Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. If I did, well... Sam and Dean would probably be a lot more angsty than they are right now. And that's saying something... cause they are extremely emo.
Author's Note: Well... there is something about this sixth season that both irkes me and makes me want to write. I really, really do not like Sam. Or Dean. Or really anyone at this moment. Except for maybe Crawley... cause he's Scottish and that's just plain cool. But anyway. I have decided that because of my dislike, I am going to write about it and maybe try to fix some of it in my own way.
Author's Note 2: The theme of my one-shots this month seems to be Sam is NOT Sam. Which kind of refelcts everyone else's too. And the theme of the show. So it's all good. Just wanted to let you know more or less what the rest of my stories concerning Supernatural one-shots are going to be.
Author's Note 3: I may or may not turn this into something more in the future. I haven't decided yet.
Warning: This does contain spoilers for 6x07... but it's only what's in the preview. So if you've seen that, then you're golden. If you haven't, I'd advise going to watch that before reading this. It also contains spoilers for 6x06... but you might want to actually watch that before reading this if you haven't already done so.
The Ugly Truth
Sam wasn't human. Or at least, not entirely.
Not that Dean couldn't have guessed that after the past few months. But damn it, he really wanted to believe that Sam was Sam, only just messed up a little bit.
Dean took another swig of his beer, gazing at the bed where Sam was unconscious and tied up. Drying blood was crusted on Sam's face and one of his eyes was swollen. Dean couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty for putting it there.
His phone rang. It was more than likely Bobby, calling to tell Dean that he couldn't find anything on what the stupid goddess of truth meant. Or Lisa, calling to bitch at him some more about how unhealthy his relationship was with Sam. Well, screw her. She didn't even begin to understand what Sam and Dean had been through.
What they were still going through.
Dean placed his beer down on the table and glanced at the clock. He sighed. Castiel was more than an hour late.
"Damn angels," Dean muttered as he got off the chair and walked cautiously over to Sam.
He felt like a moron, creeping around his little brother like this. Especially after he had beaten said little brother to a bloody pulp. Dean was fairly certain that Sam deserved the beating… but he still felt slightly guilty about when he did it. Sam had been asking for help after all. And Dean had been a bastard.
But he really didn't care that much anymore. He was sick of the lies. He had had enough of them over the past few months. Lisa, telling him that things could work out. Sam, telling him over and over again that his little brother was fine. That Sam had his back. Castiel… Dean wasn't even going to think about that particular one.
There was a flurry of wings behind Dean. He didn't have to turn to know that Castiel was directly behind him with a grave expression on his face.
"It's about damn time you came," Dean growled. "What took you so long?"
"I had to come," Castiel hesitated, "prepared. I was not sure what I would find in your brother."
"Well, are you?" Dean prompted. "Prepared?"
"Yes," Castiel said simply. "We need your bro—Sam to be conscious for this."
Dean glared at him. He really did not want to wake the sleeping what-could-be monster with Sam's face.
"You do not have to be present for this," Castiel said. "It will be… unpleasant."
"I don't care," Dean growled. "I asked for answers. I'm going to get them."
Castiel didn't say anything. He merely watched as Dean grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over Sam's bruised face.
"What—Dean? What the hell is going on?" Sam demanded, his hazel eyes wide with surprise, fear, and suspicion.
Dean hated that look. Because it was so utterly Sammy. And the person in front of him, whatever it was, was not Sam. At least, not entirely.
Dean didn't say anything. He didn't trust himself to speak. Because if he did, he would probably end up getting pissed off again and punching Sam back into unconsciousness.
His fingers clenched as he nodded once toward the angel. Sam's face fell.
"Sam," Castiel said. "Your brother has asked me to find out what is wrong with you."
"I figured," Sam muttered. He sighed, throwing a saddened glance toward Dean. "I'm sorry. For everything."
And damn it, if that wasn't the Sam Dean remembered.
It's not, Dean told himself firmly.
"He needs to be in a chair for this," Castiel said as Dean completely avoided looking at Sam.
"Kinky bastard," Sam muttered as Dean roughly grabbed Sam's arms and pulled him to one of the chairs.
Dean forced himself not to respond as he retied Sam's bonds to the chair.
"I'm not going to run away, you know," Sam said. "You don't have to do this."
"It would be best for you if Dean left the bonds where they are," Castiel said. "This will be painful."
Sam looked more resigned than anything else. Dean remembered his—Sam's words from earlier. Nothing scares me anymore.
"Bring it on," Sam said.
And he sounded so much like a younger version of Dean that it was scary.
"I would advise putting this in your mouth," Castiel said, drawing a strip of leather from nowhere. "So you have something to bite down on."
Dean didn't miss the slight paling of Sam's face as he did as he was instructed.
So something does scare you, Dean thought.
The next few minutes were some of the worst of Dean's life. He knew, more or less, what was going to happen when Castiel shot him a grave look and said, "Do not stop me" before digging his hand into Sam's chest.
It didn't make it any less horrible to watch. Or to listen to.
Sam screamed. Loudly. It was a terrible scream, one that made Dean's thoughts and memories instantly wander back to the four months (forty years) he spent in Hell. Because that was the only other place he had heard such a scream.
Castiel twisted his hand inside of Sam, bringing on a fresh load of screams. Dean was forced to turn away from the two, unable to watch, but powerless to leave.
The screams eventually faded away into a pained whimper as Castiel pulled his hand out of Sam's chest. Dean closed his eyes, clenching his teeth and hands together. He fucking hated this.
"Well?" he asked. Was his voice really that hoarse?
"I have found the answer," Castiel said gravely.
"And?" Dean demanded, slowly turning around to face Castiel. And Sam.
He really wish he hadn't.
Sam looked completely and utterly defeated. His head was hung, his chin nearly touching his chest. His face was bloody and bruised. One eye was completely swollen shut and the other stared out at Dean with a mixture of anger and heart brokenness.
Dean hated that look. And he hated Castiel's look of impassion too. He hated this whole damn fucked up situation.
"His soul is gone," Castiel said gravely.