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Dean should have insisted they find another hellhound and let Dean be the one doing the Trials, instead of allowing Sam to do them.
Dean had managed to stop Sam from taking the final Trial, from dying as a sacrifice to allow Hell to close, but Sam still broke down, too worn out by the weight of the Trials.
The Trials were killing him, and Sam spoke of purification, of atonement, of being free from burdens.
Sam was dying, and he spoke like a fervent Christian, from the Middle Ages or earlier, where pain was a reward and everyone was happy to be tortured.
Sam, his brother, the one who wanted a normal life—not normal, safe—the one who wanted to study law again, the one who was rebuilding his life before Dean, in his jealousy, in his fear of being alone, brought him back into the hunt, treating him like a criminal just to keep him there, exploiting the good heart that Sam, unlike Dean, still retained despite their horrible work, their horrible life.
Sam wanted a life, and then Dean had to come in, making him feel guilty for having his younger brother follow him around like when they were kids, yet still wanting his intelligent, extremely capable brother who thought outside the box.
Well, Dean had just discovered he couldn't have both, and he hated it because, once again, Sam was the one paying the price for Dean’s discovery.
Someone entered the bunker, and, praying it was Cas, Dean ran to the door, leaving the suitcase with the clothes he'd needed for the hospital for so many days open in the hallway.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked, his jaw dropping when he saw Sam, his stubborn brother with all his organs destroyed, walking as if he had a common cold.
When did Sam's physical resistance to pain become so high?
Was it the hunt, the Cage, or all the emotional pain he'd endured?
"Yeah, I didn't mean to die around strangers," Sam replied. "I'd go to Palo Alto, but I can't, can I?"
Dean swallowed, wondering if Sam was thinking about what ifs and maybes, thinking about a life where he and Jess could live the life they both deserved.
Then, Sam staggered slightly, as if he was about to fall, and Dean was quick to catch him, steadying him as he sat him down in a chair.
“Stay still.” Dean placed a hand on Sam’s forehead, frowning when he felt how hot it was. “You’re boiling.” Dean pursed his lips before deciding, going against his instincts that screamed to protect Sam. “I’m going for help.”
“No.” Sam shook his head instead. “No, stay here.”
“But angels…” Dean started to say, but Sam stopped him, coughing as he laughed. “As if they’d help an abomination like me.”
Dean winced, remembering the way Sam’s eyes had died when Castiel had called him that way.
Dean was the Righteous Man, and Sam, the believer, was the abomination.
Their touches had been almost nonexistent since that sentence. Now, only after Sam had spoken that sentence as if it was the absolute truth, Dean wondered if Sam had touched him to avoid contaminating him.
“You’re not an abomination, nor a monster,” Dean whispered. “You’re my brother, and I love you.”
“You proved the two can coexist.” Sam murmured, his voice strained by physical pain, while Dean’s was burdened by emotional pain. “I always wondered why you didn’t do it, in the end.”
“Do what?” Dean asked, frowning.
“Kill me.” Sam gestured vaguely to his phone, which he had pulled from his pocket with great difficulty. “I kept the voicemail, you know? It was your voice, even though you hated me enough to kill me.”
“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, his voice rising. “Sam, I never would have killed you!”
“That’s not what you said in the message.” Sam replied, shrugging. “It hurts a little that you don’t even remember it, when it’s the only reason I decided to kill Lilith with Ruby, instead of coming for you like I’d planned.”
Dean grabbed Sam’s phone before going to voicemail and playing the only saved message.
Only to vomit when he heard the hateful words of John Winchester’s son spoken without any hesitation or love.
Dean deleted the message, looking at Sam. “Did you keep it? Did you listen to it more than once?”
“I listen to it every day,” Sam replied. “It was good motivation for these Trials, even if I failed.”
“You would have died.” Dean almost growled, unable to contain the pain at the prospect. He'd already seen the world without Sam Winchester four times: when Sam left for Stanford, when Sam died, when Sam fell into the Cage, and when Sam walked around without a soul.
Dean had hated every single second of that world. Without Sam, the world might as well die, for all Dean cared.
“I didn’t think you’d care.” Sam replied, destroying what little remained of Dean that was still intact.
When had Dean stopped being his brother’s confidant? When Dean stopped being there for Sam, so much so that Sam believed that message as if it could ever be true.
Sam from Stanford, before Dean’s Hell, would never have believed those words Dean uttered.
This new Sam believed that even after years, because of Dean. Dean’s actions and Dean’s words.
“Did you love her?” Dean asked then, wondering if at least, with Ruby, Sam had found some comfort.
He hated it, he hated her, but maybe she was the only reason he hadn’t lost Sam much sooner.
“It’s not that simple,” Sam said. “I trusted her. She was one of the few people who told me I could do something about the problem instead of just waiting for someone else to fix it.” Sam began to explain. “She had gained Bobby's trust, and yours, albeit reluctantly, and she had a way to save you from Hell. We were close to opening one of the Gates—I know because I did my research, obviously—but she never lied to me.” Sam snorted. “The funny thing is, she didn't actually lie.”
Dean didn't say anything, and Sam continued.
“I met some angels, and I realized they hated me. I know they saved you, but I was furious it took them so long. I'd lost faith in angels, and the hunters avoided me because, even though I knew how to do the job, I was too open-minded about the monsters they wanted to take down. You came back, but you were still on the angel team, and Ruby reminded me that, technically, Lilith still owned your soul.”
“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. “The contract ended when they pulled me out.”
“No.” Sam shook his head. “I also checked with Bobby, and then with Lucifer and the demons. They hadn't closed your contract. Lilith could have taken your soul back whenever she wanted. Didn't Cas tell you he could return you to damnation? A closed contract can't be reopened, that's just how it works. Hell has its rules, and everyone respects them.”
Dean remained silent, slowly realizing that Sam had indeed saved him.
Sam obviously had a lot of thoughts on this, because he continued.
“Even though I had my doubts about the wisdom of killing Lilith, everyone said it was the right thing to do, except, of course, the demons we were fighting, which made her death almost a duty. Not to mention the fact that she was killing children, which made it crucial to end her.” Sam continued. “Having to hide from you for my training with Ruby, on controlling my powers, made it necessary for me to drink demon blood to boost them.”
“Wait, haven’t you always drunk it?” Dean asked, blinking.
“No, I didn’t need it.” Sam replied. “Ava could control demons with her powers, how do you think she did it? With a little training, I could at least do the things Andy and Ava could, considering Ava gained two gifts and Andy was also developing a second gift, like sending long-distance messages. These aren’t things Azazel gave us, they’re things that were inside us before.” Sam paused, before shrugging. “I’m not sure what caused them, but I know they were ours.”
“Ah.” Dean swallowed. “Sam, I’m really sorry, I… I treated you like a criminal for what happened, when you’re right. You did what I would have done given the chance.”
“It happens a lot.” Sam sighed. “When I do the things you would do, it’s not okay. When I do nothing, it’s not okay. I’m damned to make mistakes.”
“Don’t say it.” Dean murmured. “Please don’t say it.”
Dean was realizing that all the trouble the two of them had been through was mostly Dean’s fault, that he had been influenced by everything and that he was desperate to keep Sam there with him, regardless of what Sam himself might or might not want.
Unable to tolerate that line of thought any longer, Dean said again. “Sam. I’m going for help.”
And Sam tightened his grip on his jacket. “No.”
“Sam…”
“Don’t leave me.”
Dean lived in fear of losing Sam, but he had to believe Sam would be okay for another ten minutes, long enough for Cas to hear the voicemail Dean left to him and show up to help them.
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean murmured, pulling Sam into a hug. “I'm not going anywhere.”