endoftheverse | Deerington Inbox.

[Dean manages to crack a wry smile at that. From what he can tell from what he observes of Sam's appearance and mannerisms, he seems to be himself for the moment, no Lucifer in sight, thank God. Still, as much as Dean doesn't want to be on edge around any version of his brother, he can't keep the tension from his shoulders, or the way he stands almost hunched over, as if he might make himself disappear, the more he clings to himself.

He doesn't move to lessen the distance between himself and Sam, either.]

Yeah, something like that. And something about bitter winter air being good for...something. Mental clarity, or some New Age bullshit or other.

[He eventually brings a hand up to rub across the bottom half of his face. He really doesn't want to have this talk, and yet...]

Hey, uh. Question for you. How much, uh. How much do you remember your dreams?

[Sam seems to freeze at the question, almost like Dean's put a gun to the nape of his neck.

He says, too softly, even for someone like Sam:]

... I remember all of them.

[He won't let me forget.

He's a little afraid of what the implication is, of why Dean's asking. Because the other Sam's told him about the dreams. He knows Jack's dreamt, too. About — him. And it makes him feel a sense of defeat and hopelessness and weakness, to know he can't keep them safe in their sleep.

(Like a failure.)]

[Dean lets his eyes fall shut; his stomach tightens and then feels as though it falls through him, a boulder racing to the ground. Sam's voice is soft, and it only makes his answer that much more painful to hear and process. Fuck, he thinks.]

The Devil really is that much of an asshole. God.

[He opens his eyes again, rubs a hand over the bottom half of his face.]

Are you...are you aware when old Luci goes and visits other people in their sleep?

... He's not very good company.

[The defeat in his voice is palpable. But he's at least gotten used to having to listen to Lucifer talk — what to ignore... or try to ignore. As it turns out, maybe he hasn't done that nearly well enough, because he had been certain his Dean hated him. Lo and behold, he still loved him. Weird, right?

He gnaws at his lip, and it aches under the treatment.]

... Sam told me. I know he's been able to visit others when — when I'm asleep. [He huffs a laugh, and it's really not that humored.] Been trying to pull a few all-nighters to keep him down. Like bad heart burn, or acid reflux, or something...

[His expression falls, he looks down.]

... He visited you, too?

[The fact that Sam shares a body with Lucifer isn't lost on Dean; that fact gnaws at him internally, clawing at his thoughts and various underlying forms of insecurity and self-loathing he's thought he's gotten better at keeping shoved down way deep inside. Only took one conversation with the Devil to upend that whole notion, though.

He wishes he could do something for Sam; he knows what Lucifer does through him isn't his fault. He hates that he seemingly can't do anything about it; that guilt seeps through as he listens to Sam explain trying to stay up all night trying to keep Lucifer at bay.]

Yeah, uh. He shared some fun filled trivia, we braided each other's hair. You know how it goes. Regular old slumber parties with Satan.

[You started it, the truth of it echoes throughout his head, a headache he can't tame with aspirin. You started all of it; it's all your fault.]

[Shame both pales and pinkens his face, his own guilt hitting his visage like a wince. He doesn't predict at all that Dean's thoughts are positive in any way towards Sam himself; in fact, he assumes the worst of it.

He closes his eyes at the descriptions, though, swaying dizzily.]

I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry for — everything. [There's a defeat in his words, a sagging of his shoulders.] This is all my fault. I'll... I'll try to figure out something. There's got to be a way to keep him from getting into dreams.

[He doesn't want to ask... but he has no right to evade it.]

... What 'trivia' was it?

[Dean sees Sam close his eyes and starting to sway; instinctively, his older brother intuition guides him to move closer, to reach out and make sure that Sam is physically okay. He reaches out for his shoulder, squeezing.]

Hey, man. You're not him, alright? Just because he's wearing your face doesn't mean any of this is on you. I always figured the Devil was an especially ripe old asshole, if he existed.

[At the mention of finding a way to keep Satan from getting into dreams, Dean nods.] Yeah, we'll find a way. Gotta be a way to limit him, right?

[At his next question, Dean winces. Lets out a low, long breath. He feels bad for making Sam feel bad, and he's probably about to make it worse. He shuts his eyes for a moment, as if it's easier to admit to this without staring directly at Sam.] He told me I broke the first seal and kickstarted the entire apocalypse.

[There's the faintest flinch, a twitch of split-second uncertainty, before he allows Dean's hand to settle on a shoulder that melts some of tension. He looks over at Dean at the answer and his expression hardens.]

That wasn't your fault. You were being tortured, Dean.

If anyone needs the blame for the apocalypse, you're looking at him.

[He looks to the lake, gnawing again on his lip. The blood he tastes isn't so sickly sweet as Ruby's, doesn't quench any thirst. He isn't sure how to tell Dean what a freak he turned into; that Dad was right about him, that they were all right about him. Kubrick, Gordon, the angels, the demons...]

... You just wanted the pain to stop; you'd have never have blamed someone else in your shoes. Bobby didn't, and I didn't. None of us did.

Edited (lil edits because im picky) 2021-01-05 01:50 (UTC)

[Dean lets out a wry huff of laughter. Their dad held out against that same offer for a hundred years; he broke in thirty. And, goddamn, he can still hear that in Alistair's voice, too, that same snake of a tone slithering down his spine. He represses a shudder by turning it into a shrug.]

Wouldn't have been any apocalypse to start if I hadn't kickstarted it down under.

[Dean gazes up at the sky, down at the ground, and then follows out towards the lake, unease and a whole variety of other emotions churning in his gut. Another mistake, another fault he'll learn to live with; having to learn about it from the Devil is a hell of a way to learn about it, but Dean will learn. And, worse comes to worse, he'll shove it down with the rest of his pile of unspoken crap he never lets see the light of day.

He inhales raggedly and exhales slowly, trying to steady himself and his breathing.]

You didn't see me down there, Sam. You didn't...

[He lets his eyes fall shut momentarily; when he opens them again, he tries to keep his gaze focused off in the distance. He takes another shuddering breath.]

I didn't just kickstart the end of the world. I got off on it, the torture. I ripped into people's souls, and I didn't want to stop. I would have...

[He rubs a hand over the bottom half of his face.]

I don't know what would have happened if Cas hadn't pulled me out. Probably, I would have turned into a demon.

You adapted.

[Sam says it quietly, folding his arms — against the cold, but also to just... comfort himself, maybe. He doesn't look at Dean with disgust, though. He doesn't judge him for it, not for anything. If anyone had anything to apologize for, it'd be him. He trusted Ruby with his life. He drank the blood. He let Lucifer out.

None of that is on Dean.]

You were pulled out of Hell. You aren't a demon. You came out of it, and you tried to keep moving forward. [Sam looks at him, even if Dean can't bring himself to look anywhere but that lake.] They tried to make you into something else. But I'm not exactly looking at a demon here. You're just my brother, and you tried to keep me alive and safe. And I'm sorry I fucked that up so much.

[He shakes his head, his bangs falling in his face as he sits back. His arm jitters like it has a mind of its own — from Lucifer? from a withdrawal that never seems to end? — and he clamps a hand down to steady it. The silence trickles in for a moment, and he says what he feels, because not doing it before ruined everything.]

... I spent years wishing you hadn't brought me back. Wishing I could change it. I'd do anything to make it right. Fix everything I did. Fix what I did to you, to Cas... to the world.

Try to fix the fact that I ended up the villain in our screwed-up story, after everything you did.

Adapted. That's a nice way of putting 'getting with the program and then going overboard.' [He shakes his head, inhaling long and hard before exhaling, as if breathing exercises could fully expel all the mounds of guilt and regret he carries around with him like all the dirt and blood that's ever collected under his fingernails over the years.

He turns sharply when Sam mentions fucking up that much, eyes wide as he considers him. He feels a distinct tug inside, the burst of warmth and guilt he always feels just for Sam.

And he realizes, as Sam speaks, that he must have done something to drive his little brother into the arms of the Devil. He must have messed up somewhere along the way to screw things up even more for his brother.] You're not the villain, Sam. He is. I don't know what happened to get you to say yes to the Devil, but if anyone fucked up here, it's me. I'm the one supposed to look out for you, Sam. You're my baby brother, and it's me that should have protected you from...well. Everything. All of it.

[He lets out a slow, shuddering breath; his eyes fall briefly closed.]

But especially that asshole riding around in your body.

[Sam shakes his head.]

Yeah, well... I have some experience with getting with the program and going overboard.

[Dean would be disgusted, he's pretty sure. Dean was disgusted. The way he'd look at him, learning each sad secret... learning about the exorcisms, about Ruby and him, the blood... He felt it, back then. That he looked like something else in Dean's eyes. That he was... (he was a monster, and he knew it, but goddammit, he didn't expect Dean to come back and see it with his own eyes-)

Sam juts his jaw, defiant.]

Stop, Dean. Don't — You don't have to try to take the blame for shit I did myself. It wasn't your job, and it wasn't anything you did. It doesn't matter why I said yes; all that matters is I'm the reason Lucifer won. You should be pissed at me for it, and if you're not gonna be, then I'll just have to do it for you.

[Because as much as Dean hates himself, Sam hates himself, too. He has plenty of it to direct inward, no shortage of words to fling at himself. He knows which words hurt the most, too. He's become a prodigy, knowing just how to make Sam Winchester feel like dirt on someone's shoe.]

... I didn't exactly do anything to deserve you watching my back. The Dean in my timeline, he wasn't wrong for ditching me. Hell, I recommended it. I wasn't... reliable.

[He runs a hand through his bangs, leaves it planted there, face downcast in shame.]

... I was drinking demon blood, to exorcise demons from their hosts. While you've been in Hell. That's what I was doing. Some... extension of those powers I'd had with Yellow Eyes around. I was with Ruby, and when I wasn't with her, I was — alone.

And then you came back, and I didn't think you'd ever be alive to see me like that.

But it was too late. I couldn't... I was what I was.

Edited (grammar, my nemesis) 2021-01-12 12:51 (UTC)

[Dean wonders if, somewhere, somehow, there's a universe where they actually get to live outside of hunting and saving people and dying and almost dying for each other over and over again; he wonders if that Sam and that Dean get to define themselves outside of their family tragedies, if they even have any family tragedies to work through. He hopes so; he hopes that there's a happy ending for the two of them out there somewhere, no matter how unlikely that reality is.

He lets out a long, low breath, rubbing his hand over the bottom half of his face.] Sam, how can I be pissed at you when I don't even know how the Devil got you to let him in the first place? Am I angry and hurt? Yeah, you know what, I am. And maybe if you explain, I'll get angry at you too.

[And maybe the Dean from this Sam's timeline is right to have left him, but Dean feels an odd clench in his stomach at the thought, no matter what it is that Sam's done. After everything, Dean can't imagine walking out on Sam; that's what their dad did, and fuck if he doesn't want to be following in John's damned footsteps anymore than he already has.

And then Sam explains that he's been drinking demon blood and using his powers, with Ruby, of all demons, and Dean feels all of his stomach drop through to his feet; his eyes widen and he feels as though part of himself as left his own body.]

I'm sorry, you what?

[He's trying to process this information; his thoughts and emotions feel like crossed livewires, sparking dangerously within him. He feels as though he might puke or scream; maybe both.]

[There it is. The disgust and anger and disappointment, ready to be served on a platter. It's the reason he'd hidden all of it in the first place, when Dean resurrected — he knew. And he knew Dean would feel it all over again here. Maybe there'd be punches involved again. Maybe there's not.

Sam turns away, doesn't look at Dean.

("You're destroying your relationship with him all over again?" Lucifer asks patiently, "Bold move, Sam. Now he'll just see a monster. Again. That's all he'll ever see with you, no matter what he says to the contrary.")

Sam utters angrily:]

Doesn't matter. I deserve it.

[But his fingers are shaking, and he digs them into his jeans to do something about it.]

I thought Ruby cared about me. She saved my life, gave me something to do when you were gone. And then you came back. [His head whips, and his desperate gaze lands on Dean finally.] After everything I tried to get you out — after demons wouldn't even cut deals with me, how was I supposed to know you'd come back to see that? To see me?

[He buries his head in his knees, palms pressing the back of his shaggy locks.

("Sam, be reasonable. There wasn't anything wrong with you.

You are p-e-r-f-e-c-t.")]

Dad was right. He was right about me. He knew what I was. Before anyone.

He just made the mistake of not handling it soon enough.

[Dean lets his eyes fall shut, feeling the weight of all of his emotions he tries so hard to keep shoved down deep inside of himself, packed away into the darkest corners of himself where he'll never have to actually deal with them, let alone acknowledge them in any practical, healthy way.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, takes in a deep breath. He remembers that motel room, the young woman he met with Sam when he and Bobby went to seek Sam out. He remembers Sam going out at night for 'burgers' and deciding to tackle the Castiel problem with Bobby, explaining it away as grabbing some beers to Sam in response. He had his suspicions then, but nothing like Sam drinking actual demon blood.

This is too much, he thinks. Too goddamn much.

Especially when Sam starts talking about John, about Dad. About him knowing before anyone, about not handling it soon enough.]

Shit, Sam. I don't even know where to start. It's all bad. Ruby? And demon blood? Sam, Jesus.

[He rubs a hand across his mouth, unsure how to unpack everything Sam's just told him. He doesn't know if he can even unpack half of that, frankly.

He lets out a long, low sigh.]

Dad made a lot of mistakes, Sam. But it wasn't his job to handle you. You're his son. He should have tried to help you; to save you.

[And so should I, he thinks to himself. As the older brother, it's always been his job to look out for Sammy. And he can't even do that right, twenty odd years later.]

Look, I'm not saying I'm not pissed. 'Cause you're goddamn right I'm angry. Not only a demon, but Ruby?

[He sighs again, reluctantly brings himself to look at Sam. He remembers John saying he might need to kill his own brother, right before John died. He remembers that instruction, and he hates it just as much now as when he heard it the first time.]

But I'll be damned again if I try following what Dad wanted me to do. I don't know how I can help you with the Devil, but I'm not going to lose you to that bastard, not if I can help it.

[He sits quietly and listens to every word carefully. About Ruby, about Dad. About helping him. It doesn't feel deserved, that offer. But it does loosen something inside him, something that had been so wound up it felt like it was hurting him.

For a moment, it seems like Sam's retreated into himself, though. He's quiet, and there's a hush that falls over them. Eventually, the thoughts are sifted through, like ash, and Lucifer is quiet and still in his rib-cage, and Sam can think.]

... Ruby was one of the only people around to help me. If she weren't there, you would've come back and I'd have been dead, honestly. [He shrugs, watching the lake warily.] I guess... I thought she could have been different. That it wasn't what you are, but what you do with it...

[He clenches his fingers on his arm in a vice grip, disgust coursing through his body. There are so many things he'd never admitted, so many things he was scared would turn his brother against him. Isn't it too late now? It's all over. He's fucked. He's a murderer, an angel's skin. But this Dean... still has a chance, at least. Might be the only chance he's got.]

Some monsters are good, right? Some ghosts are good. And sometimes, people like me are good. That's what I thought, anyway. I had powers people thought were evil, powers I would've been hunted for without a second glance. You'd said it yourself, but it's not like I didn't know.

But... I was saving people. A lot of people, from demons, all with this horrible thing inside me. And even though it meant feeling more like a monster, I thought I was at least a good monster.

[He looks at Dean.]

If I couldn't trust Ruby because she was a demon, how the hell was I supposed to be trusted, too? I've been some kind of fucked-up hybrid since I was a baby. I've always felt like I was dirty, since before I can even remember; I've just always known. Maybe it's why I wanted to trust her so much. I don't know.

I guess it doesn't really matter. Maybe I'm just making excuses.

[He combs a hand through his hair.]

... I just... I wonder how long it took for Dad to see it, too. When I was a kid. That there was something off with me. How long did he know? When did he realize something wasn't right about me? Maybe I'm not much better than Ruby was, at the end of the day.

[He scoffs, humorless.]

I guess what I'm saying is, I wish you'd throw me into a ditch and forget about me... but I'm really glad you haven't.

Edited 2021-01-21 03:28 (UTC)

[Dean lets out a long, low sigh as he listens. He owes Sam that much, at least. To listen to him. He physically winces when he explains that, without Ruby, he would have likely died; that possibility hits him right in the gut, even as he also knows that, were their positions reversed, he would find himself in the same situation. (Hell, he thinks to himself, look what did happen when their positions reversed; a crossroads demon, a shitty bargain, Hellhounds, and all the fire and all the brimstone scorched into his damned soul.)

He lets out a bitter, choked out sort of laughter.] They always say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

[I thought I was at least a good monster, Sam says, and damn if that doesn't crash into Dean like a freight truck. Sam's always been the more open-minded of the two of them; Sam has always been the more empathetic, the more compassionate. And Dean loves him for it; loves his brother for being the kind of good Dean could never be, can never be, now, after Hell. He always worried about Sam getting himself into trouble because of it, and, now, here they are.

Dean closes his eyes and opens them. He doesn't really have any good answers to give; all he has is Sam here with him, and the chance to move forward, even if all it ends up being is moving forward stuck in the same old mess. But damn it if Dean isn't going to let the past dictate how he reacts.]

I don't have any answers for you Sam. Not easy ones, at least. This is all so fucked, even for us.

[He lets out another low breath.] After everything, I'm the last person who should be judging anyone on who they're better than or not. Maybe, at the end of the day, we're all just fucked up messes, trying to make it through the day without fucking up too badly.

[He turns to face Sam, to watch him, refusing to let his memory of his recent conversation with Lucifer taint him getting to talk with his baby brother.] I would never let myself throw you in a ditch, Sam. You're my brother and I will always fight for you, Hell or highwater. Literally, in this case.

[He tries to crack something of a smile, to at least attempt to lighten the mood, somewhat.]

[Sam's smile is weak, but he does it for his brother, because he can't bring himself to fail him anymore than he has.]

... It goes both ways. I'll fight for you, too.

I know I, uh... I suck at succeeding. At helping you when you need it most. But I promise, I've always tried. I'll always try to make it all up to you. For Hell, and for the mistakes I've made... for making anything harder than it needed to be.

I know it's a little too late to be a better brother back home, but. It's not too late in your time. And it's not too late here. So...

I'll try to be around more, as long as I'm — safe to be around, I mean.

[Boy, they sure are sappy today.]

[This might be the most open Dean has been with Sam for...Christ. Since before he got dragged to Hell, really. Possibly even longer, if he's being technical about it. He would laugh, just to break up the sappiness, but even Dean's too exhausted to try propping up his own usual bullshit today.

He's just grateful to get to connect to Sam without the devil between them in the wake of that last dream he had.] Deerington's got it's share of faults, but this ain't one of them.

You look out for me, I'll look out for you works for me.

Feel like grabbing a bite to eat? I feel like coffee or something. Walking just makes me want to stuff my face more.

[It's an olive branch, a chance to move past the nightmare of Lucifer's continued presence in Sam. It's not going to fix anything but they can at least enjoy themselves, if only for a minute.]

[Sam blinks up at him, and there's an obvious hesitation that paints the way his gaze flicks away.]

... I've been trying to stay away from the town. I mean, I don't know if I'm safe to be around.

[But. But coffee and food sounds nice, for once. He's been pretty bad at actually keeping himself fed, especially when he's still getting used to having to eat on his own again, and... and it sounds normal. Like something they'd have done before everything went to literal Hell.]

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