered, “Sorry about your grace. That’s… gotta be rough.”
“It is.” Castiel continued to watch Dean until he realized he would have to say it first, “Dean, about Sa-“
“Let’s go, Cas.” Dean turned around and got into the Impala, starting the engine. Castiel wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he got into the passenger seat nonetheless. As Dean pulled out of the lot and sped down the road without a word, Castiel realized that this was the first time he got to ride ‘shotgun’.
They spent the entire ride in silence, and when they arrived at the bunker, Dean got out of the car and went straight in without waiting for Castiel, but leaving the door open behind him. Castiel hurried to keep up with him, but Dean clearly didn’t want to be bothered. He’d made his way to the bedrooms when Castiel quit his pursuit and, not knowing what else to do, wandered into the library.
Kevin was sitting at one of the tables, taking a sip of coffee from the mug in his hand when he noticed Castiel walk in. He straightened up in his seat and put the mug on the table, keeping a wary eye out, “Castiel. You’re back.”
Castiel shifted uncomfortably, “Kevin Tran. Uh… how are you?”
Kevin was still angry at how Castiel had treated him the other night. It seemed everyone in his life now just treated him as a tool, but at least Sam and Dean were nice about it. But he could slice the awkwardness in the room with a knife and he could help but feel a blip of pity for the ex-angel, “I’m… alright, I guess.”
“Oh. Good.” Castiel opened and closed his fists, unsure what to do with his hands. He took a few steps into the room, watching Kevin to make sure he wasn’t disturbing him. He’d been rough with him and now that his reasons for being so brash were completely unjustified, he felt guilty. Although, he was feeling guilty about pretty much everything lately. He sat down opposite Kevin, but he didn’t pull the seat in, keeping a fairly good distance so as not to seem like a threat. Not that he could do much in this state anyway.
Kevin eyed the angel curiously, “So, it’s true, then? The fall?”
Castiel looked up at him briefly before staring down at his hands in his lap, “Yes. All of the angels fell. Except for Metatron.” Castiel was furious. He was upset, he was… he felt so many emotions but they weren’t dulled anymore, not like they were when he was an angel. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all, but he was beginning to believe the words of the other angels. That he was strange, that he was faulty, that he was broken. His emotions broke through and continued to grow stronger and stronger as the years passed, as his passion to do right ruled him. But even that didn’t compare to what he was currently feeling. He suddenly didn’t feel so single-minded. No, now he was able to experience a whole plethora of emotions at once and without filter. But this was what being a human was, he supposed. He was beginning to understand how this force could bring humans to topple governments and build empires. Challenge God.
Kevin pondered aloud, “So that’s what he’d been planning this whole time.” He scoffed, “And I thought angels were supposed to be the good guys.”
Castiel frowned, “Your religious texts get more wrong than they do right. Besides, all of this, it was… unprecedented.”
They sat in silence for a long while. Kevin continue to pore over the tablet while Castiel sat quietly, taking in his surroundings. He’d only been here once before. The seat Sam usually occupied was empty, but the table was still covered in open books and a legal pad filled with Sam’s semi-neat, organized scrawl. He could be sleeping, or out on a hunt, if Castiel tried hard enough to imagine it that way. But doing that just made some other emotion swell uncomfortably in his chest and he tried to push it away.
Sam’s death troubled Castiel. If Naomi was telling the truth, then why did Sam die even though he didn’t complete the trials? Regardless, Sam was now dead and Castiel couldn’t go to heaven and retrieve him. He had a feeling that even if he had been spared his grace, Metatron would do what he could to prevent Sam’s safe return to earth.
Castiel knew he was taken advantage of by Metatron and that his foolishness once again caused so much suffering. He was tired of it. But something in him wouldn’t let him die just yet, no matter how much he wanted it. He recognized it was this same feeling that caused so many of his previous errors, but this time he knew. And he would try to tame it before letting things get out of hand.
A loud, low squeal came out of his abdomen and Kevin looked up and Castiel explained, “It’s been doing that. It’s a little uncomfortable, honestly.”
Kevin’s eyes widened as he seemed to understand just how out of touch Castiel was with being human, “When was the last time you ate?”
Castiel looked up as he counted in his head, “Um, about… eight days.”
Kevin’s eyebrows shot up over his cup of coffee, “What? Dude, you’re starving your body. You have to eat. What else have you been feeling?”
“It’s difficult to explain. I don’t really know what I should and shouldn’t be feeling physically. As an angel all I could recognize was pain if it was inflicted.”
Kevin sighed and got up, not really knowing why he was so quick to want to help Castiel. He was just too helpless and pathetic to leave alone right now, “C’mon. I’ll make you something to eat. We’ll figure out what else is going on with you in the meantime.”
Dean had sat in the desk chair in Sam’s room with only the dim light of a lamp in the corner to help him see in the windowless room. The warm light hid how pale Sam was, but even that could hardly count as an improvement. Sharp shadows formed around Sam’s cheekbones as they jutted out of his face. The trials had drained him of everything, shriveling him. And in death, Sam only looked even smaller. Dean still tried to pretend things were different, but the stone walls made the room feel like a well-furnished crypt.
He needed a break from staring at his dead brother, so he wandered around the room. He hadn’t really been in here much before. Sam certainly didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to fully personalize his room as Dean had, but there were still some elements that made it Sam’s.
There weren’t any photographs in plain sight, but Dean spotted a few little relics. Sam’s ratty old hoodie with STANFORD emblazoned with huge letters on the chest resting over the back of a chair. A postcard with a picture of the second biggest ball of twine that Dean had bought for him as a joke. On top of the dresser there was even the huge rainbow slinky that Dean thought he’d tossed when he threw it in the backseat, now acting as a decorative holder for a sack of emergency goofer dust.
A small bookshelf along one wall was filled with a bunch of paperbacks. One of them was titled Leviathan and Dean took it and flipped through it curiously before realizing it was just a philosophical text from his pre-law days. The rest of the titles Sam could only have had in here for leisure since they had nothing to do with religion or lore. There were thick series of volumes and tiny little things. Things like Jonathan Livingston Seagull, On the Road, and A Brief History of Time. The last one made him chuckle softly, “Nerd.”
In that same instant, Dean felt the painful prick of tears at his eyes and his heart wrenching in his chest, shaking him back into the grave reality that was Sam’s absence for what had to be the fourth or fifth time that day. He wiped at his face and took in a gulp of air to try to calm himself, but it only seemed to fan the flames and before he knew it he was doubled up, squatting on his heels, coughing up sobs. He rubbed his hands over the back of his neck and head before clutching at his hair, gripping it tight and feeling the harsh tug of it and not caring because any pain was better than what he was feeling.
Dean leaned back, sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed as he curled over his knees. He refused to look at Sam. He tried to compose himself, almost ashamed that he was crying in front of his little brother when he was supposed to be the strong one, right?
“Fucking… Dammit, Sammy,” he mumbled wetly, “I’m sorry.” He’d said it before, hundreds of times already. It had become a mantra. A prayer. A ritual. Apology after apology for his failure to protect Sam, punishing himself with it because he knew he would never get to hear Sam forgive him like he knew he would. Sam was too good to him. Too forgiving. He didn’t know how Sam turned out to be so… good. Despite everything, he genuinely had the best intentions always, ready to throw himself in the line of fire for anybody and everybody, throwing out second chances like they were free T-shirts at the Superbowl. And Dean couldn’t say the same for himself. And definitely not for his father. How did they luck out with someone like Sam?
He supposed they never were that lucky, though. They always seemed to be pushing Sam away. Sam ran away regularly growing up. Their dad was harsh on him and drove him so hard until Sam couldn’t take it and found an escape in Stanford. Sam was hardly ever the first to call Dean when he was in school. He didn’t want the life he was raised in, and Dean was a part of that life. And he wouldn’t have gone back into it if it hadn’t been for Azazel’s plan and Jessica’s death.
Dean drove Sam away when he left Sam behind while he was sent to hell. He did it for Sam. He was in the same boat as he was now. He was so incredibly desperate to make things right again, to have his little brother back, and he took the stupid deal because than was better than the alternative. He didn’t realize Sam would be as desperate as he was, getting help from a demon and having his good intent get taken advantage of.
Dean drove Sam away when he couldn’t trust him, not after Ruby, not after the demon blood. He pushed him so hard that Sam thought the only way to redeem himself would be to seal away Lucifer, and even though it killed Dean he let him do it because… well he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it’s what Sam needed. Maybe Dean was cocky enough to think he could bust him out. And God, did he try. The whole time he was with Lisa and Ben, Sam was always at the back of his mind, a constant reminder that he was still in the cage, and the guilt ate away at him. He couldn’t be happy with Lisa because he couldn’t be happy while Sam was in hell as Lucifer’s chew toy.
And he thought he’d made it right after getting Sam back. The real Sam, not the soulless version of him that he felt guilty about not loving in the same way. He thought, finally, things could get better. But again, Sam was gone. It wasn’t his fault, but Dean felt he could have prevented it. If only he’d noticed Castiel’s crusade earlier, he might have been able to stop him.
And miraculously, as if Dean deserved a break, Sam was fine. Troubled at times, but generally alright. Things were more or less okay. He could overlook the imperfections; the general plan was the same as he pictured. But this time Dean was ripped away from Sam again, and Dean feared the worse. In purgatory he worried every day that Sam might have done something stupid again like make a demon deal, or maybe even get as stupid as Dean and try to deal with Death himself.
But when he got back and learned Sam hadn’t even looked for him, it hurt. It hurt so damn bad. He felt betrayed. Maybe Dean deserved to be angry about it, but now he wished he could’ve taken it all back. Maybe then he could’ve done the stupid trial and be dead now instead of here, crying at his dead brother’s feet. But no, Dean pushed him away again until Sam was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to make things right. And Dean thought he’d stopped him in time. They had patched things up so well at the very last second. They were going to figure out all of this crap together but instead Sam just had to die even though he didn’t finish the goddamn trials and Dean was here alone and miserable and hating himself for bringing this on.
Dean pounded his first hard on the stone floor, his nerves aching sharply in protest as he took deep breaths to get back in control of his emotions. He remembered clearly why he made that deal with that demon. This was too much. That time he’d been able to live without Sam for two days before giving in. He wondered how long he would last this time.