This idea won't leave me alone. I'm trying to pretend the last few episodes never happened so maybe if I get this out, I can hang out in season 2 again.
First Supernatural fanfiction I've posted, but I've obsessively watched the show and have read hundreds of fics, I'm just lazy and never type out the fanfictions I write.
What I'm saying is if I get something wrong, don't be afraid to yell at me for it I have no excuse.
Dean struck again, and another cry of pain filled the air. The blade brought strength. He was in control and nothing would stand in his way. He struck again, feeling the blade rip through skin and muscle. Felt the resistance of bone as the blade stopped. Felt the power of the blade… and the cry of pain was deeply satisfying.
The blade fell again and Dean growled. He felt strong, the power ran through him. Damn, it felt good. For once, he could fight demons evenly. The feeling of dominance, when they stepped away from him…
Dean heard the voice, but ignored it. He enjoyed the power, enjoyed the feeling. He was in control, and he wouldn't stop just yet. He would decide when to stop.
The blade struck again and the cry sounded. He was in control. He was-
"Please, Dean. Stop. Stop it. Please."
The sudden realization of the name made him pause.
…and something was off about Sam's voice. It was forced, and it trembled, as if speaking was difficult, painful. But more than that; Sam was begging. Sam never begged.
Dean tried to obey; clearly this was important to Sam. He tried to drop the blade, but his hand barely reacted. He felt the power shift, resisting him now. A big part of him didn't want to stop. So Dean fought, hand shaking, trying to let the blade fall to the floor. He held it further from himself, until it was at arms length. Finally, his fingers relaxed and it slipped from his hand.
Dean breathed heavily, expecting to hear Sam say something.
No words came, and he tried clearing his head. He blinked a few times and his heart froze when he finally noticed what he was seeing.
His hands were covered in blood; his clothes soaked deep red. Specks of blood spotted his arms and he felt the flecks on his face and neck… and there, right beneath him… was Sam.
Dean was holding him down. One knee on his torso, the other restraining Sam's left arm. Sam didn't seem to be fighting back… at least not anymore. Multiple stab wounds decorated Sam's body. His shirt soaked in blood, the original color left to imagination. Defensive wounds bled on his arms and hands.
The worst part was that Sam wasn't moving. Only the sound of Sam's breathing proved he was even still alive.
"…Sammy?" Dean's voice shook so bad he barely got the word out. He glanced at the blade covered in blood. Sam's blood.
And then it hit him; it had been Sam beneath his hand.
He'd done this.
"No." What have I done?
Dean moved off Sam. His legs wouldn't take his weight enough to stand. He was supposed to protect Sam. That was his job, the only thing that was ever important… and he'd done this. He even enjoyed it.
"No. No." Dead desperately tried to deny it. To hope it was some vicious nightmare, but the feel and smell of blood was all too clear.
Dean moved towards Sam's head, "Sammy? I… I'm…" I'm what? Sorry? I'm sorry?
He had no right to apologize. Apologies ask for forgiveness, something Dean didn't deserve. But, the words come out anyways.
"I'm sorry Sam." Before he realizes what's happening, tears are falling down his face. The guilt hits fast and suddenly, making Dean feel sick, the tears fall faster.
Dean reaches out to touch Sam's face and stops halfway, seeing his blood-stained hands, and its just too much. His hands shake, and Dean can't bring himself to touch Sam. Not after this.
That's when the memories hit. Dean remembers Sam's cries of pain. He remembers attacking Sam. Sam fought back but refused to inflict any real damage to Dean. He remembers grabbing Sam and throwing him to the ground. He remembered the first strike, Sam's hands around Dean's wrist, telling him to stop. He remembers Sam grabbing the blade, trying to stop it from ripping through him again. Dean had pulled the blade away, and restrained Sam's arms, one with his knee, the other with his free hand. He remembers when Sam couldn't fight anymore, and just begged him to stop.
Dean snaps out of it, pulling himself back to the moment, and moves to try to stop the bleeding on a wound terrifyingly close to Sam's heart. There are too many wounds to tend to all at once. The fact Sam wasn't coughing was almost as concerning as the wound, or even blood loss. The blade tore through both lungs at least once.
There was no answer. Just the sound of Sam struggling to breathe, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Sam." Dean shook his shoulders, trying to get a response, any response. "Sam! Answer me!"
After a few seconds, Dean realized… the harsh breathing was his own breath, not Sam's.
Sam was dead.
Dean killed him, killed his own brother.
and as a final stroke of cruelty, Dean heard his father's voice.
"Watch out for Sammy."
Oh no. I didn't mean to do that… No this hurts… Ow… Why'd I write this?