Deerington Inbox.

[endoftheverse]

 

[A general automated voicemail plays.]
 

Comments

[ruined]

that I know but kid's blowing up my phone. fluid. whatever. point is he doesn't want to drop it and if he comes over here you know I gotta keep him away from lucifer

we don't know how much lucifer he's got in him. do the other us's even know?

[endoftheverse]

[There's a little pause.]




I mean, he can't have as much Lucifer in him as I've got in me.

So.

[ruined]

[ ...that shouldn't be funny. It is, distantly, but also goddamn horrifying.

There's a pause, three little dots appearing for a long few minutes. ]

don't be an asshole. you know what I mean. you're sam winchester. you're not related to lucifer. he hijacked you but he doesn't make you who you are

[endoftheverse]

You serious?

I was made to be this since before I was born.

I was just lucky to have you and Dad to keep me human for as long as I was.

Jack can have the same as I did, when I was his age. Someone there to remind him of that human part of him.
The better parts. The good.

[ruined]

you know how I feel about fate. it's bullshit

[ But he's starting to realize now how Sam's linking himself to all this. It makes him feel sick, lead dropping in his stomach cold and heavy. ]

you're not a freaking monster sam. and what happened to you? it's not your fault

so if you're gonna start talking about meant to be? don't

[endoftheverse]

Free will's bullshit, Dean.
I was never gonna get away from any of it.
Part of that was on me. But it was always gonna happen.
I failed right on schedule.


What made you change your mind, anyway?
About what I am, I mean.

[ruined]

[ They honestly couldn't disagree more on this, and it feels like needles under his skin that Sam feels like they have no say in what happens to them. ]

change my mind? what are you talking about?

[endoftheverse]

That I’m barely human
a bloodsucking freak
vampire
monster
one of the things we hunt
Take your pick, I guess.

If we’re doing this whole “be more honest” thing and airing things out
I don’t know.
Just never was sure you’d changed your mind, after the panic room.
Figured you were just playing nice with me because we had history.



Lucifer kept telling me you’d come to finish things, but he never told me a date.
Said it was up to you.

[ruined]

ok uh... you're not making any sense now

I never thought that about you man, where the hell did you even get that from? lucifer? he told you that's what I thought of you?

[endoftheverse]

It was before Lucifer
The message you left me after the motel
The motel room were you told me exactly what I am.

Come on man, it’s fine
I thought the same thing after everything went to hell, it’s not like you were on a different wavelength.
I’m aware I turned myself into even more of a grade A freak than I started as

[ruined]

I called you and apologized. I was out of line for what I said to you and I wanted to say I was sorry but it went to voicemail and I was in the green room trying to talk cas down from falling in line with the douchebags upstairs

I apologized man. what did you skip that one or something?

[endoftheverse]

No you_


That’s not what you said.
I know, I listened to that stupid message more than I can count.



I told you it’s fine, I understand why.
Just forget about it.

[ruined]

no I know what I said to you sam. I said I was sorry. what the hell did you think I said?

[endoftheverse]

[Well. His stomach's in knots.]

Flip phone's in my top drawer
Saved message 4. Doesn't need a password here to access.

I'm going for a walk.

action;

[ruined]

[ When he finally makes it back to the house, his feet take him to Sam's room first. He doesn't want to rifle through the guy's stuff but there's not much in the way of stuff to look at anyway.

The flip phone is weird to look at all the same. Evokes memories that he feels some kind of way about. It's compromising in so many different ways that it takes him a long few minutes before he even listens to the voicemail.

And freezes. What the hell? He never said those things, and even now, years later, he knows there's no way that crap came out of his mouth.

When Sam eventually returns home, Dean's in the kitchen, the flip phone left open on the counter and if he's thought more than once about finding something over the top heavy and smashing it up, he's managed to resist that urge so far. ]

Sam? That you?

action;

[endoftheverse]

[Sam definitely did a long walk around the outskirts of town. Definitely did a lot of thinking. Definitely wrestled with Lucifer's incessant commentary and the doubt it helped dredge back up. By the time he returns, he's mentally drained by how many circles he did in his head. Like a swimmer eternally damned to perform an endless backstroke, round and round.

Sam wanders into the kitchen at the sound of his name, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast — shrinking again, like he would rather melt into the floor. His gaze flitters across the cellphone, but doesn't linger. He's not sure what to believe, right now; he'd built the last five years off of things that seem to be crumbling underneath him.]

... Yeah.

[Maybe Dean's memory is jogged. Maybe he was drunk and it was a blur. Maybe he just got lost in the heat of the moment, and he didn't mean a word of it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.]

[ruined]

[ Reaching for the phone, Dean's eyes trail to Sam, and there's a fire in them that looks so much more like past him. Back before any of the crap in their world happened. Before they went their separate ways.

It's indignation at injustice rather than a cold, cynical dismissal of it.

He already knows this is going to be hard - it was hard enough listening to all the things Sam thinks he said, his voice but not his words.

Glancing down at the phone, he presses a couple of buttons and sets the message to play on speaker: ]

Listen to me you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning: I'm done tryin' to save you. You're a monster, Sam. A vampire. You're not you anymore, and there's no goin' back.

[ He can't contain the wince as he listens through the message again. Hears his voice say words he never said. His nostrils flare as he tries to keep a handle on the twisted up emotions inside of him. ]

Sam, I didn't leave you that message. I mean, I left you a message, but it wasn't that. I called you and told you I was still pissed. But that I'm not dad. That we're brothers, and nothing's gonna change that. That I was sorry for what I said to you.

[ Dropping the phone back on the counter top with a clatter, he shakes his head, jaw tightening in barely repressed anger again. ]

Somebody changed my voicemail to you. And I'm gonna guess I know who considering I was in the green room when I called you.

[endoftheverse]

[Sam just stands there like an overgrown kid in the principal's office, his face tipped down, the thumb of one hand worrying at the skin of his wrist almost painfully. The message never fails to make his stomach fall into his feet, shoulders stiffened almost defensively, like he has to brace himself for the impact. The voice that speaks is cold and loveless and has given up on him — it was the moment he'd decided to walk into that church and never walk back out.

Kamikaze himself into Lilith and save the world, as his one last decent deed. Like some twisted, unnatural version of Sir Galahad — descending instead of ascending, though, once his eyes fell on the Holy Grail.

He gnaws his lip.

Glances up at Dean — and Dean doesn't verify the words. And not for the first time since he'd arrived here, he's deeply troubled. Deeply confused. And tired. He just looks tired; it's a trend. Kind of like a mask you buy at Party City for Halloween. Tired Man, $20.00, just some plastic manufactured with a stretchy string on the back. Overpriced as fuck.

... Ah, yeah. Words aren't easy, suddenly. He's dumbstruck.]

But... In the panic room, I — you said...

[Wait, did he say? Or was that a hallucination? He was there, he vanished, but Sam was burning with fever and barely coherent at the time. He's not sure. And suddenly, he's not sure of Lucifer's words. Words he'd taken to heart, because he had the message as evidence:

Dean looks at you as a monster now, Sam.

He used to care about you. Not now. Not like how I care you, Sam.

Lamely, with decayed faith in the words, he says:]

... But it was you.

[ruined]

[ Doesn't take an emotional genius to see that Sam's having trouble wrapping his head around this, and for a second Dean thinks his brother might turn around and walk out again. Hell, he'd probably walk away if it was him. But that's the difference between them. He walks away, Sam deals with it head on, doesn't matter how hard it is.

So he waits, brows furrowed but the anger he can feel gives way to a very real, intense kind of sorrow. Sam's spent the last five years thinking that voicemail was from him? ]

It sounds like me. But I swear to you, man, that's not the voicemail I left.

[ He doesn't know what Sam's talking about when it comes to the panic room, but it's not like the guy was in the best way after he and Bobby locked him up in there. Detox. That's what it had been for. Detox and because he had no idea what else to do, or how else to help his brother. ]

The panic room? What? What do you think I said in the panic room?

[endoftheverse]

[He rubs a hand over his face, looking anywhere but Dean.]

You said we weren't... the same species. That I always knew that I didn't belong with you and Dad. [He looks up, shamefaced.] That it was all just... pretend. Make-believe. Us. Me, you, Dad. I wasn't...

[He laughs, and runs both hands over his face, through his hair, and sinks into the kitchen chair in defeat. He still can't look at Dean, because he's always been nervous about what he'll see there; if there's anyone he's been scared to look into the eyes of and see judgement... see disdain or fear or doubt in what Sam is...

He breathes out, shaky, his hands wringing together under the table.]

All just me, I guess.

[ruined]

[ Fresh hurt and guilt, but not because he said what Sam thinks he said. Because Sam's been living with this for years and at any freaking point they could have had this conversation and cleared all of this up.

Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, he bites down on it hard and frowns in a way that leaves little to the imagination over how much that idea affects him. ]

You were strung out. And I didn't know how else to help you outside of the panic room. Where I stayed.

I didn't know you uh--

No, that wasn't me, Sam.

[endoftheverse]

[Sam closes his eyes softly, and smiles — a disgusted, bitter smile.

Honestly, he just — hates himself. So much.

Fucking freak.]

... Figures.

[Too late. It's too late, anyway. Can't undo the mad ramblings of a spun-out, demonic brother. Now he's just got another layer of crazy, and he's not sure how to fix it. The world's biggest chump apparently does a good job at chumping himself. The long con, from childhood, all the way to this kitchen chair.]

Just forget it. All of it. It doesn't matter.

I was hallucinating a lot back then. Should've known better.

[ruined]

I don't think that's how hallucinations work, man.

[ He hates the way his voice comes out, mostly because he feels useless in this situation, without a way to make this better or fix it. Eyes dropping to the counter top, he purses his lips and only looks up again after a few long moments of contemplation. ]

It matters. It matters that you know I don't think that. About you.

[endoftheverse]

... I know. It did matter, what you thought. It mattered a lot to me.

[He reaches out, slides the phone over to sit in front of him. He clasps it in one hand tightly.]

I nudged at you all the time, tried to see if you'd admit there was something just — wrong with me, like I thought there was. Like I knew there was, since... god, I can't even remember when I started feeling it. And every time I poked and prodded and pissed you off, you'd say something that made me second-guess the crap I felt about myself, despite everything I seemed to be.

[He breathes out, rapping his fingers on the table top.]

I guess at some point, I just gave in to what I thought, instead.

[ruined]

[ There's always going to be this guilt hanging heavy around his neck. That he never did a good enough job with Sam. He was responsible for his younger brother from a young age, only a kid himself, but it makes no damn difference. His one job in life, the most important one, was to look out for Sam. And he'd failed in so many different ways he can't even count on both hands just how wrong he got it.

Not for the first time the urge to call up the younger version of himself and tell him not to make the same mistakes he did flares up, and it takes him a moment to settle back into this moment.

It's a hard moment. But as hard as it is, Sam needs to know how it really is. ]

I guess sometimes we're not what we think we are.

[ Which he can admit is a lot easier said than done. What he believes of himself? Nobody's going to tell him any different. So there's a moment where he knows damn well he's being a hypocrite. But that's how it always is, and will always will be. One rule for him to hold himself up against, another for everybody else. ]

What're you gonna do with the voicemail?