Chapter Text
Dean honestly had no freakin’ clue what he was now. He knew he definitely wasn't human, or at least he was more than just that. He could heal way faster than normal or any other monster he'd come across before. When Bobby had stabbed him, he thought he was a goner for sure. The man stabbed him right in the heart and yet…yet he was fine. He'd healed it. There had been one moment when his heart hadn't been beating but then it was normal again. He could feel it and hear it. It was back to pumping blood, like nothing ever happened.
What monster could do that, could heal itself from something that would normally be fatal? Even skinwalkers died when you shot it in the heart. He remembered that chapter in his life. After all, it wasn't every day he got a chance to shoot himself. Fun times. Couldn't stick around to see his own funeral though.
“How are you feeling, Dean?” Sam asked as he sat down next to him.
It was weird seeing his brother again. After spending so long in hell he'd almost given up that he'd ever see Sam again. Yet here he was. Even weirder still, the look of concern on Sam's face. He wasn't used to being the center of moments like this. Vulnerability wasn't something he liked to show but Dean wasn't exactly at one hundred, his careful mask of indifference cracked just enough for Sam to get a glimpse of what lay underneath and he didn't seem to like what he saw there.
“I'm fine,” Dean told him with a rueful smile.
Sam rolled his eyes. His expression saying, ‘I don't believe you but I'll humor you nonetheless.’ He said instead, “Sure, Dean.”
Then with such great (not) timing, Dean's stomach decided to announce itself and let out a loud growl. Sam simply looked at him as Dean sighed and said, “I guess I could eat.”
Bobby decided they all could use a little food and made them some lunch. It was like a pretty damn good BLT, although glancing over at Sam's, he'd disgraced Bobby's sandwich with ungodly amounts of veggies.
“Dude, you don't need all that crap,” Dean complained as he took the last bite of his own sandwich and moved on to a second.
“If it bothers you so much, you don't have to keep looking,” Sam said, continuing to pile on more.
Dean ignored his brother and continued to point out all the wrong things he was adding.
-
Bobby rolled his eyes at the brothers’s antics. Dean hadn't been back for more than a couple days now and already things were back to the way they used to be, the brothers bantering good naturedly and driving Bobby up a wall. But…he missed this.
The place had been hella lonely when Dean died. Sam hadn't taken his brother's death too well. Hell, Bobby hadn't either. Since they'd buried Dean, he hadn't taken many cases on his own. He'd been cooped up in this small, poor excuse for a house, having a pity party, drinking way too much just to try and numb the pain of losing more family. He had occasional visitors, like Sam, ‘til he decided to take off not even a week in.
“Where you going, boy?” Bobby had asked, catching Sam trying to sneak out the back.
Sam froze for a moment. He looked hella guilty of something. “Hey, Bobby,” he acknowledged quietly. “Got wind of a hunt,” he said when Bobby just crossed his arms, clearly waiting for more.
“Oh yeah? Where at?” Bobby asked.
“A little ways west,” Sam said but didn't elaborate.
“And…?”
“And nothing, Bobby. Should be a milk run. I'll be back in a few days, maybe a week tops. I promise,” Sam said.
He didn't come back. Didn't even call or text and when Bobby got worried and tried to trace his phone, all he got was a damn ‘this phone is out of service' message.
What a goddamn liar.
The kid still wouldn't really talk about where he had been this whole time either. Go figure with the Winchesters. Getting a damn answer on anything from any of them was like prying teeth out.
Once they found Dean, he decided to drop the matter. For now. When it came to the Winchesters, you had to pick your battles carefully. And anyway, they had more pressing concerns with Dean. It wasn't like it was every day that a man who sold his soul for his brother decided to just waltz out of hell after all. And not to mention coming out with healing abilities greater than most monsters? Yeah, that definitely warranted top priority on the ever growing list of priorities.
Why the hell couldn't anything to do with the Winchesters ever be simple?
As Dean would probably say, “Where's the fun in that, Bobby?”
-
“You guys really think I'm some kinda psychic? That's not my thing, remember? Sammy over there is the only psychic in this family,” Dean said with a shake of his head.
“Just think about it for a second, Dean,” Sam insisted, clearly not going to give up so quickly. “We know I’m a psychic but remember…it didn’t actually ‘awaken’ until a while later and that was after I was given demon blood.” He didn’t miss the shudder at the end. Not that Dean blamed him. Who wanted to be fed demon blood as a baby? It still made him angry that the same creep demon that killed their mom had dripped demon blood into Sam.
“It’s not the same thing,” he tried to argue, realizing where Sam was going with this.
Sam shook his head. “It is. Just look, say the demon blood is my, uh, trigger. Then hell is yours,” his brother said.
Damn it. He hated when his brother got like this. He was just so stubborn, like a dog with a bone. He wished Sam was right but there was much more going on with him than simply being a latent psychic.
Sighing, Dean said, “It really isn’t.”
“Why’s that, Dean? Do you know how you got your powers? It’s plausible, isn’t it? No one’s ever been out of hell,” Sam said, getting a little heated now that Dean wasn’t bending even slightly.
Dean just stared at his brother. He didn’t know what he was exactly but it wasn’t a psychic. That much he was certain. But he couldn’t exactly tell them. They’d freak out again and probably decide to stick him back into the bunker or panic room, whatever it was that Bobby called it. He didn’t really want to stay down there longer. It was cold and lonely but he’d understand their concern, maybe even their fear. It was the hunter life, right? Dad taught them that monsters weren’t the good guys, couldn’t be.
And now…Dean was a monster, wasn’t he?
That was what he was.
But…couldn’t he be a good guy?
He didn’t feel any different, didn’t have any strange urges to go on a rampage, to kill people, to eat people. Nothing of the sort. But if he wasn’t human, if he wasn’t even just a little freakish like his brother with psychic abilities…that made him a monster.
“Just, can we leave it tonight?” Dean asked. Can you please just drop it? Sam looked ready to argue, so Dean went to add, “Just take my word for it, okay? I don’t know where my powers came from but I know that I’m not psychic.” I’m not like you.
Sam looked back at him, searching his face for something. Dean wasn’t sure what. A chink in his already deteriorating armor? Whatever it was, Dean had no clue if he found what he was looking for. He just sighed and settled back on the couch and thankfully he dropped it. He said quietly, “Yeah, okay.”
Relieved, Dean went to grab the remote. “Anyways, I was thinking we could watch some Star Wars tonight. It’s been a good while since I watched anything, you know.”
Sam rolled his eyes as he scooted over to make room for Dean to sit next to him. “Dude, it’s been only what…four months since you died?”
“Try forty years,” Dean said quietly before flipping the TV on before his brother could respond.
-
A little into the second movie, Sam noticed his brother nodding off. He managed a small little smile, realizing just how much he really missed his brother. God. The last four months sure felt like hell (obviously not actual hell). He didn’t want to disturb his brother’s sleep but the little aches and pulls and need for blood was getting bad tonight.
Fuck Ruby and her little rules. He didn’t care anymore.
He had to make that call tonight.
After turning the TV off, he managed to get up and out of the room without waking Dean. Bobby was still caught up making some phone calls, talking to a couple hunter friends he knew about the surge in demon activity and if Sam was in his right mind, he’d offer to help but right now he was just glad his family was too distracted to notice him slip out, ignoring the little pang of guilt.
-
“I haven’t heard from you in over a week. Did you manage to find him?” Ruby asked. She was laying on the bed in just a tank top and shorts.
Sam sighed, not wanting to discuss Dean with the demon. He needed the blood, her blood. It has been over two weeks since his last hit and she was still holding back, keeping him on a leash. He hated how desperate he’d become. She’d call and he’d come running.
“Can we talk about my brother later?” he asked, though deep down he knew she wasn’t going to give up.
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t back off. “Come on, Ruby, you said you’d give me the blood,” Sam tried. He went over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers twitching to touch just an inch of her skin. He tried not to think about how much sway she had on him but that glint in her eyes, the way she looked at him, that smirk…she knew exactly how she made him feel. Like a fucking addict waiting for his next fix, Sam couldn’t freaking take it anymore and found himself pinning her down on the bed. “You’re giving it to me or I’m just going to take it,” he threatened.
Ruby smirked, her eyes flashing black for just a brief second, “Maybe that’s what I’ve been counting on. Now come on, big boy, show me that you’re more than just bark.”