Door closed. Keys in pocket. Duffel bag dropped. Cover-our-scent-so-demons-Lucifer-angels-all-commers-can't-find-us hex bags distributed around the room. Turn around. Sam still standing behind me.

"You okay Sammy?" I ask him. His features are tight, in the expression that says he is thinking about something, chewing on it hard, like a dog with a new chew toy. I can imagine what it is, but I will never know what is going on in his head anymore, sometimes I wonder if I ever did. I thought I knew my brother, thought I understood him, but he's changed, changed in ways that I can't even comprehend. Guess that's what losing your family does to a guy. Hell I bought a one way ticket to the hot box because I'd lost him.

"Fine." He says flatly. I don't trust that tone. To be honest I don't trust him anymore. He apologized right before Lucifer burst from his cage, but even that is suspect.

"You sure Sammy?"

"Sure. I just need a bath." I nod and he slowly, almost painfully, walked towards the bathroom door and clicks it shut. I wait, listening for the water, then the shower curtain, and when it has been drawn, I open the bathroom door just a touch. I want to know what he's doing at all times now. I don't' trust that he's not going to get on the phone and call a demon and have them come pick him up and take him to his new master.

Sitting on the bed, I watch the bathroom door, it has been years since I have done this. The last time was right after Jessica died, and he was slightly on the suicidal side. Granted it had only lasted for a few days that time, but still, I sat on a bed, very much like this one, and I kept the bathroom door open a crack and listened for him and waited patiently for him to get out of the shower, I had to make sure that my baby brother would be okay, that he wouldn't hurt himself. Now, I guess I'm still in that same boat. I'm watching him to make sure he doesn't' hurt himself, make sure that he doesn't go off with the things that made him their bitch for over a year.


I was a demon's bitch, prostitute, and drug addict for a year. I went against everything that was me, I went against my nature, my family, my friends, everything that made me, me and I did her bidding, I freaking raised Lucifer from his cage because I was too stupid, to revenge driven to see it for what it really was. Dean was right, hell Chuck was right, Pamela was right…the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Who the hell am I now?

Who was I before?

I was a hunter.

I was a brother.

I was kind.

"Sammy? You drowning in there?" I sigh.

I was trustworthy.

"I'm okay Dean." I call. Dean only asks me what I'm doing in the shower when he doesn't trust that I'm going to come back out in one piece. He did this same thing when we were kids and I'd have a huge fight with Dad, or when we just started hunting together again and he thought I might kill myself because of Jessica. Then, I wouldn't have considered killing myself, sleeping myself into oblivion, maybe, but not death. Now, however, Dean may be onto something. I know Dean keeps Dad's antique straight razor, a family heirloom, in his shaving kit. I know it. And, right now, I'm thinking that the world might be a little better off without Sam Winchester, bringer of the apocalypse. Oh My God. What have I allowed to happen? What happened to me? When did I get like this?

"Sammy? You okay in there? Sammy?" Dean is closer, he's probably inside the bathroom and just at step away from pulling the curtain back and checking me over.

"I'm okay." My voice sounds weak even to me. Shame is laced through those words. I'm not fine. I'm never going to be fine ever again. I don't deserve to be. I am the worst kind of man—I'm a liar, I'm an addict, and I'm….

"Sammy. Come on out. You need sleep." His voice is concerned, tinged with true fear, but even underneath all of that, I can still hear the man who has loved me all of my life, who has done everything he knows how, to help me make the right decisions in life, and to be the best man I can be. And here I am, less than 12 hours after helping Lucifer break free of his cage, standing in the bathroom shower stall trying to was away my sins. And outside of the room is a man who I beat, choked, left alone and defenseless on the ground, called weak, emasculated, and practically spit on, and he is trying to make sure that I'm okay, that I will be okay, that I won't kill myself, because he still wants me around. How do I still deserve that?

I'm a liar, I'm an addict, and I'm loved. I don't deserve to be loved I don't deserve redemption, I don't deserve forgiveness, yet outside that door is someone who is willing to give me all of that and more. And that is my greatest shame.

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