Chapter Text
It is never good to wake up strapped to a table with no recollection as to how you got there, but this was the situation in which Sam Winchester found himself.
“Dean!” He called, because if he was scared and confused, Dean was always there.
“Right here Sammy,” Dean’s voice said. His voice echoed and sounded empty.
“Dean…?” Sam repeated, but unsure this time. Dean sounded… different. He couldn’t place it; Sam couldn’t tell what was off about his brother’s voice, but it was sharper, less full, and less warm.
It was his hands that Sam saw first. The whole room was dark, but as Dean stepped closer, Sam could see his hands reaching for a tray that was beside the table on which Sam was strapped. Why was Dean…?
He didn’t know where he assumed Dean’s voice had been coming from, but he thought maybe his brother had been strapped as well down onto a table? But as Dean picked up the various… instruments on the table, twirling them in his fingers so skillfully, so eagerly, Sam knew that he could have pictured Dean being in any number of roles in this situation. But not this.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice shook, “Dean what are you doing?”
Dean’s head rose slowly, his eyes holding no compassion, “Why don’t you guess, Sammy?”
That name. Sammy. The way his name thickly oozed off his brother’s – no, it couldn’t be his brother – tongue was chilling and mocking, not fond or comforting. Not at all.
Dean picked up a long, jagged knife and ran the back of it, the un-sharp but cool metal slowly across Sam’s bare chest. The younger Winchester flinched.
“You’re not Dean,” Sam breathed out.
“Guess again.” Dean turned so he was fully facing Sam, and careful to make sure his brother was watching, Dean’s eyes slowly slid closed, coming open with a dull click to reveal dark obsidian depths.
Demon.
“Get the hell out of my brother!” Sam exclaimed, pulling towards Dean against his restraints.
“Oh you see… I am Dean. Nobody in here but me, Sammy. Hell changes a man, you know?” He really didn’t have to keep them black this long, but Dean wanted to. He kept staring at his helpless brother whose gut was slowly dropping, making way for a cold, sinking empty feeling of no, no, no, no, no, no.
“I…”
“Don’t say a word.” Dean ran the blade upwards to Sam’s throat, then down again to his chest, pressing it lightly so the jagged barbs just caught on Sam’s flesh.
“Stop,” Sam said in a mixture of begging (already) and commanding.
“Not gonna happen,” Dean sneered.
Dean – a demon. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. Sam tried to tilt his head, catch a glimpse of his brother’s eyes, hoping they would fade back to their normal green. They didn’t. All they did was go on and on, forever in their endless black. No, Sam thought.
Dean raised his eyebrows in a taunt before plunging the knife down into Sam’s ribcage. Sam screamed.
The scream transferred over to the real world as only a small whimper in the night, but it was enough to wake Dean, who hadn’t been able to sleep well since the beginning of the year, since he started his slow journey to Hell. Sam was tossing in his sleep, murmuring Dean with various intones of worry and fear.
Dean pushed back the covers and made his way to Sam’s bed, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Sam,” he whispered, “Sam, wake up.”
Sam’s eyes flashed open with a startled sharp intake of breath. He looked around wildly before his eyes settled on Dean and he scrambled back for half a second before Dean lunged forward and grabbed him, keeping him from falling off the bed.
“Get away!” Sam hoarsely commanded, pushing away Dean’s arms, “You’re not Dean!”
“Sam?” Dean was worried now. He didn’t know of Sam’s death-visions were back or if it was just a nightmare or what, but Sam seemed pretty freaked out.
“You’re not…” Sam’s breath was coming out in gasping breaths as he looked around the room again, realizing he was actually in their motel room and not a torture chamber.
“Sammy?” Dean tried. It should have freaked Sam out, but it comforted him. It was all in the tone, the way the name was said. Sam all but leapt forward, flinging himself into Dean like a four year old. He passionately didn’t care.
“Dean.” Sam shuddered, just holding his older brother for all he was worth, needing to feel Dean’s safety right next to him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”
Dean, confused, maneuvered them both so they were sitting on the bed. He hadn’t done this since Sam was little, but surprisingly it was easy to fall back into old routines.
“It’s okay Sammy,” Dean said, “It’s okay.”
Sam buried himself in the warmth, in the realness of Dean; still breathing heavily, his heart beating fast from the memories of the Dean’s jagged knife hooking into his skin. Finally, Sam stopped shaking and looked up, seemingly just a tad embarrassed,
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, composing himself just enough to make it sound like an actual apology and not a delirious mantra, “You probably need to sleep… Sorry I woke you up…”
“It’s alright Sammy,” Dean said, “You had a nightmare. It’s part of the job.”
Sam loosened his arms around his brother but didn’t move any farther away.
“Tell me about it,” Dean said. He didn’t ask if Sam wanted to talk about it, he didn’t request a description. He just made a statement, a command. It was Dean’s style, and it was the same way he asked since a long time ago when Sam woke up in a cold sweat in the same bed as Dean with John absent from their motel room.
“You…” Sam’s voice was slowly moving back to normal, “You were a demon.” He sighed raggedly and cleared his throat, “You had me… strapped down to a table.”
A chill ran over Dean. He realized absently that his hand had somehow twined its way into his brother’s hair.
“You had a knife. And you… you tortured me.” Sam furrowed his brows and his head titled up to meet his older brother’s gaze, question and just a hint of hidden fear behind his eyes. His heartbeat was still slightly jumpy.
“I wouldn’t do that to you Sam,” Dean said unnecessarily just for something to say, “I would never.”
“I know.” Sam lowered his head and leaned it against Dean’s lower arm, “I think it… was just the fact that you were the demon, you know? It’s just… you.”
He didn’t have to say more, Dean knew what he meant. Demons were the nightmares, but as long as Sam and Dean were there to fight them, nightmares weren’t as scary. To have Dean be the nightmare…
“Yeah, I get it Sammy.”
Sam stayed silent and Dean said nothing, just stayed there. Dean looked down after an undefined period of time and realized Sam had fallen asleep again, his eyes closed innocently and his head leaned against Dean. The older Winchester continued to stroke Sam’s hair and sat up against the headboard, just listening to the sound of Sam’s breathing until he eventually drifted off too.