Pain, that was a funny thing. All his life he had been feeling pain. A scrape there, a bruise here, a few cuts along the way, and of course the broken bones and torn ligaments. Invisible and faded scars criss-crossed his body. He had even been through Hell and back, for crying out loud. Then there was the emotional pain. Losing his mother wasn't too terribly bad since he could barely remember her. His father's death was more profound and the belief that he had been sent to Hell was agonizing. In time, he had come to terms with that loss. Then his brother had died. That prompted him to make his deal. There had been nothing worse than facing life without his little brother by his side. A year passed and he was killed in a rather excruciating fashion. Then he was tormented in the pit for four months. Rather, forty years in Hell time measurement. All of the things he had been dragged kicking and screaming through did not amount to him willingly inflicting the same on others. Those ten years haunted him every day of his life since he had been pulled out of Hell. Day and night he could hear the screams of millions around him in the epitome of terror. His newest victim's screams the loudest of all of them as he tore their flesh apart again and again. All of those deeds in the pit had caused trauma upon his mind and he knew fully well that it was probably going to bite him on the ass one day. Maybe he didn't have that kind of time to experience that karma vengeance. His time was quickly running out. He didn't have time to mourn all the dead people he used to love. If he wasn't careful, he was about to join them.

"Please," Dean Winchester pleaded, struggling at his bonds, "don't do this. Don't you care about me?"

Dean looked up at his captor's twisted, malicious face. He stared desperately into the dark black eyes trying to find the trace of the man he used to know. There had to be a sign that the man he had loved was still in there. Hopeless realization told him that if Sam Winchester was still there, he wouldn't have unleashed the demons. Dean's death wasn't going to bring back the old Sam. He was already gone.

"I do care about you, Dean," Sam's voice sounded hurt, "You just don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" Dean ventured to ask, "Why you're Hell-bent on destroying everything?"

"No, you pretty much got that already," Sam said sarcastically, leaning over him. Dean stayed completely still in the chair he was tied to. Sam ran a hand through Dean's hair sending chills down Dean's spine. Sam straightened back up to full height and loomed over Dean once more. All that did was make him feel ever more small and insignificant.

"Dean, I'm almost disappointed in you," Sam shook his head sadly, "You should realize I'm just living up to my full potential. You should be proud!"

"Proud?" Dean didn't believe his ears.

"Yeah," Sam nodded as if it was obvious, "you really should be. I've far surpassed any expectation possible. I've done all of this for you, Dean. I wanted to make you proud. I know you don't particularly like the methods I've used, but-"

"But I already was proud of you!" protested Dean.

"You had a funny way of showing it then," Sam muttered moodily.

"Just tell me one thing," Dean insisted, "When did all of this start? I can't even remember. Was it because of Ruby?"

"No, no, no, it wasn't Ruby," laughed Sam coldly, "It was that night that we had the argument about my powers after the first time I saved your life with them."

Dean remembered that night. He remembered it clearly. It was as clear as yesterday. Bad example, yesterday he had been drugged by Sam's goonies. That wasn't the point though.

They had been on a hunt. They were taking out run-of-the-mill demons working for Lillith, it was supposed to be easy. However, one had had the guts to pull a sneak-attack on Dean. If Sam hadn't exorcised the demon, Dean would've been dead. Afterward, they had an argument about Sam's power and their usage. Sam had told him then and there that either Dean killed him on the spot or he would continue using his 'gift'. Needless to say, Dean hadn't. Definitely a regrettable mistake in the eyes of the world and its inhabitants.

"Oh," was all Dean could say.

"Dean," Sam said softly, "I know you can't fathom it right now, but I'm doing this for your betterment."

'I hope you're in a better place, Sammy,' Dean thought, drowing Sam out, 'because you shouldn't see this if you're still trapped in your body. This is not your fault, it's mine.'

"Just think about it Dean," Sam continued, "everything will be better and you'll see. You'll thank me for this."

Dean lowered his head in defiance. Pain, physical or emotional, meant nothing to him. No torture or breaking could change him. He was already broken. As for torture, it would be eternal. He, Dean Winchester, had destroyed the world. Even in death, in the afterlife, he would still know that billions of people were either dead or living in fear because of him. All because he couldn't kill his little brother. What more, Dean's personal damnation could be filmed and photographed. It was the look in Sam's eyes that had brought him to this place of eternal damnation. The angels must have lost or this wouldn't be happening.

Sam must have taken Dean's non-response as a clue, since he stopped spouting his pep talk and turned.

"Untie him, bring him food, and if he doesn't sleep, make him take some sleeping pills," Sam told the guards that had been flanking him during the whole session, "Nobody comes in and nobody touches him unless they're giving him the sleeping pills, understand?"

Both goons nodded to Sam's satisfaction.

Then, before the guards untied Dean, Sam hastened to come to his side.

"I love you, big brother," Sam kissed the top of Dean's he strode from the room without a glance.


AN: Should I continue?