Summary:  Sam and Dean take an unexpected break that leads them into uncharted territory.
A/N:  This fic has been the bane of my existence for the past month now, so I figured I better start posting it before I seriously lose my mind. This will be a LONG fic, which is always a scary thing, considering my aversion to writing things with a plot. Therefore, it starts off a bit slow, in my opinion, but there is a conflict that will eventually mount hopefully, maybe. The idea, however, is not my own, so much thanks to Lauren, who gave me the idea and let me run with it. Hopefully it doesn't hit too far from the mark you were envisioning. And, always, always, always, thanks to geminigrl11. I can't even express what she's done for me and this fic. Gem, next time I get it in my head to write a long fic, will you please talk me out of it? PLEASE! By the way, uoy kcor ym ecaf ffo!
Disclaimer:  I just like to play, I really do.

Chapter Nineteen

With a determined breath, Dean opened his book and made sure both passages were tagged before settling into the chair. His eyes burned from a lack of sleep, and the darkness was alluring, but he kept his focus, his gaze steady on Sam.

Sam had been reluctant to get into the bed, but Dean finally convinced him that the guise of sleep would probably have the strongest appeal to the demon. Plus, he figured there was an off chance Sam might actually get some sleep.

But Sam was too nervous to sleep, and he twitched uncomfortably under the covers.

The minutes passed. Sam hovered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Every time his mind started to drift away, he jerked himself awake, refusing to give his mind the possibility of dreaming.

Dean occupied himself by mentally recounting all the weapons in his arsenal. When he was out of mental ammo, he let his mind drift to Sam and all the things they'd been through in the last year.

He'd been so relieved in so many ways to have Sam with him again, to have Sam nearby where he could protect him, where he could make sure he was okay. Being apart from Sam was hell--not knowing if his brother was okay, not knowing if he needed some kind of help.

But, his brother was haunted, and Dean had been avoiding it since he'd pulled Sam from his apartment in Palo Alto. In his mind's eye, Dean could still see Jessica on the ceiling, but it was only a fleeting memory. All his attention had been on Sam. But he had neglected to remember that all of Sam's attention had been on Jess.

The demon didn’t make the memory of Jess or the ache of her loss haunt Sam. The demon just kept Sam from knowing how to hide it.

Dean sighed. Despite his knowledge that Sam hadn't imagined all of it, he still doubt his brother's ability to cope when the demon finally did show itself. Sam was still weak physically, and his most recent nightmare had left him jittery and distracted.

This needed to end now, or else Dean wasn’t sure what would be left of Sam’s sanity to save.

Sam inhaled sharply, his body stiffening. With a flash, he threw back the covers, sending up a spray of holy water. Where the droplets found purchase, the demon sizzled to visibility.

Dean began the incantation without hesitation, Latin pouring off his tongue in choppy waves.

Sam's body tensed as he moved to throw himself at the demon. But as its image flickered in front of him, the eyes came to life, transfixing his own with a penetrating stare.

The demon snarled, lashing out at Dean, sending him crashing out of the chair without ever taking his gaze from Sam.

Sam blanked, pain and numbness throbbing through him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, his mouth was open in a soundless scream.

The force jarred Dean, but he kept his eyes focused, his voice steady. He pulled himself to his knees, still chanting, faster now as he saw the demon advancing on Sam.

From its black robes, a bony, ethereal hand ascended to Sam's brow.

OOOOOOO

Sam's fingers grasped the bottle of holy water but before he could move to fling it, coldness lanced through his mind. You think you can defeat me, Betrayer?

The whispers were paralyzing. You have killed so many, but you will not be able to kill that which you hunt.

Sam felt something tug at him harshly, jarring the bottle from his hands and making it fall uselessly to the ground. Surrender, Betrayer.

Sam gritted his teeth. He had to do his part, he had to help Dean.

He could hear his brother distantly, mumbled phrases in Latin rolling of his tongue.

You are mine. You will fail him just as you always do.

Sam tried to shake his head, tried to resist the growing coldness as it overtook him.

Betrayer.

Sam shook his head, sinking down onto the bed. The images flooded him. Jessica, burning on the ceiling. Dean, lying under his angry aim.

Betrayer.

Then Dean's eyes glowed below him, filling with rage and vengeance. He couldn't move as his brother thrashed suddenly, downing Sam and rolling on top, a grin on his face and his hands about Sam's neck. As Sam struggled for air, his brother's face leaned down maliciously, words dripping like venom from his lips. "You don't deserve to live, Betrayer."

OOOOOOO

Dean's Latin trembled and tripped, as he mentally begged his brother to resist, to use the holy water still in his hand.

But as the demon made contact with Sam's body, his brother contorted, terror freezing into his features.

Dean's heart dropped but somehow the litany coming from his mouth didn't stop, didn't slow, but moved onward at a fevered pitch.

Sam was twitching now, his body convulsing on the covers in an all too familiar way. He shouted the last words, felt them break into the air, watched the demon flinch, falling backwards from Sam as it solidified.

Rushing forward, Dean grasped the vial of holy water that had fallen from Sam's hand, spraying the demon full on. It hissed, retreating, fumbling toward the window in a haze of motion.

Dean thought to stop it, but without Sam, he'd have no one to hold it down while he finished the ritual. Sam--

He heard the shatter of glass and ignored it; Sam was his priority now.

"Sam," he called, moving quickly to his brother's side. "Sammy, talk to me."

Sam's eyes were wide, unblinking. Dean's heart stopped. No...

He reached a trembling hand to his brother's throat.

Sam's pulse throbbed beneath his fingers, faster than it should have been. Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and shook him, willing his baby brother to look at him. "Sammy, come on."

Sam's eyes remained vacant. He noticed the absence of movement in Sam's chest.

"Sam, snap out of it," he said, his voice more desperate this time. He needed to know Sam was okay, that Sam was still there. Dean didn't know what the demon had done to Sam's mind, but he knew the physical contact could not have been good for Sam's fragile mental state.

Dean felt for the pulse again, and it still thrummed but was weakening. Dean jerked Sam again, harder this time, and Sam's head flopped, his hair falling loosely about his head. "Sam, you need to wake up." His tone was harsh and to the point.

Then Sam's pupils dilated and Sam inhaled sharply.

Dean smiled, relief melting through him. "That's it, Sammy. Wake up."

Sam jerked, his eyes blinking. Then, faster than Dean was prepared for, Sam twisted away from him, spinning until he was poised behind Dean, his arms locked around his brother's head.

Dean choked, flailing, stunned by the sudden strength that had returned to Sam's movements. Sam's grip was vice-like, and it occurred to Dean suddenly that he needed to break Sam's hold and fast because his chest was already spasming for air.

He didn't want to hurt Sam, but he couldn't let Sam kill him either, so he forced his way to his feet, bringing Sam up with him. With all the energy he could muster, he slammed himself backwards into the wall. Sam took the brunt of the blow and Dean could feel his arms loosen from the impact. Exploiting the weakness, Dean slammed back hard again.

Without stopping, Dean reached him and grabbed his brother, using all his energy to propel Sam over his shoulder and to the bed where he landed in a heap.

"Sam?" he asked, moving warily toward his brother. He was concerned but didn't want a repeat of what had just happened.

This time Sam's eyes struggled for focus, full and wet. Confusion crossed his features. "Dean?"

Dean sat next to his brother with a sigh. "Yeah, Sammy."

"I...I attacked you?"

"You mind telling me what happened?"

Sam sat up, his former shakiness returning as he struggled to remain upright. "I...I thought...in my dream..."

"What dream?"

"You were...you weren't...I mean, you tried to kill me...it was in you this time..."

Dean waited a beat before prompting, "Sam?"

Sam's lower lip trembled. "It's inside me," Sam whispered. "I...I can't tell sometimes. What's real, what's not. It knows everything, knows how to use it all against me."

Sam admission was all the convincing Dean needed. "This ends tonight," he said.

"But how--"

"The thing's corporeal now. We know it's a demon of the woods. I'll go there, conjure it, bind it, then expel it."

"But--"

"But nothing, Sammy," Dean said, moving about the room, collecting his things. "This thing nearly killed you just now."

Sam's eyes were wide, filled with a fear Dean didn’t like seeing. He swallowed. "Okay. Let's go," he said, rising off the bed.

Dean promptly pushed him back down. "We're not going anywhere. You're staying here."

"Dean, come on--"

"No arguments, Sam. This thing is in your mind. You can't expect to fight that."

"You're going to need my help."

Dean couldn't bring himself to comment. His heart still pounded from the vacant look in Sam's eyes after the attack and his throat still felt sore from where Sam had tried to strangle him.

Sam appeared to remember to. "I'll stay in a circle of salt," Sam offered.

"That won't protect your mind."

"Dean, you can't just go on your own. This thing is powerful--"

"But weaker now that it's corporeal."
"I don't want you facing this alone."

He met Sam's eyes and saw real concern. "I know, Sammy. But it's too risky."

"You mean I'm a liability."

"Sam, it's not like that."

"I don't want to be responsible for getting you killed."

"Sam, look, you just have to trust me, okay? Trust me. This will be over tonight. But I need you to stay here for me, okay? Can you do that?"

Sam offered up a vague nod.

"And whatever happens while I'm gone, remember that it's not real, okay? It's not real, Sammy."

Sam merely nodded again.

Dean hesitated, wishing he could elicit more understanding from his kid brother. He didn't doubt Sam's strength or his ability, but this demon was too close to his brother and had already done more damaged than he cared to admit. Maybe if he had believed Sam sooner, maybe if they hadn't let it get this far--but there was no way he could focus on killing this demon when Sam was so close to the thing that was driving him out of his mind. Sam would understand it all when this was over. There would be time for peace later. Now it was time to kill this thing.

Chapter Twenty

Dean moved swiftly and purposefully. He still knew which exorcism to use, and the conjuration rite and binding spell were frequently used passages in his father's journal. It was simple enough: conjure it, bind it, and exorcism the thing back to hell where it belonged.

But Dean knew there was nothing simple about this job. Not when this thing had been in Sammy's head the way it had. Not when this thing had come so close to overthrowing Sam's strongest asset. Not when it had nearly undermined the very fabric of trust between Dean and his brother.

The woods were still and cool in the summer night. Dean could feel the holy water in his jacket pocket and he carried the journal in one hand and a flashlight in the other. This ended here and now.

The transition to corporeal form would have weakened the demon, and it would not be able to resist the conjuration. Dean knew it was risky, but counted on being able to see the demon before it could attack him. Stealth was no longer on its side, and Dean pegged his confidence on its confusion at its new form. After all, after several hundred years of invisibility, he figured the demon was probably a little rusty being corporeal again, if it ever had been.

Dean found a small clearing, and figured it would do. He pocketed the flashlight. Then he steadied himself, and began reading.

At first nothing happened. His words resounded eerily in the trees.

Then, the forest hummed and a wind picked it up. The rite was finished, and he tentatively flipped the pages, waiting.

Above the rising din, he heard it.

You failed him.

Dean flinched, clenching his jaw. He took out his flashlight, switched it on.

You've failed him in so many ways. And you will fail him still.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the voices from his head. They were so strong, so insistent.

You can't protect him.

It was here. He had to find it.

He turned, letting the flashlight flicker around the thicket. "Show yourself, you bastard!"

Then his flashlight caught something, a brief movement in the trees. With that, Dean turned his page, quickly beginning the binding spell.

The demon hissed in anger, thrashing, but the binding spell had done its job. But Dean knew it was not a permanent spell; he had to work fast, send this demon back to hell before he overcame the limitations of the spell. Without hesitating, he flipped to the next earmarked page. His Latin had never been fluent, but he was practiced tonight, and adrenaline eased his tongue's awkwardness as he began the exorcism.

"You came alone," the demon said in a voice he recognized, the voice that had been in his head. Its timbre made his Latin hesitate.

He glanced up.

It was staring at him. "I did not think you'd come alone," it said.

Dean ignored him, turned back to the page, picked up again.

"You cannot protect him."

Dean spoke the Latin louder.

"He will still succumb. He is weak. A betrayer."

The anger in Dean's stomach boiled over--this thing had the audacity to sit there and mock his brother, to talk about his brother like he was a victim, some weak sniiveling nobody. This was the thing that had nearly turned Sammy's mind against himself. He charged the demon, fuming at it just beyond where it stood. "Shut up."

"His power called to me and I sought him like a beacon. Such power, such raw power. I could not resist. He was so easy to play with, so much fun to manipulate."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to manipulate your ass back to hell."

The demon seemed unfazed. "You deny his powers, downplay his abilities to protect himself, to protect you. But it makes him weak to the real threats."

Dean's hand clenched around the opened exorcism, but he could not bring himself to start it up again. His anger was too pervasive, too insistent. "Shut up."

"Do you think he doesn’t remember? Do you think he doesn’t feel?"

"Shut up!"

"You are afraid to hear because you know it is truth. You run from it like the coward you are. You cling to him because you are afraid. You protect him because you are afraid of losing him. You base your life on half truths."

Dean grabbed the demon's robes and pulled it close to his face. His voice was low and seething. "I am going to kill you."

The demon let out a hissing laugh. "Threats mean nothing to me. Your words are vanity, as they always are. You value them so little, heed them so irreverently. Words have been his destruction all along. Promises to talk never satisfied. Grief never expressed. Bonds rarely validated. Forgiveness so rarely given, even less asked for. It’s the words that haunt him—the voices. You do know that, don’t you? The dreams he has? The one of his girlfriend. She always asks him why and he never knows.

"But that is only one time of many. He hears so many voices. The voice of his father, comparing him to you. The voice of your father, never giving the praise, the love, the affection he so desperately wanted. Do you think he doesn’t hear those words your father spoke to him that night? Ultimatums when he craved acceptance? He was broken by silence then and he is broken by it now."

Dean trembled, his face close to the demon's, meeting its eyes as it sneered down at him.

"Just as you failed him then, you fail him now."

Dean's arms were taut, every muscle straining with the exertion of not ripping the demon's head from its neck. He took a shuddering breath. I can't tell sometimes. What's real, what's not. It was doing it to him, too, Dean realized suddenly. It was trying to stall him, trying to wait until the binding spell was weak enough to break It knows everything, knows how to use it all against me.

Shaking, Dean released the demon and stumbled backwards. One thought anchored him I can't fail Sammy.

He didn't spare the demon a look as it kept spewing vengeful truths at him.

"You won't be able to save him."

Dean let his voice rise, filling the dark forest with the ancient language.

The demon writhed. "You call him selfish, but you're the one who brought him back into this life. You brought him back to die with you."

The words cut Dean, and his Latin stumbled, but didn't stop.

"You're glad she died. You're glad she died and gave you back your brother."

Dean's face twitched with anger; he read on.

"You know he dreams about her and you don't want him to stop dreaming for him. You want him to stop dreaming for you. So you can have him back again. But you'll never have him back. Because he's broken. He's a betrayer. He left you twice."

But he came back, he came back. Dean's words paused before he clumsily flipped the page and shakily resumed reading.

The demon grunted, his eyes narrowed as pain lanced through his being. "Then he turned the gun on you, too. He's weak, and you can't save him from his own weakness. That's why you'll lose him. You'll try and try, but you'll fail him in the end."

Nothing bad is going to happen to you. The words flew. You're my brother and I'd die for you.

Its chest heaved with exertion. "Even now you're losing."

The words were tapering off, the exorcism almost done. Dean could feel it weakening, hear it in its voice. "It's almost over," Dean said, moving forward, a smile playing mockingly on his lips. "It's almost over and then we'll see who's laughing. You won't lay a hand on Sammy again."

It grinned wickedly, letting his eyes bore deeply into Dean. His voice was slow, even, menacing. "I won’t have to."

Dean’s heart dropped and his stomach went cold and Dean spat out the last bits of Latin with vehemence. "Amen."

There was a violent hissing and the foliage around him bent a danced as the demon began to tear apart. Dean ducked as debris began flying.

It was dying, but it certainly wasn't going quietly.

The ground shook and the trees quivered. There was a loud roar and a rush of light. Then the commotion collapsed within itself.

And all was silent.

Dean peaked out from his arm, to be sure the demon was indeed gone. But the forest was still and he could hear the hum of crickets starting up again and the stars twinkled between treetops. Dean let out a breath.

It was over.

The demon was dead.

But then his heart fluttered in his chest "I won't have to."

Demons lied. Demons could get inside the mind, especially this one, and use one's own fears against him.

For some reason, though, Dean believed this one and the thought made him numb.

Sam.

Chapter Twenty-One

The motel room seemed unsettlingly empty. Sam tried watching the TV, but it didn't seem right while he knew where his brother was and what his brother was doing. He couldn't shake the doubting voice in his head that told Sam he should be with his brother. Dean was fighting his demons and all he could do was sit in a motel room and wait.

Sam hated the thought of Dean out there alone. His brother needed backup. Sam should be able to have Dean's back as often as Dean had his. But you can't be trusted. You'll fail him, you'll betray him.

Sam shook his doubts away, standing up and moving toward the bathroom. He trusted Dean, he trusted Dean's judgement. If it was too dangerous, it was too dangerous. After all, things hadn't exactly been crystal clear for Sam the last few days.

In the bathroom, he took a heavy breath, pausing to examine his scruffy appearance in the mirror. Gauging how bruised his eyes looked and how pale his complexion was, he couldn't blame Dean for not trusting him.

Sam turned off the faucet. It’s you.

The voice startled him and he spun around, looking for the intruder.

The darkness is in you.

The voice echoed again from behind and he spun back toward the vanity in desperation.

The darkness is in you. It’s you.

The voice came faster now, more insistent. He stumbled, turning endlessly, trying to find its source in the small room. The voice doubled and Sam’s breath hitched. His vision became untethered and he felt himself drifting into panic.

His senses abruptly returned as he hit the cold tile floor, legs tangled over the toilet.

The voices were gone and he panted as he tried to get his bearings. He tried to remember Dean’s words. It’s not real, Sammy.

Sam laughed breathlessly. "It’s not real." Dean was after the thing, killing it. "It's not real."

His courage rallied, he stood, steadying himself on the vanity. As his eyes crossed his features in the mirror, he gasped, pulling back in surprise.

Instead of his reflection, he saw a tall figure, shrouded in black, the hood low over its face.

"No," Sam whispered. "Not real." They had made it corporeal and Dean had conjured it, was conjuring it, was exorcising it. It wasn't here. It couldn't be here.

"I am as real as you," the figure said in a sickeningly familiar voice.

"No, Dean said—"

"I am your reality. I am you and you are me."

"No," Sam said, tears springing to his eyes uncontrollably.

The figure smiled. "Yes, Sam. You know who I am." A spindly hand carefully pulled the hood, slowly revealing the face beneath.

Horror passed through Sam as he recognized the reflection.

There he stood, grinning back at himself, his eyes blackened and soulless.

The reflection relished Sam’s fear, letting his eyes subdue the young Winchester. "I am you, and you are darkness. Come, Sam."

Sam felt himself teetering, the mental precipice of sanity nearly completely eroded. "No…," he whimpered.

"You are darkness."

Sam shook his head, tears flowing now, and he tried to deny, tried to resist. It’s not real, Sammy.

Dean.

It’s not real.

"You are darkness."

The pull of the voice was powerful, nearly overwhelming, but he clung to his brother’s voice. With a primal scream, Sam lunged at his reflection, taking his fists to the glass and letting it shatter around him.

The force drained him, and when he realized the mirror was in broken shards around him, he sank back against the door. It’s not real.

He almost laughed, he was so relieved, and sat there, oblivious to the blood running from his scratched hands. It was all in his head.

You cannot run from me, because I am you.

No. The voice wasn't real. Dean?

But Dean offered nothing, no solace. You hate me that much. You're a selfish bastard, you know that?

Please. No. Dean.

Why, Sam?

No.

I am always with you. As you are, I will always be.

It was then that Sam knew its weakness, felt it. Dean was wrong. It was real, in all the ways that mattered.

It’s you, Sam. You killed them. You killed Dean.

It didn’t matter if he was the demon, or if it was just after him, or even if this demon was nothing but a figment of his imagination. It didn’t matter if it was this demon or the next or the demon to end all demons. He existed with them, he existed in them, and they would seek him forever. He had nearly succumbed so many times, he had killed the two women who he loved most, and his mind had fallen so easily to the wiles of darkness.

It would destroy him, destroy Dean either way. He had to end it, stop it. He couldn’t run far enough. Dean would always find him, they’d always find each other.

No. There was only one way.

You’re my brother, and I’d die for you.

It was time to keep that promise.

There was only one way. If he couldn’t destroy it, he could destroy himself.

The guns, the knives, the weapons. Dean had locked them up, taken them from him sometime after he'd started sleepwalking.

His hands left bloody trails on the white tile as he grappled to stand. It made Sam stop.

He didn’t need a gun. He didn’t need a knife.

His legs felt suddenly steady as he straightened in the sterile bathroom. The glass crunched under his feet, but he didn’t hear it. He didn’t feel it, he didn’t see it. His senses had left him, became deadened to all except the voice.

Join me.

It was soft but insistent.

They’re not real.

Maybe not—but he was.

Shaking, Sam lifted a large triangular shard of the mirror, feeling its sharp edges in his hands.

He would go where the voices couldn’t find him, where he couldn’t find Dean.

The glass was poised above his wrist.

I’m sorry.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dean ran. He ran faster than when a ghost was chasing him, faster than when a possessed animal was nipping at his feet, faster than he ever had before.

He could hear himself saying it, hear the confidence dripping in his voice as victory was so imminent."You won't lay a hand on Sammy again."

But the demon didn't give him the satisfaction of gloating. Dean could still see the sinister, amused smirk. "I won't have to."

What would Sam do? What would he be led to do? Dean knew his brother's mental state had been tenuous at best, but that didn't mean--

All Sam had done was imagine things, hear a few voices, see a person, a building that wasn't really there, attack one unlucky man, but that was it. Sam was acting a little bit crazy, not totally connected with reality--sure, his kid brother had even attacked him, but that didn't mean--

If only the demon hadn't been so cocky. If only it hadn't been so convincing, so pervasive, so persuasive.

Dean had only been in contact with the demon for a short while and it had easily pushed his buttons. Sam's exposure had been much more prolonged. But it was dead now. Sam would be safe. He would just sleep it all off. After all, what else would Sam do?

Sam wouldn't--

Dean increased his pace as his stomach dropped.

He had taken the weapons. What could Sam do locked in a motel room?

But they had been raised to be resourceful, and Dean knew that was a lesson Sam hadn’t forgotten.

If only he had believed Sam sooner.

Terror numbed him, spreading from his gut to his extremities, making him feel lightheaded as he sprinted.

His legs burned, felt like rubber by the time the trees thinned and he saw the motel. But he didn't stop, just kept running until he stumbled into the door. He cursed as he fumbled for his key, pounding the door as he retrieved it. "Sammy!"

He didn't wait for a reply, but slid the key card in and panted impatiently for his electronic beep. He burst in and fell silent, overtaken by the stifling calm that greeted him.

For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing in the stale air. "Sam?"

The emptiness reverberated with his voice. He moved in. The bathroom door was ajar and Dean's heart skipped a beat, remembering the last time he'd found his brother in the bathroom. "Sammy?"

He nudged the door open. "Sam," he gasped, gaping at the scene before him.

Broken glass spilled off the countertop, littering the tiled floor. There were bright red smudges smeared throughout the bathroom, creating a grotesque mosaic of glass and blood.

Sam cowered in the corner, beside the toilet. He was holding a piece of glass in his bloody hand and it was poised over his wrist.

Damn. Not good. Whatever effect the demon had had on Sam, it certainly hadn't vanished with the demon's death.

Dean forced himself to calm, trying to slow his breathing and still his shaking hands. He approached Sam as though he were a wounded animal--slowly, deliberately, his hands raised in a gesture of supplication.

"Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean managed to keep his voice low, patient, as though the question was innocent, not a matter of life and death--Sam's life or death. He licked his lips and tried to swallow the fear that nearly overwhelmed him.

Sam merely pushed himself back farther, pressing his body as far from Dean as he could. He still didn't look at Dean. "Stay back. Just--stay away from me. I have to..." Sam's words tapered off and he shook his head, over and over.

Dean obeyed, pausing where he was, ignoring the fact that everything in him just wanted to reach out and grab the glass away from Sam, to pull Sam to him, to make Sam safe. "It's okay," he said gently. "It's okay. I'll just stay right here, okay?"

But Sam's head was still moving, back and forth without ceasing.

Dean bit back a sigh of frustration. "Sam, listen to me. It’s over now, okay? The demon’s dead." Dean's voice was quiet, gentle.

"It’s never over." Sam didn’t look at Dean; his eyes were wildly searching the walls, straying to the corners of the room. "There’s always something else. There’ll always be something else. It will never stop until it gets me, until it gets you, Dean. I can’t let it get you. I can’t."

"Sam," he was begging. He edged closer. "It’s not going to get me. It’s dead already."

Sam’s hand tensed on the glass and he looked up, meeting Dean’s eyes. "I can’t let it hurt you. I can’t let me hurt you."

It took every ounce of control Dean had not to reach out for Sam. "You’d never hurt me, Sammy."

Sam’s lower jaw trembled and a tear trickled down his face. "I’ve already betrayed you once, Dean. You know I’ll do it again. I can’t let that happen."

"No, you didn’t—"

Sam’s eyes wandered again, this time finding the glass-strewn floor. "I pulled the trigger four times."

"It wasn’t loaded, Sam."

Sam’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Not this time."

Dean shook his head, trying to speak, trying to quell the look in his brother’s eyes.

"You’re my brother and I’d die for you," Sam said, his voice drifting in the stillness of the bathroom.

"You don’t have to die for me," Dean said, inching closer.

Sam’s hand jerked and the glass scraped against his exposed wrist.

Dean stopped himself with a stifled curse. "This isn’t real. What you’re feeling—it’s not real."

Trembling, Sam raised his head, staring at him through tears. "I can’t take that chance," he said. "Max was right."

Dean's mind raced. If he could keep Sam talking, keep Sam thinking--he had to keep Sam from doing anything with the glass pressed to his wrist. "What was he right about?"

"That there's only one real way to fix it, to stop things from happening because of what I am. You can kill everything around you to try to fix it, but it doesn't do anything. He was right when he turned the gun on himself--because that's the only real way to end it, once and for all.

"That's not true. You're not like him--"

"I'm just like him!" Sam voice pitched brokenly, tears streaming in rivulets down his cheeks. "It doesn't matter how it happens, but we both destroyed the people around us. I killed Mom, Jess, Dean--I'll kill you too, eventually and I can't--I won't--I can't--"

Dean felt his breath hitching and panic tingling in his fingers.

"I’m sorry," Sam said, miserable and dejected. "I don’t know…I can’t tell…This is the only way."

Dean saw it happening, saw Sam’s hand moving hard and sure on the already damaged wrist, and he didn't hesitate. He surged forward, hands gripping Sam’s forearms.

There was a struggle, but it was brief, and ended with Sam on the floor against the wall and Dean squeezing his hands with a vice-like grip.

For a moment, Dean just held him, relieved that Sam's days of not eating and not sleeping had left him weakened enough for Dean to so quickly overpower him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find the words, the right thing to say or do that would finally break the nightmare's hold over his brother.

He didn't have anything to offer but himself.

"This, Sam," he said, carefully pulling Sam's fingers away from the glass. It clattered to the tile and he entangled his brother’s hand in his own. "This is real," he said in a hoarse whisper.

Sam trembled, his chest heaving. He could feel the warmth in Dean's rough hands, the way his fingers curled over his own. He could feel Dean's pulse throbbing against his own. Is this a dream?

"Sammy, don’t you forget this," Dean said, pulling Sam into his embrace. "This is what’s real. This is what matters. Just you and me. Just us. That’s what’s real and you have to remember that."

Sam couldn't find his voice, couldn't feel his body, just the sudden, undeniable presence of his brother.

They were rocking now, Sam's head tucked under Dean's chin. "Just us, Sammy. Just us."

Sam felt disconnected, trying to make Dean's voice mesh with the voice of the demon, the voice in his head. Part of him wanted to pull away, to try to figure this out, but he couldn't bring his body to work, and something inside him did not want to break the embrace that held him.

Sam could still feel the fear, the need tugging at him. Fear that none of this was real. Fear that he would hurt Dean, that he would lose him, that all his nightmares would come to pass. The need to to protect Dean--from this demon, from the demon, from everything--but most of all from himself.

He shivered. The images, the emotions, the images--they assaulted him still, replaying in his mind vividly. What was real? How could he know what was real?

The demon--the demon had been real. It had to be real. It had been here--blaming him, telling him he was the betrayer, enforcing the certainty that Sam would destroy everything he had left in life as surely as he had destroyed his mother, Jess, Max...as surely as he would destroy Dean.

He couldn't deny that. He couldn't make it go away. It was too true, too terrifying, too persistent. It haunted him and always had and he feared it always would

But Dean--Dean was real too. He had to be. Dean was here, like he had always been, solid and comforting and holding him up when he fell. Dean believed in him.

Sam wanted to believe too--wanted to believe so badly. But there were too many questions, too many doubts...he didn't know how to trust himself anymore.

Dean was still rocking him, his hands strong and unyielding, but still somehow tender and caring.

It was so soothing, so peaceful, so real, that the internal debate faded and Sam trusted it above all else. "I didn't know what to believe."

Dean sighed, letting his hand sift through Sam's hair. He hated how broken Sam sounded, how Sam seemed to be shattered all over the bathroom floor with the mirror. "Leave that to me for now, okay?"

Sam didn't respond, but he didn't move, and Dean didn't let go. He felt the tension in Sam's body dissipate as Sam unconsciously surrendered himself to his brother's care.

Overwhelmed by all that he had been through and by the sudden feeling of being safe, of being secure, of being cared for, Sam fell asleep. His weight shifted until Dean held nearly all of it within his secure embrace. For a moment, Dean relished the sensation, the feeling of being Sam's protector as he had been since Sam was a baby.

His legs, which were curled up underneath him, began to numb, and he gently manuevered until he was sitting, Sam still shielded in his arms. As he repositioned, he felt the glass cutting through his pants, and took a good look at the scene around him.

The bathroom was a mess. He would have a terrible time trying to explain it to the manager, and he knew there would be a hefty fine for the shattered mirror. He'd have to clean up the blood, though, to avoid explanations he didn't feel like fabricating.

He felt his heart skip a beat. It wasn't just blood he had to clean up--it was Sam's blood. It surprised him suddenly just how much of it there was, how it was on the counter, on the toilet, on the walls, on the floor...

And on his hands, his clothes, on him. That wasn't something he would ever get used to, wasn't something he ever wanted to get used to.

He could clean up the bathroom, make it nearly spotless before they left, but he had no idea if he could ever put Sam back together again.

OOOOOOO

Sam had virtually collapsed into bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. He didn't stir even as Dean tended the cuts on his arms and legs.

Dean was gentle and thorough as he wiped antiseptic on all of them and bandaged the worst, taking his time and tending to each gash singularly. When he was done, he pulled the blankets over Sam and sat back, watching.

Sam looked like hell, pale and drawn and blooded. It was both unnerving and gratifying to see Sam asleep--rest had been so elusive for his kid brother that Dean knew that sleep was the only way Sam would physically recover. But he also knew how much Sam's sleep had been plagued recently. And even though the demon was dead, it was already clear that its effects did not die with it, and Dean fretted that Sam may continue to suffer nightmares until Dean had no choice except to take Sam back to the hospital.

Dean let his hand linger on Sam's chest, letting the even rhythm of Sam's heart calm him. His brother's slackened features looked oddly calm, as though for once the sleep was a refuge, and Dean wished more than anything that he could keep it that way.

When he flopped back onto his own bed, the fatigue he had been holding back in his own body nearly overwhelmed him. The last week came rushing back, and the weight of what had been done and almost lost finally caught up with him. He realized it had been days since he himself had slept well, and it was calling to him deeply.

Dean glanced at his brother again. He sighed, then rolled onto his back, his eyes fluttering. The demon may have attacked Sam, but Dean realized suddenly that it had affected him just as profoundly. It had uncovered their fears, given voice to their pains and hurts. It had left nothing sacred and showed that for all their strength, real vulnerability lay just beneath the surface, just waiting to break through.

Dean wanted to forget, wanted to pretend like it hadn't happened, wanted to let sleep erase all the questions, all the issues, all the fears. But he knew it couldn't. What was there in the dark would still be there in the morning. All he could do was help Sam face it.

He didn't want to fall asleep, didn't want to trust the sleep that had already taken Sam under, but the darkness was so alluring, that he could not stop himself from drifting into it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

When Dean next woke, he wasn't sure what day it was.

The sun was out and the room was warm, but Dean could not place how much time had passed.

Turning over, he saw Sam still sleeping on the next bed.

Dean's stomach growled, and he thought about going out to grab some food, bringing something back for Sam. But glancing again at his brother, he remembered everything they'd been through, and couldn't bring himself to leave him.

Instead he took out his father's journal, perusing the pages, waiting for his brother to awaken.

Time seemed to slip by, slowly, until he finally heard something shift beside him. Sure enough, Sam was waking, blinking blearily into the daylight.

As Sam came to full consciousness, Dean saw him search frantically. "Is it here? Is it here?"

Dean was already over by his brother. "No, Sam, hey, calm down. Nothing's here."

Sam seemed to flinch at his words and when he saw Dean's face, he flushed and pulled away. "I...is this a dream?"

Dean wasn't sure what he had expected, but this certainly wasn't the response he had hoped for. "No, this is real now, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "But I remember...I remember the hospital and the demon...and these voices. Always these voices."

"Yeah, it's been a crazy couple of days."

Sam didn't seem to hear him. "I couldn't tell. You told me it wasn't real, but...I couldn't tell."

Dean sensed Sam starting to panic, his expression growing confused and his movements jerky. "Sam--"

"Did I...?" he looked down at his bandaged arms. "Did I do this?" He turned his eyes desperately back to Dean. "This is a dream."

"No," Dean said quickly, grabbing Sam's hand and pulling it to his chest. "Real. Remember?"

Sam still looked panicked, but as his hand felt the beating of his brother's heart, his features calmed somewhat though his brow was still scrunched in confusion. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't all a dream. Was it?"

Dean actually laughed, releasing Sam's hand and sitting back on the edge of the bed. "No, Sammy, unfortunately it wasn't."

"It was...a demon? All of it? The dreams? The things I saw?"

"Yeah, a demon," Dean agreed. He paused before he spoke again, trying to find the words. "But Sam--I think we still need to talk."

"It made me see things. It made me dream. About you. About Jessica."

"Yeah."

"But it wasn't real," Sam said, sounding more confident.

"No. It made you seem crazy..."

"So the hospital...it was real?"

"Yeah," Dean said with an awkward chuckle. "Sorry about that."

"You killed it," Sam concluded as he pieced together the remaining details. "And we're okay now. Right?"

Sam sounded so hopeful, so in need of affirmation, that Dean wanted to give Sam the easy answer. But glossing over things was what had gotten them here in the first place. Dean forced a smile. "Yeah. We're okay." He paused, looking for the words. "I know the demon pushed you, Sam, messed with you. But--the PTSD--"

Sam stiffened visibly, looking away from his brother.

Dean kept his gaze steady on his brother. "It's not all fake. Is it?"

"The demon--"

"The demon made you see things, Sam. It pushed you over the edge, but all of this--it was all still there."

Sam's voice was small. "I'm fine."

"I don't think you're fine."

Sam's eyes searched for anything but his brother's face.

"Sam? Come on. I think we need to deal with this."

"There's nothing to deal with, Dean," Sam insisted, strained and quiet.

"Sam, eight months ago--"

"Was a lifetime ago," Sam finished for him sharply, his eyes flashing as he looked up. "It was a different life."

Dean saw the crack in Sam's facade and his suspicions of Sam's percarious mental state were confirmed. He couldn't back down now. "You can't just forget about it."

"And I can't dwell on it either, can I?"

"Your girlfriend died. You saw her burst into flames. You have to deal with this."

"Dean--"

"We've let this slide long enough--"

Sam shook his head, gritting his teeth, pleadingly. "Dean--"

Dean pushed further, sensing Sam's breaking point. "No more avoiding this--"

And there it was. Sam's composure snapped without warning. "What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?" he asked, his voice like gravel. "That I miss her everyday? That I can still feel her blood on my head? My head? That I see the terror in her eyes when she burned alive and didn't know why? I lied to her and I can never take that back. Everything I hoped for, dreamed for, worked for--everything I left for--and I have nothing to show for it. I betrayed you, I betrayed Dad. I betrayed Jess, and it got me nowhere."

"Sam--" Dean started to protest. He had been waiting for this, but it didn't make it easy to hear.

"What?" Sam exploded. "What comfort is there, Dean? What? There's nothing you can say that will change it, that will make it all right. I did this to myself. I should have known better. But instead I just did what I wanted and you had to save me. Again." Sam's eyes glistened as he met his brother's gaze. "Why do you always have to pull me from the fire? You are always saving me and I'm not worth it. I'm not, I mean--" His head fell and he cradled it in his hands.

"Sam, stop," Dean said. He swallowed thickly. "Yes. You are worth it. And I do it because I have to. Because..." Dean's voice caught. "Because I don't think I could live without you. But for all ways I tried to protect you, I've messed this up more than I can even explain."

"This isn't your problem, Dean. This one isn't about you. I can handle this on my own." Sam's voice grated angrily.

"This is my problem because you're my brother. Don't you get that? We're in this together."

Sam shook his head tightly. "There are some things I need to deal with on my own--"

"Nuh-uh," Dean interrupted. "That one doesn't fly anymore. Not after all of this. Not after what happened. Because that whole don't-ask-don't-tell policy really hasn't gotten us very far. All this time I've been so worried about the next gig and haven't paid attention to what you were feeling or what you'd been through. I never thought about it before, but come on, Sam. You never tell me about college. You never tell me about Jess. It's like you lost four years and neither of us ever acknowledge it."

Sam clenched his teeth and blinked rapidly. "I didn't want to remind you that I left."

Dean gaped. "Sam, you're not the one who should be worried about my emotions. Not after everything you've been through. Not with Jess, the demon, your powers...," Dean trailed off, unable to explore the weight of these issues. "You know it's okay to grieve, don't you? I don't expect you to be a robot about all this."

Sam's lower jaw quivered. "I just--I didn't--I'm--"

Dean watched as his brother tried to pull into himself, and felt the breakdown Sam was desperately keeping at bay. He inched forward. "It's okay, Sammy."

All at once, Sam broke, the events from the last few days and the last eight months culminating inside of him and released in a broken sob. Another sob shook Sam's lean frame, and another, before Dean pulled his brother into his arms.

Sam's brokenness scared him, made him feel weak and afraid, but as Sam trembled in his grasp, falling apart in his arms, he knew this was what Sam needed. He felt the anguish overflowing in Sam, the unspoken despair that lurked beneath his brother's facade realized for in a single instant. He murmured nothingness into Sam's hair, stroking the dark locks, and simply holding on, holding Sam together, his own tears slipping silently down his face as he realized what he'd come so close to losing.

Eight months of pain and guilt couldn't be erased in a single conversation, in one solitary session of grieving. They had spent a lifetime running away from their feelings, and one close encounter wouldn't be enough to undo all the damage already done. But denial and avoidance had nearly cost them everything, and that wasn't a price Dean was willing to pay for his own fear of feeling.

He didn't know how to make Sam better. He didn't know how to make himself better. He didn't know how either of them would ever heal from everything that had happened in their lives. But as he held Sam, his own emotions too raw to be denied, he hoped that this was a start.

Epilogue

There were still two things that Dean knew better than anything else.

The first was still his brother. He felt he probably understood Sam better than he ever had. He still didn't know everything that went on inside Sam's head (and he knew he probably would never want to) but he knew about the emotions Sam tried so often to hide from him.

He knew how his brother hurt, which awakened a new level of protectiveness in Dean that was more pressing than anything else. And he knew that Sam still hurt, that he hadn't magically gotten over Jess or the onset of his powers or the myriad of unexpected ways his life had changed since Dean had first come for him in Palo Alto. But Dean trusted that Sam wouldn't keep it from him anymore.

Sam's color had returned and so had the sharpness in his eyes. The effects of the demon might never truly go away, but Sam was dealing with it, and Dean would be sure he kept on dealing with it.

The other was still his car. When Gene handed him back the keys, he'd nearly felt like crying, so moved to finally be in possession of his baby again that he nearly forgot how the man's incompetence had kept them here so long and cost so much.

But it didn't matter. The credit card wasn't his, and when he turned the key in the ignition, the Impala purred to life.

Dean glanced at his brother, who smiled at him with a shake of his head. Dean grinned back, put on his sunglasses and pulled the car out of the gas station.

"You ready to blow this town, little brother?"

Sam sighed, looking out across town. "You have no idea."

Dean looked out for a moment himself.. "I think I might."

With smooth motions, Dean put the car into gear and pulled the car out onto the street. Soon, New Junction was nothing but a speck in the rearview mirror. Neither Dean nor Sam looked back.

As the highway stretched in front of him, Dean could feel Sam relaxing in the passenger seat, resuming his comfortable place at Dean's side. Dean felt the highway thrumming beneath the tires and tried to settle himself in for the long haul ahead.

He straightened when he thought he heard a noise, straining to be sure that the Impala was truly back to its old self. He almost thought he heard an uncertain pinging in the engine and he turned to Sam to ask the question.

But Sam was looking at the window, and he looked so contented, that Dean could not bring himself to disturb him.

Looking back out at the road, he let himself relax. Maybe he was just being paranoid.

Fin