You Can't Always Get What You Want
You Can't Always Get What You Want
Summary: Spoilers for Season Six. Dean may be stuck with a changed Sam, but learns that sometimes having less of something is better than having nothing at all. Co-written by gidgetgal9 for sendintheklowns birthday.
Disclaimer: Not ours
Dean couldn’t say that being woken by a call from Sam at 4 in the morning didn’t cause an instant moment of gut wrenching panic. He sighed and wiped his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He supposed some reactions were built in, as instinctual as breathing, and he couldn’t remember a time when his brother calling in the middle of the night had ever been good before.
A new Sam came with a new list of potential problems, which could range anywhere from wanting Dean to bail him out of jail to helping him bury a body.
The fact it wasn’t even his brother’s voice on the other end of the phone did nothing to immediately sooth his unease. He knew it wasn’t Sam, because even with a soul he didn’t think Sam had ever managed to sound quite that hysterical.
“… and now I don’t know what to do and… God, I don’t know what to. Maybe you should just get here.”
“What?” Dean blinked, as if hoping that somehow that would make the whole thing start to make some kind of sense.
“Yeah, that’s it. I think you need to get here, and you can get him help, and I can… I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Who the Hell is this?”
There was a hiccup and the catch of a breath on the line, and something about that action and the voice was starting to make Dean’s hackles rise. An eerie sense of déjà vue hit the elder Winchester.
“Darrin? Is that you?”
He took the breathless sob the question received as confirmation.
“What did you do? What are you sorry about? Where’s Sam?” He knew even as he said it how the answers to each of those questions would be linked, knew it in the cold knot in his stomach, and for a moment he was as breathless as the man on the other end of phone.
Dean took a breath and tried to push the wave of emotion down.
“Ok, just… tell me where you are.”
He wavered as he stood, the vertigo taking him by surprise, and his feet as he stumbled around the motel room getting ready seemed as numb as his brain, but he managed to find a pen and note down the directions Darrin was giving him.
“All right, I’m on my way. Just wait there and I’ll…”
“No, I have to go. I can’t… I’m sorry, I am, but I can’t… I didn’t mean for it to go this far, please, you have to believe me.”
“Okay, I believe you, just…”
“It’s just… she was my wife, and he… I just wanted to make him understand. Wanted to make something pay. But I didn’t… Look, I have to go.”
“No, wait!”
A dial tone was his only reply, and Dean flung his cell down with a curse. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand how Darrin must have been feeling. He knew first hand just how gruesome torture could get, and Sam’s attitude didn’t do him any favors. There were times when Dean wanted to hold the kid down and punch him himself - hell, he had done. So he could understand where the other man was coming from.
What he couldn’t understand was the fear and remorse in Darrin’s voice.
Or the fact Sam hadn’t simply killed him after the first blow.
Darrin’s directions led him to an old barn out in the middle of no-where, and if it wasn’t for the fresh set of tyre tracks in the dirt Dean would have been convinced he’d got the wrong place. What on earth had the pair been doing way out here?
That question was answered as soon as he stepped inside.
He’d thought they’d got into a fight at the bar, that Darrin had been angry and sloppy but got a couple of good punches in and taken Sam down. That he’d freaked when Sam didn’t immediately get back up again.
He’d thought wrong.
The scene in front of him was like something out of his post hell nightmares - the trap, the tools, the blood; it actually took him a second to work out that the figure strapped to the chair and dripping was Sam.
It was a moment before he could move. He’d spent a year living with the guilt and the fear of it, of what his little brother might be going through in Hell. He wasn’t ready to be confronted by the reality of it, not here in some backwards town, in a barn in the middle of nowhere.
Taking a breath, Dean forced himself to approach and kneel beside the chair, shifting as his knees came to rest on the hilt of a blood-stained dagger. Sam’s head was hanging low and he wasn’t moving, hadn’t stirred since Dean had entered the room. It was only close too that he could see the slow rise and fall of his chest that told him Sam was even alive, hear the horrid rasp of his breathing.
He had to swallow down the relief of that. His feelings about the thing on the inside were mixed at best, but he couldn’t deny the outside was all Sam, and he was fairly certain he was going to need it in one piece if he had any hope of reuniting it with his brother’s soul.
And seeing Sam like this, even this Sam, hurt. It didn’t matter that he’d done almost the exact same thing less than a month ago, although he’d only had his fear and his fists to aid him. By the looks of it Darrin had had a whole lot more.
Carefully Dean raised his brother’s head. Sam’s eyes were closed and his cheeks were bruised, his face littered with burst blood vessels. His lips were cracked and dry and there was blood at the corner of his mouth, blood and what looked like crystals of salt. Dean had no way of knowing how much Darrin had forced him to ingest, but if Sam’s flushed skin or sluggish heart-rate were anything to go by, it wasn’t good.
A rosary hung from around Sam’s neck, its beads clinking melodically as Dean tried to tip his brother’s head back and check his pupils. Sam’s throat was a map of deep purple and red bruising. Dean could see the imprints of the different shaped beads etched into his skin and he swallowed in sympathy.
Now that he was touching his brother he could see that it wasn’t just blood dripping from Sam’s bound hands onto the floor. Sam was wet. His hair and the front of his shirt were drenched, and Dean ground his teeth at the sight of a container of pinkish water abandoned at the side of the circle.
Salt, a rosary, and holy water were the standard fair when it came to requesting information from demons, and it looked as though Darrin had decided to give Sam a taste of his own medicine. Only when they’d failed to have the same effect on Sam as they would on a demon, Darrin had to get creative.
His brother’s body had been sliced and beaten, strangled and drowned, and Sam was still in his seat with his hands and his ankles tied. Since Sam had been able to slip out of Dean’s bonds with relative ease, Dean had to wonder how the hell Darrin had done it - right until his eyes caught sight of the taser burn on Sam’s side.
Dean exhaled slowly and raised one shaking hand, resting the back of his hand against his forehead as he forced himself to think. Darrin was long gone, which was a good thing because Dean honestly had no idea what he would do if he had the grieving man within arms reach. He understood the bitterness and the rawness of loss, the depth it was possible to sink to, to claw your way out of that emptiness. He understood the horror of what he must think Sam had done and knew enough about torture to know that Darrin hadn’t had a clue what he was doing; enough about self loathing and remorse to have recognized it in the other man’s voice.
But he also knew a lifetime of needing to see anything that could do this to his brother, die. Even if he denied constantly to Sam’s face that he was even Dean’s brother at all.
He fumbled at the knots at Sam’s wrists with shaking hands. Sam was totally limp and still, was yet to even stir for all Dean’s prodding and assessing, and it was that fact that was causing the clawing fear in Dean’s stomach. Something that never slept should not be that still, nor have its eyes closed for that long.
He had to retrieve the knife at his side to cut Sam loose and tried to ignore the fact that the other man didn’t so much as groan when Dean hauled him out of the chair and started the painful struggle back to the car. When they got back to the motel things would be better, he was sure. When he had better light and more time and the supplies to deal with this properly, then he would be able to silence the screaming and the guilt in his head.
He knew what this version of his brother was. He couldn’t atone for the things he’d done when Dean hadn’t been around, but he was here now. He’d met Darrin and seen the rage and the emptiness lurking behind his eyes, seen past the false assurances and smile.
And he’d seen the fact that Sam had failed to. He knew where this creature’s weaknesses lay, knew his blind spots, and had let him out without back up or even a warning. And it was Sam. Not in the way Dean needed but it was his memories and his experiences and his body. And he suddenly knew he couldn’t lose that; couldn’t be left with even less than he had now.
Had very nearly been left with nothing.
He pushed that thought from his mind as he bundled Sam into the car and headed back to the motel.
-0-
Dean had been on auto-pilot as he got his unconscious brother inside their motel room. Sam was in bad shape and Dean wasn't even sure where to start.
Assess the injuries and treat the worst first. Keep the victim warm so that shock doesn't set in. John Winchester's voice boomed in Dean's ear causing his panic to subside into the background of his mind.
Dean started to remove Sam's blood soaked clothing, taking in the injuries as he went. Sam was a wreck of deep cuts and bruises but there seemed to be no broken bones. The part that bothered Dean the most was the stillness.
Since getting his brother, or his shell of a brother, back, the kid never rested. That had been very disturbing to Dean. Now he just wished that his sibling would twitch, moan, anything to show that he was going to wake up.
Part of Dean wished he had questioned Darrin more thoroughly, so that he knew exactly what the man had done to his brother. Unfortunately, both he and Darrin had been in such emotional states over the phone, neither had been very coherent.
Dean still felt a lot of anger towards Darrin, even though he got it. The man was distraught and had thought revenge was the answer to his agony and grief. Hell, Dean himself had taken that path many times. He was just grateful that Darren had come to his senses before Sam had been lost.
Losing Sam would have been devastating, Dean knew that now. Just a few weeks ago he had been willing to put a bullet in RoboSam's head but now, now he knew that even if this shell didn't have his brother's soul, it still housed Sam. If the vessel was lost then he really would lose Sam, forever.
Dean snapped himself back to reality. Sam was not out of the woods yet and he needed to stay focused.
Once Sam's clothing had been shed, Dean went about the task of cleaning away the grime and blood to get a better view of what he was dealing with, and it was not good. Sam had definitely been put through the wringer by Darrin.
He moved quickly to cover Sam and to start suturing the areas that were still bleeding. Dean had hoped for some movement when he started using the needle on Sam's body, but it lay motionless. If it wasn't for the shallow breathing, Dean would have thought he had finally lost his brother for good.
It was a feeling that Dean had faced more than once in his lifetime. Too many times. The last one being at Stull Cemetery. It had been so devastating to know that Sam was gone and was going to be stuck in Hell forever.
Only that hadn't happened. No, Sam had risen, but not his Sam. Dean still mourned the loss of his Sam even as Sam's shell shared his life with him. It made Dean sick to be with Soulless Sam but now, now he knew that he had been stupid. This might not be his Sam, but he still needed to protect and take care of him. If he didn't then there would never be a reunion with his Sammy.
Wiping an errant tear from his eyes, Dean paused in his work. “Damn it Sam, I miss you so damn much and if you will just pull through this one, I promise that I'll be more understanding. I get it now, you may not be whole, but you are still part of my Sam.”
Dean took in a shaky breath and decided that even if it didn't work, he needed to see if he could get help. He felt so overwhelmed at the moment, his emotions overtaking him.
“Cas, I know you are a busy guy, but if you could spare me just a moment, I need your help. Sam, he is bad off.”
In a blink of an eye Castiel appeared on the other side of the bed. He was looking down at Sam.
“What happened to Sam?” Cas's brow wrinkled up in what seemed to be concern.
“Someone he wronged wanted revenge but thankfully stopped before it was too late. I'm at a loss, he hasn't responded to me since I got him back.” Dean looked at Cas, hoping that the angel felt the need to save Sam even if he was soulless.
“I see. This Sam's judgment is not just or moral. He needs you Dean, to watch over him, to be his big brother. In fact he needs your protection now more than he has ever needed it.”
Before Dean could respond, Castiel leaned over and touched Sam on the forehead. Sam's eyes flew open and he let out a loud moan and then his eyes closed again.
Dean moved closer to his brother, worried that the healing process hadn't worked but as he got closer he could see that all the bruising and cuts were gone.
“Why is he asleep?” Dean mumbled out.
“His mind is restless just as it has been, but his body needs rest so I made him rest. He should wake, feeling much better in a few hours. That will give you time to come to terms with what needs to be done.” Castiel was now staring intently at Dean.
“What needs to be done? Can you be a little less cryptic Cas?”
“Until this soulless state is resolved, whether it is through you reconditioning this Sam or taking the risk of re-souling Sam, you need to watch over him. He is a danger to others and to himself because he doesn't have a moral compass anymore. Sam needs you to be his protector, and I think if you show him compassion and care, he will accept you in that role.”
Before Dean could respond, Castiel was gone, leaving him alone with his peacefully sleeping brother.
-0-
It seemed like an eternity, but in reality it was only a few hours later when Sam finally stirred. His eyes slowly opened as he shifted in bed.
Dean was by his side immediately and noticed how tense Sam was, there was a look of fear and confusion on his brother's face, almost making him seem, well, normal.
Sam's eyes roamed the room like a true hunter and before he could get himself in defense mode, Dean spoke.
“Sam, you are safe. Darrin isn't here. I got you away from him. How do you feel?” Dean relaxed as he noticed the tension in Sam's body deflate.
“I feel fine, but how?” Sam mumbled as he tried to sit up. “And why am I undressed?”
Dean blushed a bit at the last statement and answered in a flustered tone. “I had to strip you down to treat you, but in the end Castiel came and healed you.”
Sam let out a sigh. “Okay, so is Darrin dead?”
Dean hand swiped his face in frustration. “No, he isn't but he isn't a threat anymore.”
Sam began to get up. “He won't be when I get done with him.”
Dean grabbed Sam and was surprised when his younger brother didn't struggle. “No, you are going to sit still, relax, and listen to me.”
Sam moved so that he sat with his back against the headboard of the bed. “Okay, I'm all ears.”
Dean nodded and sat down on the bed next to him. “You remember how you said I was your moral compass, did you mean that?”
Sam frowned. “Yeah, I guess I did. I mean, I get that I'm not right and most of the time that’s fine, but I do feel a loss. It's hard to explain, but I sometimes feel like something is missing, and it bothers me. I don't want to go back to Hell and I don't want to die, and I feel like if I don't have you around that is more likely to happen. Without my feelings, I do stupid things; I use bad judgment, like with Darrin for instance. I was actually trying to behave like I thought you would, trying to be nice. That all went to hell, but I know you’ll keep me from doing that. Or I thought I knew that.”
Dean swallowed hard. “But you don't feel I have your back anymore?”
Sam shook his head in denial. “No, and I can't blame you. I mean, I'm not your Sam and I've done questionable things when it comes to you. I get that you don't feel I have your back so why would you have mine? Why trust me?”
Dean swallowed the emotions that were threatening to overflow before answering. “You’re right, I wasn't there for you. I had you around hoping that I would get my Sam back but I want you to know that has changed. I've changed. I have realized that you need me now more than my Sam has ever needed me. I promise to have your back from now on.”
Sam nodded in what seemed acceptance. “So you took care of Darrin?”
Dean chuckled. “Funny thing is, if you had been your normal self I probably would have - but no, I let him go. I did mean what I said though; he is not a threat to you. He could have killed you but he stopped himself. He realized that revenge wasn't going to solve his problems. Promise me you'll leave him alone?”
Sam sighed. “I will only because I trust your judgment on this.”
“Good, that is a great first step Sam. If we are going to get along, I need to have you listen to me, to follow my lead.”
Dean could tell his sibling was having trouble replying but after a bit he finally answered.
“I'll try Dean.”
“That's all I ask Sam.”
It was enough for now, anyway. Dean knew that the two of them would be butting heads in the immediate future, but he also knew that he would be there to catch Sam if he fell because in the end, soul or no soul, Sam was his little brother and he needed to protect him.
End
Part One
Summary: Spoilers for Season Six. Dean may be stuck with a changed Sam, but learns that sometimes having less of something is better than having nothing at all. Co-written by gidgetgal9 for sendintheklowns birthday.
Disclaimer: Not ours
Dean couldn’t say that being woken by a call from Sam at 4 in the morning didn’t cause an instant moment of gut wrenching panic. He sighed and wiped his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He supposed some reactions were built in, as instinctual as breathing, and he couldn’t remember a time when his brother calling in the middle of the night had ever been good before.
A new Sam came with a new list of potential problems, which could range anywhere from wanting Dean to bail him out of jail to helping him bury a body.
The fact it wasn’t even his brother’s voice on the other end of the phone did nothing to immediately sooth his unease. He knew it wasn’t Sam, because even with a soul he didn’t think Sam had ever managed to sound quite that hysterical.
“… and now I don’t know what to do and… God, I don’t know what to. Maybe you should just get here.”
“What?” Dean blinked, as if hoping that somehow that would make the whole thing start to make some kind of sense.
“Yeah, that’s it. I think you need to get here, and you can get him help, and I can… I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Who the Hell is this?”
There was a hiccup and the catch of a breath on the line, and something about that action and the voice was starting to make Dean’s hackles rise. An eerie sense of déjà vue hit the elder Winchester.
“Darrin? Is that you?”
He took the breathless sob the question received as confirmation.
“What did you do? What are you sorry about? Where’s Sam?” He knew even as he said it how the answers to each of those questions would be linked, knew it in the cold knot in his stomach, and for a moment he was as breathless as the man on the other end of phone.
Dean took a breath and tried to push the wave of emotion down.
“Ok, just… tell me where you are.”
He wavered as he stood, the vertigo taking him by surprise, and his feet as he stumbled around the motel room getting ready seemed as numb as his brain, but he managed to find a pen and note down the directions Darrin was giving him.
“All right, I’m on my way. Just wait there and I’ll…”
“No, I have to go. I can’t… I’m sorry, I am, but I can’t… I didn’t mean for it to go this far, please, you have to believe me.”
“Okay, I believe you, just…”
“It’s just… she was my wife, and he… I just wanted to make him understand. Wanted to make something pay. But I didn’t… Look, I have to go.”
“No, wait!”
A dial tone was his only reply, and Dean flung his cell down with a curse. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand how Darrin must have been feeling. He knew first hand just how gruesome torture could get, and Sam’s attitude didn’t do him any favors. There were times when Dean wanted to hold the kid down and punch him himself - hell, he had done. So he could understand where the other man was coming from.
What he couldn’t understand was the fear and remorse in Darrin’s voice.
Or the fact Sam hadn’t simply killed him after the first blow.
Darrin’s directions led him to an old barn out in the middle of no-where, and if it wasn’t for the fresh set of tyre tracks in the dirt Dean would have been convinced he’d got the wrong place. What on earth had the pair been doing way out here?
That question was answered as soon as he stepped inside.
He’d thought they’d got into a fight at the bar, that Darrin had been angry and sloppy but got a couple of good punches in and taken Sam down. That he’d freaked when Sam didn’t immediately get back up again.
He’d thought wrong.
The scene in front of him was like something out of his post hell nightmares - the trap, the tools, the blood; it actually took him a second to work out that the figure strapped to the chair and dripping was Sam.
It was a moment before he could move. He’d spent a year living with the guilt and the fear of it, of what his little brother might be going through in Hell. He wasn’t ready to be confronted by the reality of it, not here in some backwards town, in a barn in the middle of nowhere.
Taking a breath, Dean forced himself to approach and kneel beside the chair, shifting as his knees came to rest on the hilt of a blood-stained dagger. Sam’s head was hanging low and he wasn’t moving, hadn’t stirred since Dean had entered the room. It was only close too that he could see the slow rise and fall of his chest that told him Sam was even alive, hear the horrid rasp of his breathing.
He had to swallow down the relief of that. His feelings about the thing on the inside were mixed at best, but he couldn’t deny the outside was all Sam, and he was fairly certain he was going to need it in one piece if he had any hope of reuniting it with his brother’s soul.
And seeing Sam like this, even this Sam, hurt. It didn’t matter that he’d done almost the exact same thing less than a month ago, although he’d only had his fear and his fists to aid him. By the looks of it Darrin had had a whole lot more.
Carefully Dean raised his brother’s head. Sam’s eyes were closed and his cheeks were bruised, his face littered with burst blood vessels. His lips were cracked and dry and there was blood at the corner of his mouth, blood and what looked like crystals of salt. Dean had no way of knowing how much Darrin had forced him to ingest, but if Sam’s flushed skin or sluggish heart-rate were anything to go by, it wasn’t good.
A rosary hung from around Sam’s neck, its beads clinking melodically as Dean tried to tip his brother’s head back and check his pupils. Sam’s throat was a map of deep purple and red bruising. Dean could see the imprints of the different shaped beads etched into his skin and he swallowed in sympathy.
Now that he was touching his brother he could see that it wasn’t just blood dripping from Sam’s bound hands onto the floor. Sam was wet. His hair and the front of his shirt were drenched, and Dean ground his teeth at the sight of a container of pinkish water abandoned at the side of the circle.
Salt, a rosary, and holy water were the standard fair when it came to requesting information from demons, and it looked as though Darrin had decided to give Sam a taste of his own medicine. Only when they’d failed to have the same effect on Sam as they would on a demon, Darrin had to get creative.
His brother’s body had been sliced and beaten, strangled and drowned, and Sam was still in his seat with his hands and his ankles tied. Since Sam had been able to slip out of Dean’s bonds with relative ease, Dean had to wonder how the hell Darrin had done it - right until his eyes caught sight of the taser burn on Sam’s side.
Dean exhaled slowly and raised one shaking hand, resting the back of his hand against his forehead as he forced himself to think. Darrin was long gone, which was a good thing because Dean honestly had no idea what he would do if he had the grieving man within arms reach. He understood the bitterness and the rawness of loss, the depth it was possible to sink to, to claw your way out of that emptiness. He understood the horror of what he must think Sam had done and knew enough about torture to know that Darrin hadn’t had a clue what he was doing; enough about self loathing and remorse to have recognized it in the other man’s voice.
But he also knew a lifetime of needing to see anything that could do this to his brother, die. Even if he denied constantly to Sam’s face that he was even Dean’s brother at all.
He fumbled at the knots at Sam’s wrists with shaking hands. Sam was totally limp and still, was yet to even stir for all Dean’s prodding and assessing, and it was that fact that was causing the clawing fear in Dean’s stomach. Something that never slept should not be that still, nor have its eyes closed for that long.
He had to retrieve the knife at his side to cut Sam loose and tried to ignore the fact that the other man didn’t so much as groan when Dean hauled him out of the chair and started the painful struggle back to the car. When they got back to the motel things would be better, he was sure. When he had better light and more time and the supplies to deal with this properly, then he would be able to silence the screaming and the guilt in his head.
He knew what this version of his brother was. He couldn’t atone for the things he’d done when Dean hadn’t been around, but he was here now. He’d met Darrin and seen the rage and the emptiness lurking behind his eyes, seen past the false assurances and smile.
And he’d seen the fact that Sam had failed to. He knew where this creature’s weaknesses lay, knew his blind spots, and had let him out without back up or even a warning. And it was Sam. Not in the way Dean needed but it was his memories and his experiences and his body. And he suddenly knew he couldn’t lose that; couldn’t be left with even less than he had now.
Had very nearly been left with nothing.
He pushed that thought from his mind as he bundled Sam into the car and headed back to the motel.
-0-
Dean had been on auto-pilot as he got his unconscious brother inside their motel room. Sam was in bad shape and Dean wasn't even sure where to start.
Assess the injuries and treat the worst first. Keep the victim warm so that shock doesn't set in. John Winchester's voice boomed in Dean's ear causing his panic to subside into the background of his mind.
Dean started to remove Sam's blood soaked clothing, taking in the injuries as he went. Sam was a wreck of deep cuts and bruises but there seemed to be no broken bones. The part that bothered Dean the most was the stillness.
Since getting his brother, or his shell of a brother, back, the kid never rested. That had been very disturbing to Dean. Now he just wished that his sibling would twitch, moan, anything to show that he was going to wake up.
Part of Dean wished he had questioned Darrin more thoroughly, so that he knew exactly what the man had done to his brother. Unfortunately, both he and Darrin had been in such emotional states over the phone, neither had been very coherent.
Dean still felt a lot of anger towards Darrin, even though he got it. The man was distraught and had thought revenge was the answer to his agony and grief. Hell, Dean himself had taken that path many times. He was just grateful that Darren had come to his senses before Sam had been lost.
Losing Sam would have been devastating, Dean knew that now. Just a few weeks ago he had been willing to put a bullet in RoboSam's head but now, now he knew that even if this shell didn't have his brother's soul, it still housed Sam. If the vessel was lost then he really would lose Sam, forever.
Dean snapped himself back to reality. Sam was not out of the woods yet and he needed to stay focused.
Once Sam's clothing had been shed, Dean went about the task of cleaning away the grime and blood to get a better view of what he was dealing with, and it was not good. Sam had definitely been put through the wringer by Darrin.
He moved quickly to cover Sam and to start suturing the areas that were still bleeding. Dean had hoped for some movement when he started using the needle on Sam's body, but it lay motionless. If it wasn't for the shallow breathing, Dean would have thought he had finally lost his brother for good.
It was a feeling that Dean had faced more than once in his lifetime. Too many times. The last one being at Stull Cemetery. It had been so devastating to know that Sam was gone and was going to be stuck in Hell forever.
Only that hadn't happened. No, Sam had risen, but not his Sam. Dean still mourned the loss of his Sam even as Sam's shell shared his life with him. It made Dean sick to be with Soulless Sam but now, now he knew that he had been stupid. This might not be his Sam, but he still needed to protect and take care of him. If he didn't then there would never be a reunion with his Sammy.
Wiping an errant tear from his eyes, Dean paused in his work. “Damn it Sam, I miss you so damn much and if you will just pull through this one, I promise that I'll be more understanding. I get it now, you may not be whole, but you are still part of my Sam.”
Dean took in a shaky breath and decided that even if it didn't work, he needed to see if he could get help. He felt so overwhelmed at the moment, his emotions overtaking him.
“Cas, I know you are a busy guy, but if you could spare me just a moment, I need your help. Sam, he is bad off.”
In a blink of an eye Castiel appeared on the other side of the bed. He was looking down at Sam.
“What happened to Sam?” Cas's brow wrinkled up in what seemed to be concern.
“Someone he wronged wanted revenge but thankfully stopped before it was too late. I'm at a loss, he hasn't responded to me since I got him back.” Dean looked at Cas, hoping that the angel felt the need to save Sam even if he was soulless.
“I see. This Sam's judgment is not just or moral. He needs you Dean, to watch over him, to be his big brother. In fact he needs your protection now more than he has ever needed it.”
Before Dean could respond, Castiel leaned over and touched Sam on the forehead. Sam's eyes flew open and he let out a loud moan and then his eyes closed again.
Dean moved closer to his brother, worried that the healing process hadn't worked but as he got closer he could see that all the bruising and cuts were gone.
“Why is he asleep?” Dean mumbled out.
“His mind is restless just as it has been, but his body needs rest so I made him rest. He should wake, feeling much better in a few hours. That will give you time to come to terms with what needs to be done.” Castiel was now staring intently at Dean.
“What needs to be done? Can you be a little less cryptic Cas?”
“Until this soulless state is resolved, whether it is through you reconditioning this Sam or taking the risk of re-souling Sam, you need to watch over him. He is a danger to others and to himself because he doesn't have a moral compass anymore. Sam needs you to be his protector, and I think if you show him compassion and care, he will accept you in that role.”
Before Dean could respond, Castiel was gone, leaving him alone with his peacefully sleeping brother.
-0-
It seemed like an eternity, but in reality it was only a few hours later when Sam finally stirred. His eyes slowly opened as he shifted in bed.
Dean was by his side immediately and noticed how tense Sam was, there was a look of fear and confusion on his brother's face, almost making him seem, well, normal.
Sam's eyes roamed the room like a true hunter and before he could get himself in defense mode, Dean spoke.
“Sam, you are safe. Darrin isn't here. I got you away from him. How do you feel?” Dean relaxed as he noticed the tension in Sam's body deflate.
“I feel fine, but how?” Sam mumbled as he tried to sit up. “And why am I undressed?”
Dean blushed a bit at the last statement and answered in a flustered tone. “I had to strip you down to treat you, but in the end Castiel came and healed you.”
Sam let out a sigh. “Okay, so is Darrin dead?”
Dean hand swiped his face in frustration. “No, he isn't but he isn't a threat anymore.”
Sam began to get up. “He won't be when I get done with him.”
Dean grabbed Sam and was surprised when his younger brother didn't struggle. “No, you are going to sit still, relax, and listen to me.”
Sam moved so that he sat with his back against the headboard of the bed. “Okay, I'm all ears.”
Dean nodded and sat down on the bed next to him. “You remember how you said I was your moral compass, did you mean that?”
Sam frowned. “Yeah, I guess I did. I mean, I get that I'm not right and most of the time that’s fine, but I do feel a loss. It's hard to explain, but I sometimes feel like something is missing, and it bothers me. I don't want to go back to Hell and I don't want to die, and I feel like if I don't have you around that is more likely to happen. Without my feelings, I do stupid things; I use bad judgment, like with Darrin for instance. I was actually trying to behave like I thought you would, trying to be nice. That all went to hell, but I know you’ll keep me from doing that. Or I thought I knew that.”
Dean swallowed hard. “But you don't feel I have your back anymore?”
Sam shook his head in denial. “No, and I can't blame you. I mean, I'm not your Sam and I've done questionable things when it comes to you. I get that you don't feel I have your back so why would you have mine? Why trust me?”
Dean swallowed the emotions that were threatening to overflow before answering. “You’re right, I wasn't there for you. I had you around hoping that I would get my Sam back but I want you to know that has changed. I've changed. I have realized that you need me now more than my Sam has ever needed me. I promise to have your back from now on.”
Sam nodded in what seemed acceptance. “So you took care of Darrin?”
Dean chuckled. “Funny thing is, if you had been your normal self I probably would have - but no, I let him go. I did mean what I said though; he is not a threat to you. He could have killed you but he stopped himself. He realized that revenge wasn't going to solve his problems. Promise me you'll leave him alone?”
Sam sighed. “I will only because I trust your judgment on this.”
“Good, that is a great first step Sam. If we are going to get along, I need to have you listen to me, to follow my lead.”
Dean could tell his sibling was having trouble replying but after a bit he finally answered.
“I'll try Dean.”
“That's all I ask Sam.”
It was enough for now, anyway. Dean knew that the two of them would be butting heads in the immediate future, but he also knew that he would be there to catch Sam if he fell because in the end, soul or no soul, Sam was his little brother and he needed to protect him.
End
Part One