Like my other fanfic stuff, this is posted somewhere else as well, but I wanted to post it here too. So, I've not re-read it before posting because then I'll change it like I always do on a read through. It was good enough for my EIC-myrtle when I wrote it, so it should be fine. Obviously, if you've never seen the show but plan on watching it sometime and don't want to be spoiled, then don't read this. For consideration's sake: Spoilers for season 4, Family Remains.
When I posted this before I had someone ask, "How would he know that?" You'll understand what I mean when you read it, but my answer is this: It's Hell, I imagine things work weird there and perhaps he didn't know, and only convinced himself that's how it was. Guilt is a funny thing... Plus, it's a fictional story. :)
Also, someone else said that would never happen bc, blah, blah, blah. Well, again, it's fiction and alternate universe in a way so I wrote it how I could see things going from that point. Obviously, that's not what happened on the show, but still - looking back at some of the things that did happen on the show, this doesn't seem entirely out of the realm of possibilities.
One important thing. This is in two parts. The beginning of the second part is in an alternating POV. The italics are Sam's and the regular is Dean.
Anyway, enough of my rambling on...
| Summary: This is an extended scene from Family Remains when Dean confesses about hell. Aside from liking it, after the hunt they'd just been on, he discovered he had another secret. Dean doesn't deal very well. Will he break completely or can Sam keep him sane? |
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| Dean's Confession |
It was right after a hunt that had left them feeling anything but accomplished. Dean let Sam drive, which instantly sent up red flags. Dean was always the driver, unless of course he was hurt or seriously angsting over something. This time it was the latter. Sam hated that too. He never got to just enjoy driving that beast of a car Dean loved so much.
They had been
Nothing was said between them as Sam got out of the car. Talking had gotten him no where so he opted for beer. He set off to the trunk, removing the six pack they seemed to ceremoniously buy whenever they finished a hunt. Dean was still sitting in the car, looking out the passenger window at nothing in particular, as Sam sat a bottle on the hood for him. Sam knew eventually the beer would coax him out of the car.
Fifteen minutes passed before Dean finally left the safety of the Impala. Sam knew he was ready to talk about it, he wouldn’t have got out of the car otherwise. However, Dean still wasn’t ready to initiate the conversation. That was always Sam’s job anyway. He was the designated worry-wart of the duo.
Dean stood just outside of the passenger side door, Sam walked over to face him. “You ok?”
Dean turns away, unable to look his brother in the eye as he speaks. “You know I felt for those sons of bitches back there. Lifelong torture turns you into something like that…” He glances quickly at Sam before darting his eyes away again.
Sam counters that, but not as convincing as his usual puppy dog persona. “You were in hell, Dean. Look, maybe you did what you did there, but you’re not them. They were barely human.”
Dean couldn’t help but agree none the less. “You know, you’re right. I wasn’t like them. I was worse. They were animals, Sam, defending territory.” Sam lets out a huff, uncaring, as if he knows where this is going. “Me, I did it for the sheer pleasure.”
Finally, Sam is all ears. “What!?”
“I enjoyed it, Sam,” Dean says, still unable to look his brother in the face. “They took me off the rack and I tortured souls, and I liked it… All those years - all that pain - finally getting to deal some out yourself… I didn’t care who they put in front of me… Because that p- that pain I felt, it just slipped away. No matter how many people I save… I can’t change that… I can’t fill this hole. Not ever.”
“Dean, that’s not- it’s not who you are.” Sam says stepping closer to Dean, as if to try to reach out and console him.
Dean backed away, not wanting to let himself feel the comfort. “No, Sam! Don’t you let me off the hook here,” he said looking Sam in the eye for a second before shifting his gaze elsewhere.
“There were so many souls… I could never remember them all, hell, I don’t want to. But some of ’em - some of ’em I could never forget… Those people back there, they had another son before. Did you know that?” He didn’t give Sam a chance to respond before he continued. “He died in a car wreck last year. His name was Andy.”
“Dean, what does that-”
“I saw him - in hell, Sam. He couldn’t ‘ve been more than seventeen years old, and I tortured him. He was just a kid. They threw him up on the rack and I sliced and carved and ripped him apart.” Finally, he allowed the touch he needed so much but felt he didn’t deserve.
Sam spoke as he placed a hand on either of Dean’s shoulders as he broke out the infamous puppy eyes. “Dean, you’ve gotta stop doin’ this to yourself. And how can you even be sure it’s the same person?”
“Sam, I just know,” he said as he pulled away. “And really, why does it matter if it was the same kid or not? All the people I- they all had people that loved them. Everyone left someone behind, Sam. And that family, they think they suffered the most from his death… ” He talked as he pulled out the gun he kept tucked in the back of his pants. “If they only knew what I did to him.”
“Dean!” The look of terror on Sam’s face was not lost on Dean as he checked the gun.
“It’s too much.” With everything being out in the open Dean couldn’t help but shed the built up tears.
“Dean. Come on, man. What are you doing?” Dean moved beyond Sam. “Where are you going?” He reached out and grabbed his older brother by the wrist, Dean quickly shook him off.
“I’m going for a walk. Do. Not. Follow. Me.”
Fear and panic was welling up inside of Sam as he called out. “Dean!”
“No Sammy,” he said, looking at Sam with the expression giving off the words he couldn’t manage - good-bye. “Just- just leave me alone.” He turned his back on his baby brother, gun in hand, and kept walking.
Sam knew better than to push an angry Winchester with a loaded gun. He watched as his world walked away. Hoping and praying Dean wouldn’t do the unthinkable, and damning himself for not going after him.
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| The Aftermath |
It was two weeks later. Two weeks since he had tried to kill himself. At least that Sam knew about. Really it'd only been one week since the last time. He thought about it every day. There had been voices with him since he‘d been back and they left him conflicted. His mom, dad, even Sam‘s voice was in his head comforting him. However, more and more the voices of those he tormented, along with his own, pushed to the front. "Why didn't I just do it," he'd ask himself. "I don't deserve to be here," he would say. The anguished voices agreed. But every day he'd answer himself the same way. "You're a selfish coward, Winchester."
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It had been two weeks. Two weeks since Dean tried to kill himself. However, Sam was pretty sure there was at least one other time since that day. He tried to talk to him about it, but Dean wasn't really talking much the last couple of weeks. He was coping the way he always did. Just like after mom died, the same thing after dad died. Sam finally decided to let him stay quiet and stopped pushing so much. The silence between them left Sam to wonder in his thoughts. "Why didn't he do it," he'd ask himself. "What saved him? Maybe he realized he'd just be going right back to hell. Maybe he was scared of going back," he thought. Then he decided, "No. He had to have realized… He had to have finally seen his worth. Dean's not a coward."
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Selfish. He knew if he did pull the trigger he'd be right back in the pits of hell where he belonged. On the other hand, then he’d be without Sam. He’d let Sam follow him anywhere. Anywhere but hell. Hell could never have his baby brother. Period.
Dean had always been the one that protected Sam. Since before the night he carried him out of their burning house, Dean always watched over him. Though, now Dean was the one that needed to be watched over. Sam was the only person that kept him from being a monster and he didn't even know it. He was the one that held him together - the glue to Dean's fractured existence.
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He knew Dean had to have thought back at all the good they'd - he'd - done in their lives. All the good he'd done since he got back from hell. He had to know that he wasn't a monster. He was a protector of innocence. And what he was most thankful for was that Dean was his protector. Dean, the older brother, had always watched out for him. He was the strong one. Even now after he'd been to hell and back, he was still the strong one. Still holding it together on his own. Still pushing forward for the both of them, keeping them together. Dean was Sam’s glue. "No,” he thought. “You're the coward, Winchester."
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He thought himself a coward because he just couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. He'd psyched himself up for it twice now and couldn‘t do it either time. At first, Sam had pushed him to talk about it, but eventually he’d stopped pushing so much. Dean convinced himself that the only reason his brother gave up was because he also saw Dean as the coward that he was. He couldn’t let himself think that though because without Sam, without Sam’s faith, Dean was sure the world would somehow burn by his own hands.
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Sam considered himself a coward as he thought about how long it'd felt like for Dean in hell. It'd been forty years. Thirty long years before he broke and gave in to Alistair. As soon as Dean was gone Sam was broken. Not long after, he found himself seeking comfort in a demon. All the while his brother was being tortured by them. Then he decided the best idea was to use his demon gifted powers to save his brother, but he was weak. He couldn't learn fast enough; a freaking angel saved his Dean. It was a good thing no matter how Dean got back. Sam knew if he didn’t get his brother back the world would surely burn.
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At the three week mark Dean thought he was going to go insane. They had spent most of their time in silence or forced generic conversations, ignoring the real issues. Sam had completely stopped trying to get through to him at that point and Dean’s pride was too much of an obstacle for him to put an end to the tension. So instead he spent his time thinking to himself. “Why isn’t Sam being Sam? Why isn’t he asking me to talk about it anymore?” He really didn’t like the answer he gave himself. “He doesn’t care anymore. He knows I‘m a monster.” Things had been different between them since Dean came back and this was just more proof of that fact.
Now the voices were making sense.
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Three weeks now and Dean still wasn’t talking. Sam thought he was going to go crazy. He thought for sure Dean would be ready to talk by now. However, currently he was moping around the motel room like a four year old that didn’t get his way. Of course he wanted to push his brother to talk at this point, but with this he just wasn’t sure what to do. He was frustrated with himself that he didn’t know how to help Dean. Things had been different since Dean had been pulled out of hell. They were different.
He couldn’t take the silence anymore. “I’m going out,” he said as he opened the door. He didn’t wait for a response. He knew he wouldn’t get one.
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Sam sat in the bar taking in all the noise. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed… one hour, two, three. He couldn’t be sure, he didn’t care as long as it wasn’t silence. That is until some chick started chatting him up. She was pretty enough, sure, but the moment he started enjoying her company he was smacked in the face by guilt for leaving Dean alone. His noisy night out was over, he drove back to the motel.
He wasn’t ready to face his brother yet. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew this awkward silence between them had to stop. He paced around outside trying to think of how to approach Dean. Then, after a while, he took a deep breath and opened the door. It was quiet in the room. No tv. No radio. Dean was sitting at the foot of his bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, a knife in his hand.
“Dean, what are you doing, man?”
“Where’ve you been?” he said staring down at the knife.
“I went out. I needed a break is all,” he said walking over to the small table and tossed his jacket across the back of one of the chairs.
“A break from me,” he said, no question in his tone.
Sam ignored the statement. “Dude, what’s with the knife?
With that Dean stood, starting slowly toward Sam. “I was just listening. You know, you’d think it’d be quiet with me being here all alone, but it wasn’t. I had lots to listen to actually. The voices. Memories of Hell… You were there. Well, it wasn’t really you, but I thought it was at the time. It‘s all the same, right?” he said with a wave of the knife.
“What do you mean I was there? Come on, man, put that thing away,” he said crossing the room to sit on his bed, leaning back against the headboard.
“What’s the matter, Sammy? You’re not scared of me are you?” Sam didn’t answer. He just gave him a look of confusion as if he were trying to figure out what was going on in Dean’s head.
Dean continued. “You’re right, you weren’t there, but they sure did make me think you were. An illusion of some sort, I guess. It was damn well convincing though. It knew everything, everything, Sam. Then… then you - It - started telling me what a screw up I was. How everything that went wrong in our lives was somehow my fault. How you hated me for it. How you didn’t care anymore. How you were glad I was in Hell. Then, as if that wasn‘t enough torture, you carved me up.”
Sam hated the things that Dean said, tears threatening to fall, but he didn‘t dare stop him when he was finally talking about everything. He continued to listen. “That’s when I knew. I knew it couldn’t be you because you would never hurt me and never give up on me, Sammy… At least that’s what I always thought. But now, everything’s different. You’ve got Ruby now, you don‘t need me anymore. You try to hide it, but I know, Sam… and now, I know It was right. You have given up on me,” he said as he walked over and sat in front of Sam on the bed.
That, Sam couldn’t accept. He sat up, wary of the knife his brother still had clinched in his hand. “You know that wasn’t me. I’d never hurt you. And you think I’ve given up on you? I don’t care? Damn it, Dean. I’ve been trying to give you your space. I didn’t know what to say. Every time I tried to talk to you, you’d shut down. I want to help you, man, but I don’t know what to do.”
“S’ok, Sammy,” he almost purred, looking down at the
“Dean, I think you should put the knife down now. You’re going through a lot, I get that, but - please, just give it to me,” he said as he reached for the knife.
Dean pulled his arm back just out of Sam‘s reach. “How am I supposed to work if I put it down? I mean, sure, I could come up with something, but this is my preference,” he said looking at his weapon again. “I get more creative, which means more pain, when I don’t get my way, Sammy.”
“Dean, what are you- “
“The voices were right, Sam. It’s time I stop feeling sorry for myself and just do what I was meant to do. What I was born to do… Starting with you.”
It was obvious Dean wasn’t being rational and it was more apparent than ever that Sam needed to get away from him. He stood up quickly to move away, but Dean was too quick.
“Come on, Sam, don’t fight me on this. Just think of it as me keeping a promise, saving you from your so-called destiny.”
“Cristo.” The way his brother was talking, he had to be possessed. It was Sam’s only explanation.
He didn’t flinch. However, he did let out pretty hefty laugh. “I’m not possessed, little brother. But I bet that’d make it easier on you wouldn’t it?”
“Dean, do you even hear what you’re saying? You want to kill me, really? That‘s not funny, dude,” he said, shifting to walk passed Dean toward the small table by the window.
“Oh no, Sammy, it’s not funny at all,“ Dean said following behind Sam. “It’s gonna happen though. It’s your fault. The voices, they won’t stop. They want you. They’ll stop once you’re gone.”
Sam turned then. “The voices told you to kill me?”
Dean moved closer then. Sam found himself against the wall. His hunter instincts no match for the heartbreak caused by his brother’s words. “Seriously, Dean, put the knife down.”
“Come on, Sam. Don’t you want to help me? You said before you wanted to help me. You want to prove you haven’t given up on me? Don’t fight me, Sam. I have to do it. I have to make it stop.”
Sam thought then, I knew he was different. I never thought it could be this bad. It can’t be. Dean would never hurt me. Ever.
“Fine. You want to kill me. You need to kill me. If you really think it will fix you Dean, then go ahead. Kill me. Kill your baby brother. The brother you’ve protected for his whole life.”
Dean moved one hand to Sam’s shoulder, the other bringing the knife up to his neck.
Sam continued. “The brother who looked up to you, who wanted to be just like you. The brother that loved you no matter what. The brother that still loves you and will even if you do this.”
Dean’s face was that of a truly conflicted man. Sam could see the determination and the doubt fighting it out in his eyes. His expression changed between that of love for his baby brother and pure hatred for what he was convinced was his problem. Sam was getting through to him, he had to keep trying.
“You do it, Dean. Carve me up like those lost souls. That’s what they want, what they need. Is that all that matters? What do you want?”
Dean said nothing, his resolve breaking a little more. Sam slowly moved his hand to his brother’s wrist and moved the knife over his chest.
His voice fell to a whisper. “Look at me, Dean. Look at me and tell me that you want this. Not the voices. The voices are just Alistair’s hold on you. Fight this, man. If this is what you want…” he trailed off, dropping his hands to his sides.
Tears started to form in Dean’s eyes. He tilted his head to the side, closing his eyes tight, seemingly trying to fight against the voices. At least that’s what Sam was hoping.
The knife dropped to the floor, followed quickly by Dean. He was crying. No, not crying, but sobbing. Sam sank down the wall to sit in front of his brother, wrapping his arms around him tightly. It wasn’t the Winchester way, but he didn’t care, and in this case he didn’t think Dean did either.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Sammy. I don’t - … you are everything. You kept the voices away…” He trailed to sob openly again. “When you left - I didn’t think you would even come back… They took over in my head, made me think things. I couldn’t - I couldn’t make them stop.”
Sam just held his brother, rocking back and forth. He whispered over and over, Shh, and It’s okay, Dean. It’s gonna be okay.
Dean didn’t hear him though. He carried on with his ramblings. “I need you Sam. I’m broken. I’m broken, and you’re the only one that can fix me. You keep the monster buried inside me.”
“Don’t worry Dean. I’m here. I’m never going anywhere again. We’ll get through this. Together.”
Sam knew that Dean had come back different. Even though he’d been to Hell, he never thought it would get this bad. His brother was, in fact, broken. The man he’d always looked up to, that always protected him, now needed him. He realized in that moment that Dean wasn’t his glue and he wasn’t Dean’s. The glue was their love, their bond, and they were two halves fit together to make a whole.
Fin.
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Thanks for reading...Thoughts?
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