Fanfic - SPN: Dreamwalking - Act 2: The Sam In Here
Title: Dreamwalking [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Act 1: The Sam Out There
Act 2: The Sam In Here
Dean dropped his head, unable to look at his Sam any longer than he had to. "I'm sorry."
Sam's voice was soft, but intense. "You've got nothing to apologize for."
Dean didn't quite nod, but went to the chest where their duffle bags had been thrown. When he got there, though they'd looked full from a distance, he found them both empty. "What happened to the- …" Off beside the bags, he saw a familiar pair of sandals and it felt like Not-his-Sam was laughing at him, even though he couldn't feel or see him and knew he wasn't there anymore.
"Whores don't get to wear clothes." He whispered the words, but it felt like they echoed in the room.
"Dean?" Sam made a question of his name as if he didn't know who would respond, which might have been true since Dean always used to be more himself here with Sammy than he ever could be with the Sam who signed his slave papers.
He hadn't entirely fallen down into his training again, though. He just couldn't find a way to speak yet, so he shook his head and a heavy silence filled the room as his thumb rubbed back and forth along the zipper of his empty bag. When Sam got up from the bed and came to stand beside him, Dean tried not to move, though he wanted to. The feel of Sam's hand midway down his back, though, just reminded Dean that he was naked and filthy and owned, and he pulled away, walking back to the space between the beds.
Sam followed behind him, but kept his distance, the frustrated strain in his voice revealing his lack of understanding . "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know that, but …" Dean curled his arms over his blood-stained stomach, no longer really seeing the once safe space that had just become one more cell. "He said I have to be good."
"What does that have to do with me, Dean?" Sam's tone had a hint of irritation in with the confusion and it made Dean hug himself tighter, barely noticing the twinge of pain as his position pulled at the cut below his chest while he wondered things that he never would have even considered before tonight.
"No one's allowed to … use his property … without his permission." The words fell out of him, nearly robotic, as they played on repeat in his mind.
Sam stammered through what might have once been reassurances. "I'm not trying to- … I don't want to- …"
"Use me?" He felt himself twitch as he said it, too many memories colliding just behind his eyes.
"Don't use that word!" Dean heard Sam take a step towards him and the authority in his voice made Dean want to run, but it rooted him in place at the same time. "It's not like you're … a tool or something, okay? You're a person and- …"
"I'm a whore, Sam." Always. "I'm … property." Everywhere.
"No!" Exasperation lay heavily in Sam's voice as if Dean was the one being ridiculous, instead of the other way around. "You're- …"
"Yes, Sam. Yes!" Dean ate the meat of the words as he ground them out, refusing to buckle under the enormity of his new life circumstances. He was a whore, property, always and everywhere. He'd known that and he'd been a fool to think that he'd get time to live any other way now. These were just … facts ... his facts. "Maybe when you come back … if you come back … I'll be something different, but … right now? Even here? I'm just … a whore."
"Dean, stop!" Sam closed in behind him, hands clutching at Dean's arms, but Dean snaked further away, his voice strong but broken.
"Why? It's the truth, Sam. You just- … You saw." Dean blinked, memory slowing down the record of his Sam just sitting there, watching him. "I can't stop him and you … won't help me."
Dean didn't hear Sam approach again, the quiet of the room altered only by Sam's uneven breathing as he tried to find words, as if Dean wanted to hear them. "Dean, I-"
"Can't?" Dean spun around to face his brother, anger and horror filling him up. "Really? 'Cause apparently you have some kind of insider information. He said you were a part of him. Did he put you in here? Are you just one more game he's playing with me?"
"No. He didn't put me in here." Sam took a deep breath as he shook his head then settled. "It wasn't him. … It was me."
Dean's emotions skidded to a momentary halt at the onset of extreme confusion. "I don't- … I don't understand."
Sam fixed his eyes on Dean's, revealing so much more than his words ever could. "It wasn't him. … It was me."
Dean searched those eyes, watching veils over quiet truths lift away, though they stayed mired in sadness. Then, it clicked, and Dean could hardly make his voice work because his throat kept swallowing to clear the way. "That's how you're … Sammy ... my Sam. I didn't ... make you up or something. You're ... really him."
Sam nodded, looking almost apologetic, sad.
Dean threw out his hands, eyelashes batting away water as too many emotions spilled into him at once. "Why didn't you tell me?!"
Sam repeated the gesture. "The rules, Dean! You just started to figure it out when he was here, because he doesn't have to follow the rules."
"Fuck the rules!" Dean shouted, scowling at his brother with a righteous anger that was twisted up with so many other feelings, most he couldn't name. "Are you saying that I wasn't supposed to know? That I was just never going to know?!" How could you keep this from me?
Sam shrugged with a force that seemed to rattle his whole frame as his voice rose almost to the height of Dean's own anxious words. "Honestly, Dean? I don't know. Okay? I only know so much."
"Wait." Dean quieted, his brain tripping over thoughts as it tried to line them up and press them onto his tongue. "Does He know all this?"
Sam shook his head slowly, looking down.
Dean was trying to pull the pieces together, but it was tougher than he'd thought. "The talk. The talk you wouldn't let me hear. You lied to him, so he'd let you stay, so he'd let me come back. Didn't you?"
Sam shook his head, rapidly this time. "No. Not lies exactly. Just … not everything."
Dean could feel something sparking in him, hope maybe, maybe readiness for a fight. "Are you a threat to him?"
Sam seemed to puzzle over the question for a minute, but then quirked his head to the side. "No, not really, but … he probably wouldn't believe that."
He huffed, eyes angling up and away from his brother, his hope shot down like a low-flying plane in enemy territory. "So you can't help me."
"Depends on what you mean by help, Dean." Sam's tone was strangely cautious.
"What I mean is … can you help me get you back out there?" He had to ask, even though he was fairly sure the answer was basically 'no'.
Sam breathed in and blew it out slowly, seeming to roll his words around before allowing them to trickle out with a subtle shake of his head. "If it can be done … you're the only one who can do it."
"How?! How am I supposed to do that?!" Dean's voice was surprisingly strong considering how much he felt choked by a maddening mixture of hope and misery. "I don't know how to get through to him, Sam. He's a totally different person."
"Just … don't give up, okay? Please." Sam's eyes were round and pleading, but Dean needed something more to fight for.
"Do you even know if- …" His words stuck in his throat then scraped through another way. "Are you even still in there? In him, somewhere?"
Sam lifted a shoulder briefly before setting it down, but his lips shifted up at the corners in encouragement without really smiling. "I don't know exactly … but I hope … and I think so … sometimes."
Dean blinked at him, trying to put his finger on why that sounded familiar. Then he laughed a little, bitter. "You're repeating my thoughts back to me."
Sam ducked his head. "Sorry. … I didn't mean to."
"No. It's okay. I think I'm starting to understand now." He nodded, swallowing, turning and pacing a bit away from his brother. "You're like a mirror here. … You show me things that I know are there but just can't usually see, right?"
"Something like that." Sam's words came out slow and Dean knew there was more to this, some of it that Sam knew he wouldn't like.
"But what else do you do?" His voice had an edge to it, though it was mostly built on fear, and as he turned back to look at Sam, he knew his eyes were harder than they'd ever been here. "Why did he really let you stay? Even if he didn't think you were a threat, he wouldn't've let you stay if he didn't think you were an asset." Dean took a step back as memories of months on the road with an imposter made him watch this Sam warily, jagged pieces fitting into places he'd prefer that they didn't go. "You said that my Sam made you, but … that doesn't mean that you're still good, that you haven't ... turned ... just like him, does it?" He shook his head slowly and his breath began to speed up as he started to realize he'd been played from all sides. "I don't know you any more than I know him, do I?"
Sam's hands rose in a show of unarmed surrender. "Dean. Please. Calm down. Please. I'm not … like that … but- …"
"But what, Sam? But what?!" He could hear his voice spiraling upwards in tone and volume, his words near frantic. "But you've been using me and selling me out just the same as him?! Huh?! But … What?!"
"But ... I need you." Sam spoke as if in confession, eyes shimmering and words soaked in silent pleas for forgiveness of grave sins that Dean couldn't yet see. "And if you're going to help me … you have to stay sane. You know that."
"That doesn't explain why he would let you stay. It explains why he would want you eliminated." But then his thoughts swung back to the half-heard conversation, 'coping mechanism' and 'broken' blazing back at him like neon signs.
Sam must have seen the realization dawning in Dean's eyes because he blinked rapidly, his exhale stuttering out through his open mouth, though he couldn't seem to think of anything to say.
"You keep me sane for him too." Dean's words were a quiet revelation and he could almost smile, bittersweet, because it explained so much. "He wants me broken but not enough so that I don't feel it anymore when he- … If I let myself go crazy, I could let myself be numb … and that wouldn't be fun, now would it? So …" He was nodding now, air puffing out in tufts of despair and disbelief. "You … keep me … fun … for him … right ... Sam ... Sammy ... my Sam?"
Sam was gritting his teeth, looking away, but the tears slipping from his eyes were from the pain of truths laid bare.
"Answer me!"
Sam's hands went to his hair and he tore at it a moment before letting them drop again, his voice rough from crying. "I told you. If you're going to fix this, like you say you want to, then you have to keep your head together, Dean. You have to remember who you were … and who I was … and what life was like before all this. You have to know how all this works, how he works, so you can make sure that I won't fall like this again and … knowing that this is what happens to you when I fall, maybe it'll- …" His words tapered off, fading, as he looked down, almost shrugging.
"Maybe it'll keep me from wanting to do this again? … Maybe it'll make me work harder to keep you from falling?" Dean took in air, steadying himself as he tried to bring down the heat of his emotions and think about the truth and logic of what Sam was saying. It still hurt, though. Everything hurt. It felt like a betrayal, even though he knew it really wasn't.
Sam's chin quivered as he swallowed, struggling to apologize for what wasn't quite a crime. "I'm sorry. I- …"
"No … you're right. I have to … keep it together … even if it's … difficult." Dean nodded slowly, but his mind was racing a mile a minute. "Can I ask you a question though? I mean … I think I already know the answer, but … I'd still like to hear it from you."
Sam nodded, shoulders shifting. "Of course. I'll answer it if I can."
Dean licked his lips nervously but pressed on, knowing that the question needed to be asked. "If this got to be too much and I … wanted to let go - go crazy - whatever, just … be numb and stop trying … would you let me?"
Sam held his eyes, quiet for a moment, before shrugging gently. "You don't- …"
"But if I did … would you let me?" Dean returned Sam's gaze with the same intensity, because while it was good to know that this Sam wasn't merely some imagined thing, Dean still needed to know if Sam would restrict his options even if there really was no end in sight.
Sam looked away, stretching his jaw, before bringing his eyes back to Dean's with a huff that seemed half anger and half guilt. "It's not just me and you that you'll be saving if you fix this. You know that."
"That's not an answer, Sam." Just say it already.
"You're the only one, Dean." Sam rasped out the words as if they hurt to say, because that was truly the only answer he had. "I wasn't … strong enough. And he thinks he has the solution, but ... he's wrong." Then he nodded distractedly, gaze temporarily captured by the pattern on the floor as he mumbled the rest of his thought, seemingly to himself. "He has to be."
Dean peered at his brother, trying to read between all the crooked lines. "What are you talking about?"
"The fall." Sam said it furtively, as if he was some sort of double-agent reporting to the enemy, and he brought Dean back into his sights, eyebrows rising slightly before dropping again. "My fall."
Dean nodded slowly through his words, thinking aloud. "You weren't strong enough to stop yourself from falling. … And he's - what? - decided to stop fighting at all? … Just embrace it?"
"Kind of." Sam's eyes slid away for half a second, clouded by indecision, but they were honest enough. "Yeah."
Despite the way it nagged him a little, Dean plowed over the 'kind of' and ran with the 'yeah'. "And you knew this. You knew, somehow, that you were going fall like this."
"I didn't know." Sam said it like him foretelling the future would be so out of the ordinary, but then his voice softened suddenly and his eyes seemed to look off elsewhere. "I just … worried that … maybe- …" His eyes found Dean's and he shook his head with a shrug, unable to find any more words.
Dean tried to work through the rest of the story that Sam didn't seem to know how to tell. "So you … put some kind of copy of yourself in my head, so that- …"
"I don't know if I did this consciously, Dean." He said it like Dean was accusing him of something, which he patently was not.
Dean felt his eyes squint up as he tried to puzzle this out. "What do you mean you 'don't know'?"
"I mean I 'don't know', Dean. Like I said, I only know some things. Others ... ?" One of Sam's hand's rose to ruffle the hair at his nape, shrugging. "And I don't seem to have any directive or anything - well, other than the obvious - and it's not like I'm chock full of life-changing ideas, so ... maybe this wasn't intentional."
Dean's eyebrow angled upward with a similar quirk of his lips. "Are you telling me that you just ... wound up in here?"
Sam wasn't really looking at him, but he wasn't really looking at anything. His forehead was creased as he got caught up in working to unravel the mystery himself. "Maybe."
It seemed unlikely at first, but Dean thought about it some more, trying to figure out how it could have happened. He remembered Sam yelling at him about how much his powers had grown while they were apart and about that incident with Max when Sam had moved the chest with his mind. So if Sam could just walk in and out of his dreams whenever he wanted now, then maybe it was one of his powers, one that he hadn't known about back when he was worrying about this. And if he was patterning after the yellow-eyed demon, they knew he could mess with people's dreams, so … it would make sense. Sort of.
Dean shifted, head dipping in one direction then the other as he verbalized his thoughts. "Maybe you weren't just worried. Maybe you were scared to death, like when you thought Max was going to kill me. And maybe that triggered this … ability." He watched Sam's eyes, wondering if that was really how Sam's powers worked at all or if he was just terribly confused.
It was Sam's turn to peer at him curiously. "Are you suggesting that I just walked in here like he did? Only ... by accident … and years ago?"
Dean shrugged. It seemed as good an answer as any. "Maybe. And you just- …"
"Didn't walk back out." Sam sighed through the words, eyes flitting around as he seemed to calculate the probability of Dean's idea really being the case.
Dean tilted his head, hand sweeping outward as he presented a modified answer. "Or at least part of you didn't."
Sam shifted a bit, considering the possibility then nodding in agreement. "I could see that."
"The only thing is … if this ability works like the Demon's then … you have a lot more control here than you've been suggesting." And Dean was back to just being a pawn again, in some kind of sick game of chess between two twisted copies of his brother.
Sam shook his head and his voice was clear, his eyes hiding nothing. "No. I don't. I mean … I know that sometimes … if I concentrate … I can change some things. But they're usually not all that important, like … whether I have my laptop or not … or whether there's one bed or two … or whether it's night time or day time … or what channel the TV's on when you wake up." He gestured around at various items as he spoke of them before the side of his mouth angled in a self-deprecating half-smile. "And think about it, Dean. If I'm a literal copy of myself when I didn't even know that I had this ability, how would I be able to knowingly manipulate your dreams in any kind of complex way?"
Dean nodded, somewhat grudgingly, but it was a good point. "Fine." He didn't know quite where all this left them, but it should mean one thing could be fixed. He waved a hand towards his empty duffle bag. "Can you … think me up some clothes?"
Sam opened his mouth then closed it, awkwardly, before finally deciding on an answer and trying to communicate its deeper meaning without an explicit 'don't get your hopes up'. "It doesn't always work, Dean."
Dean shrugged, nodding and shaking his head at the same time in a slow circular movement. "Will you just try?"
Sam nodded then closed his eyes, breathing deep, but then his forehead creased and the crease kept getting deeper. Then he snapped his head back, shaking it, eyes open. "When I push on it, try to mold it differently, it … pushes back. I think he- …"
"Fixed it that way." The clip in his voice wasn't defeat so much as resignation. "Thanks for trying."
Sam nodded, but there was a look in his eye like he was crawling between a rock and a hard place.
Dean couldn't help the anxiety that crept into his voice. "What is it?"
"Nothing." Sam did that quick glance away thing that he did when 'nothing' meant a whole lot of 'something' and Dean was done with covered-up truths.
"Sam, for christsake just tell me." It wasn't that he thought Sam was really hiding something crucial, but, at this point, Dean just wouldn't go for anything other than old-fashioned sugar-free honesty.
"Would you … feel more comfortable if … I got rid of my clothes too?" Sam's brow was furrowed, eyes a little wide, like he thought Dean might hit him for what could easily be considered a reasonable suggestion in a number of cases.
Dean just blinked. That certainly hadn't been what he was expecting to hear, but he processed the words and tried to figure out which answer would lead to the least amount of damage. "No." He shook his head with a deep inhale. "No."
Sam nodded but looked down, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "Are you … afraid of me now?"
"No, Sam." He shook his head, sincerity coating his words, his tone meant to soothe. "I know you're … my Sam … and that you're doing everything you can … even if that's not that much right now."
Sam's face scrunched as he tried to puzzle things out. "Then why- …"
"I told you. " Dean turned away, walking to the wall then pressing his back to it, eyes on the drab carpeting as he shoved down blinks of Not-his-Sam's hands on his skin, his words in his ear. "I don't- … I don't belong to you anymore. I … belong to him … and I know he's going to ask if I was good … and if I wasn't, he'll- … he'll tear me apart, Sam. And you just said that I have to stay sane, that's true, but I also have to stay … alive … if I'm going to fix this. So …" He drew the strength to lift his eyes to his brother's, all but begging him to understand. "I don't want the temptation."
Sam stepped into Dean's space, lifting a hand to his face, his eyes intense. "I don't want anything, Dean. I swear I won't do anything."
"But I want something, Sam. … I want you." He swallowed hard, willing away the blur in his eyes. "And I can't have you, so … just work with me here, okay?"
Sam nodded slowly, his eyes wet, but he leaned in anyway. "I just want- …"
Dean had to pull back, shaking his head as it sat against the wall. "I know, Sam. I know, but … I can't … not even that … because … I know that I won't get this again and … I know that this is done and … if we start …then I won't be able to let go."
Sam's eyes were pleading, spilling sorrows, as he leaned in again, his voice ragged. "But I- …"
"Shhh. I know. I know. Just- … when you come back to me, okay?" He could feel his own tears slipping out and down, then, as he pressed his head against his brother's and knew a breath apart was still too much. "When you come back to me."
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Act 1: The Sam Out There
Act 2: The Sam In Here
Dean dropped his head, unable to look at his Sam any longer than he had to. "I'm sorry."
Sam's voice was soft, but intense. "You've got nothing to apologize for."
Dean didn't quite nod, but went to the chest where their duffle bags had been thrown. When he got there, though they'd looked full from a distance, he found them both empty. "What happened to the- …" Off beside the bags, he saw a familiar pair of sandals and it felt like Not-his-Sam was laughing at him, even though he couldn't feel or see him and knew he wasn't there anymore.
"Whores don't get to wear clothes." He whispered the words, but it felt like they echoed in the room.
"Dean?" Sam made a question of his name as if he didn't know who would respond, which might have been true since Dean always used to be more himself here with Sammy than he ever could be with the Sam who signed his slave papers.
He hadn't entirely fallen down into his training again, though. He just couldn't find a way to speak yet, so he shook his head and a heavy silence filled the room as his thumb rubbed back and forth along the zipper of his empty bag. When Sam got up from the bed and came to stand beside him, Dean tried not to move, though he wanted to. The feel of Sam's hand midway down his back, though, just reminded Dean that he was naked and filthy and owned, and he pulled away, walking back to the space between the beds.
Sam followed behind him, but kept his distance, the frustrated strain in his voice revealing his lack of understanding . "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know that, but …" Dean curled his arms over his blood-stained stomach, no longer really seeing the once safe space that had just become one more cell. "He said I have to be good."
"What does that have to do with me, Dean?" Sam's tone had a hint of irritation in with the confusion and it made Dean hug himself tighter, barely noticing the twinge of pain as his position pulled at the cut below his chest while he wondered things that he never would have even considered before tonight.
"No one's allowed to … use his property … without his permission." The words fell out of him, nearly robotic, as they played on repeat in his mind.
Sam stammered through what might have once been reassurances. "I'm not trying to- … I don't want to- …"
"Use me?" He felt himself twitch as he said it, too many memories colliding just behind his eyes.
"Don't use that word!" Dean heard Sam take a step towards him and the authority in his voice made Dean want to run, but it rooted him in place at the same time. "It's not like you're … a tool or something, okay? You're a person and- …"
"I'm a whore, Sam." Always. "I'm … property." Everywhere.
"No!" Exasperation lay heavily in Sam's voice as if Dean was the one being ridiculous, instead of the other way around. "You're- …"
"Yes, Sam. Yes!" Dean ate the meat of the words as he ground them out, refusing to buckle under the enormity of his new life circumstances. He was a whore, property, always and everywhere. He'd known that and he'd been a fool to think that he'd get time to live any other way now. These were just … facts ... his facts. "Maybe when you come back … if you come back … I'll be something different, but … right now? Even here? I'm just … a whore."
"Dean, stop!" Sam closed in behind him, hands clutching at Dean's arms, but Dean snaked further away, his voice strong but broken.
"Why? It's the truth, Sam. You just- … You saw." Dean blinked, memory slowing down the record of his Sam just sitting there, watching him. "I can't stop him and you … won't help me."
Dean didn't hear Sam approach again, the quiet of the room altered only by Sam's uneven breathing as he tried to find words, as if Dean wanted to hear them. "Dean, I-"
"Can't?" Dean spun around to face his brother, anger and horror filling him up. "Really? 'Cause apparently you have some kind of insider information. He said you were a part of him. Did he put you in here? Are you just one more game he's playing with me?"
"No. He didn't put me in here." Sam took a deep breath as he shook his head then settled. "It wasn't him. … It was me."
Dean's emotions skidded to a momentary halt at the onset of extreme confusion. "I don't- … I don't understand."
Sam fixed his eyes on Dean's, revealing so much more than his words ever could. "It wasn't him. … It was me."
Dean searched those eyes, watching veils over quiet truths lift away, though they stayed mired in sadness. Then, it clicked, and Dean could hardly make his voice work because his throat kept swallowing to clear the way. "That's how you're … Sammy ... my Sam. I didn't ... make you up or something. You're ... really him."
Sam nodded, looking almost apologetic, sad.
Dean threw out his hands, eyelashes batting away water as too many emotions spilled into him at once. "Why didn't you tell me?!"
Sam repeated the gesture. "The rules, Dean! You just started to figure it out when he was here, because he doesn't have to follow the rules."
"Fuck the rules!" Dean shouted, scowling at his brother with a righteous anger that was twisted up with so many other feelings, most he couldn't name. "Are you saying that I wasn't supposed to know? That I was just never going to know?!" How could you keep this from me?
Sam shrugged with a force that seemed to rattle his whole frame as his voice rose almost to the height of Dean's own anxious words. "Honestly, Dean? I don't know. Okay? I only know so much."
"Wait." Dean quieted, his brain tripping over thoughts as it tried to line them up and press them onto his tongue. "Does He know all this?"
Sam shook his head slowly, looking down.
Dean was trying to pull the pieces together, but it was tougher than he'd thought. "The talk. The talk you wouldn't let me hear. You lied to him, so he'd let you stay, so he'd let me come back. Didn't you?"
Sam shook his head, rapidly this time. "No. Not lies exactly. Just … not everything."
Dean could feel something sparking in him, hope maybe, maybe readiness for a fight. "Are you a threat to him?"
Sam seemed to puzzle over the question for a minute, but then quirked his head to the side. "No, not really, but … he probably wouldn't believe that."
He huffed, eyes angling up and away from his brother, his hope shot down like a low-flying plane in enemy territory. "So you can't help me."
"Depends on what you mean by help, Dean." Sam's tone was strangely cautious.
"What I mean is … can you help me get you back out there?" He had to ask, even though he was fairly sure the answer was basically 'no'.
Sam breathed in and blew it out slowly, seeming to roll his words around before allowing them to trickle out with a subtle shake of his head. "If it can be done … you're the only one who can do it."
"How?! How am I supposed to do that?!" Dean's voice was surprisingly strong considering how much he felt choked by a maddening mixture of hope and misery. "I don't know how to get through to him, Sam. He's a totally different person."
"Just … don't give up, okay? Please." Sam's eyes were round and pleading, but Dean needed something more to fight for.
"Do you even know if- …" His words stuck in his throat then scraped through another way. "Are you even still in there? In him, somewhere?"
Sam lifted a shoulder briefly before setting it down, but his lips shifted up at the corners in encouragement without really smiling. "I don't know exactly … but I hope … and I think so … sometimes."
Dean blinked at him, trying to put his finger on why that sounded familiar. Then he laughed a little, bitter. "You're repeating my thoughts back to me."
Sam ducked his head. "Sorry. … I didn't mean to."
"No. It's okay. I think I'm starting to understand now." He nodded, swallowing, turning and pacing a bit away from his brother. "You're like a mirror here. … You show me things that I know are there but just can't usually see, right?"
"Something like that." Sam's words came out slow and Dean knew there was more to this, some of it that Sam knew he wouldn't like.
"But what else do you do?" His voice had an edge to it, though it was mostly built on fear, and as he turned back to look at Sam, he knew his eyes were harder than they'd ever been here. "Why did he really let you stay? Even if he didn't think you were a threat, he wouldn't've let you stay if he didn't think you were an asset." Dean took a step back as memories of months on the road with an imposter made him watch this Sam warily, jagged pieces fitting into places he'd prefer that they didn't go. "You said that my Sam made you, but … that doesn't mean that you're still good, that you haven't ... turned ... just like him, does it?" He shook his head slowly and his breath began to speed up as he started to realize he'd been played from all sides. "I don't know you any more than I know him, do I?"
Sam's hands rose in a show of unarmed surrender. "Dean. Please. Calm down. Please. I'm not … like that … but- …"
"But what, Sam? But what?!" He could hear his voice spiraling upwards in tone and volume, his words near frantic. "But you've been using me and selling me out just the same as him?! Huh?! But … What?!"
"But ... I need you." Sam spoke as if in confession, eyes shimmering and words soaked in silent pleas for forgiveness of grave sins that Dean couldn't yet see. "And if you're going to help me … you have to stay sane. You know that."
"That doesn't explain why he would let you stay. It explains why he would want you eliminated." But then his thoughts swung back to the half-heard conversation, 'coping mechanism' and 'broken' blazing back at him like neon signs.
Sam must have seen the realization dawning in Dean's eyes because he blinked rapidly, his exhale stuttering out through his open mouth, though he couldn't seem to think of anything to say.
"You keep me sane for him too." Dean's words were a quiet revelation and he could almost smile, bittersweet, because it explained so much. "He wants me broken but not enough so that I don't feel it anymore when he- … If I let myself go crazy, I could let myself be numb … and that wouldn't be fun, now would it? So …" He was nodding now, air puffing out in tufts of despair and disbelief. "You … keep me … fun … for him … right ... Sam ... Sammy ... my Sam?"
Sam was gritting his teeth, looking away, but the tears slipping from his eyes were from the pain of truths laid bare.
"Answer me!"
Sam's hands went to his hair and he tore at it a moment before letting them drop again, his voice rough from crying. "I told you. If you're going to fix this, like you say you want to, then you have to keep your head together, Dean. You have to remember who you were … and who I was … and what life was like before all this. You have to know how all this works, how he works, so you can make sure that I won't fall like this again and … knowing that this is what happens to you when I fall, maybe it'll- …" His words tapered off, fading, as he looked down, almost shrugging.
"Maybe it'll keep me from wanting to do this again? … Maybe it'll make me work harder to keep you from falling?" Dean took in air, steadying himself as he tried to bring down the heat of his emotions and think about the truth and logic of what Sam was saying. It still hurt, though. Everything hurt. It felt like a betrayal, even though he knew it really wasn't.
Sam's chin quivered as he swallowed, struggling to apologize for what wasn't quite a crime. "I'm sorry. I- …"
"No … you're right. I have to … keep it together … even if it's … difficult." Dean nodded slowly, but his mind was racing a mile a minute. "Can I ask you a question though? I mean … I think I already know the answer, but … I'd still like to hear it from you."
Sam nodded, shoulders shifting. "Of course. I'll answer it if I can."
Dean licked his lips nervously but pressed on, knowing that the question needed to be asked. "If this got to be too much and I … wanted to let go - go crazy - whatever, just … be numb and stop trying … would you let me?"
Sam held his eyes, quiet for a moment, before shrugging gently. "You don't- …"
"But if I did … would you let me?" Dean returned Sam's gaze with the same intensity, because while it was good to know that this Sam wasn't merely some imagined thing, Dean still needed to know if Sam would restrict his options even if there really was no end in sight.
Sam looked away, stretching his jaw, before bringing his eyes back to Dean's with a huff that seemed half anger and half guilt. "It's not just me and you that you'll be saving if you fix this. You know that."
"That's not an answer, Sam." Just say it already.
"You're the only one, Dean." Sam rasped out the words as if they hurt to say, because that was truly the only answer he had. "I wasn't … strong enough. And he thinks he has the solution, but ... he's wrong." Then he nodded distractedly, gaze temporarily captured by the pattern on the floor as he mumbled the rest of his thought, seemingly to himself. "He has to be."
Dean peered at his brother, trying to read between all the crooked lines. "What are you talking about?"
"The fall." Sam said it furtively, as if he was some sort of double-agent reporting to the enemy, and he brought Dean back into his sights, eyebrows rising slightly before dropping again. "My fall."
Dean nodded slowly through his words, thinking aloud. "You weren't strong enough to stop yourself from falling. … And he's - what? - decided to stop fighting at all? … Just embrace it?"
"Kind of." Sam's eyes slid away for half a second, clouded by indecision, but they were honest enough. "Yeah."
Despite the way it nagged him a little, Dean plowed over the 'kind of' and ran with the 'yeah'. "And you knew this. You knew, somehow, that you were going fall like this."
"I didn't know." Sam said it like him foretelling the future would be so out of the ordinary, but then his voice softened suddenly and his eyes seemed to look off elsewhere. "I just … worried that … maybe- …" His eyes found Dean's and he shook his head with a shrug, unable to find any more words.
Dean tried to work through the rest of the story that Sam didn't seem to know how to tell. "So you … put some kind of copy of yourself in my head, so that- …"
"I don't know if I did this consciously, Dean." He said it like Dean was accusing him of something, which he patently was not.
Dean felt his eyes squint up as he tried to puzzle this out. "What do you mean you 'don't know'?"
"I mean I 'don't know', Dean. Like I said, I only know some things. Others ... ?" One of Sam's hand's rose to ruffle the hair at his nape, shrugging. "And I don't seem to have any directive or anything - well, other than the obvious - and it's not like I'm chock full of life-changing ideas, so ... maybe this wasn't intentional."
Dean's eyebrow angled upward with a similar quirk of his lips. "Are you telling me that you just ... wound up in here?"
Sam wasn't really looking at him, but he wasn't really looking at anything. His forehead was creased as he got caught up in working to unravel the mystery himself. "Maybe."
It seemed unlikely at first, but Dean thought about it some more, trying to figure out how it could have happened. He remembered Sam yelling at him about how much his powers had grown while they were apart and about that incident with Max when Sam had moved the chest with his mind. So if Sam could just walk in and out of his dreams whenever he wanted now, then maybe it was one of his powers, one that he hadn't known about back when he was worrying about this. And if he was patterning after the yellow-eyed demon, they knew he could mess with people's dreams, so … it would make sense. Sort of.
Dean shifted, head dipping in one direction then the other as he verbalized his thoughts. "Maybe you weren't just worried. Maybe you were scared to death, like when you thought Max was going to kill me. And maybe that triggered this … ability." He watched Sam's eyes, wondering if that was really how Sam's powers worked at all or if he was just terribly confused.
It was Sam's turn to peer at him curiously. "Are you suggesting that I just walked in here like he did? Only ... by accident … and years ago?"
Dean shrugged. It seemed as good an answer as any. "Maybe. And you just- …"
"Didn't walk back out." Sam sighed through the words, eyes flitting around as he seemed to calculate the probability of Dean's idea really being the case.
Dean tilted his head, hand sweeping outward as he presented a modified answer. "Or at least part of you didn't."
Sam shifted a bit, considering the possibility then nodding in agreement. "I could see that."
"The only thing is … if this ability works like the Demon's then … you have a lot more control here than you've been suggesting." And Dean was back to just being a pawn again, in some kind of sick game of chess between two twisted copies of his brother.
Sam shook his head and his voice was clear, his eyes hiding nothing. "No. I don't. I mean … I know that sometimes … if I concentrate … I can change some things. But they're usually not all that important, like … whether I have my laptop or not … or whether there's one bed or two … or whether it's night time or day time … or what channel the TV's on when you wake up." He gestured around at various items as he spoke of them before the side of his mouth angled in a self-deprecating half-smile. "And think about it, Dean. If I'm a literal copy of myself when I didn't even know that I had this ability, how would I be able to knowingly manipulate your dreams in any kind of complex way?"
Dean nodded, somewhat grudgingly, but it was a good point. "Fine." He didn't know quite where all this left them, but it should mean one thing could be fixed. He waved a hand towards his empty duffle bag. "Can you … think me up some clothes?"
Sam opened his mouth then closed it, awkwardly, before finally deciding on an answer and trying to communicate its deeper meaning without an explicit 'don't get your hopes up'. "It doesn't always work, Dean."
Dean shrugged, nodding and shaking his head at the same time in a slow circular movement. "Will you just try?"
Sam nodded then closed his eyes, breathing deep, but then his forehead creased and the crease kept getting deeper. Then he snapped his head back, shaking it, eyes open. "When I push on it, try to mold it differently, it … pushes back. I think he- …"
"Fixed it that way." The clip in his voice wasn't defeat so much as resignation. "Thanks for trying."
Sam nodded, but there was a look in his eye like he was crawling between a rock and a hard place.
Dean couldn't help the anxiety that crept into his voice. "What is it?"
"Nothing." Sam did that quick glance away thing that he did when 'nothing' meant a whole lot of 'something' and Dean was done with covered-up truths.
"Sam, for christsake just tell me." It wasn't that he thought Sam was really hiding something crucial, but, at this point, Dean just wouldn't go for anything other than old-fashioned sugar-free honesty.
"Would you … feel more comfortable if … I got rid of my clothes too?" Sam's brow was furrowed, eyes a little wide, like he thought Dean might hit him for what could easily be considered a reasonable suggestion in a number of cases.
Dean just blinked. That certainly hadn't been what he was expecting to hear, but he processed the words and tried to figure out which answer would lead to the least amount of damage. "No." He shook his head with a deep inhale. "No."
Sam nodded but looked down, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "Are you … afraid of me now?"
"No, Sam." He shook his head, sincerity coating his words, his tone meant to soothe. "I know you're … my Sam … and that you're doing everything you can … even if that's not that much right now."
Sam's face scrunched as he tried to puzzle things out. "Then why- …"
"I told you. " Dean turned away, walking to the wall then pressing his back to it, eyes on the drab carpeting as he shoved down blinks of Not-his-Sam's hands on his skin, his words in his ear. "I don't- … I don't belong to you anymore. I … belong to him … and I know he's going to ask if I was good … and if I wasn't, he'll- … he'll tear me apart, Sam. And you just said that I have to stay sane, that's true, but I also have to stay … alive … if I'm going to fix this. So …" He drew the strength to lift his eyes to his brother's, all but begging him to understand. "I don't want the temptation."
Sam stepped into Dean's space, lifting a hand to his face, his eyes intense. "I don't want anything, Dean. I swear I won't do anything."
"But I want something, Sam. … I want you." He swallowed hard, willing away the blur in his eyes. "And I can't have you, so … just work with me here, okay?"
Sam nodded slowly, his eyes wet, but he leaned in anyway. "I just want- …"
Dean had to pull back, shaking his head as it sat against the wall. "I know, Sam. I know, but … I can't … not even that … because … I know that I won't get this again and … I know that this is done and … if we start …then I won't be able to let go."
Sam's eyes were pleading, spilling sorrows, as he leaned in again, his voice ragged. "But I- …"
"Shhh. I know. I know. Just- … when you come back to me, okay?" He could feel his own tears slipping out and down, then, as he pressed his head against his brother's and knew a breath apart was still too much. "When you come back to me."