To be honest, Dean had lost his bearings a long time ago. He felt like he’d been running through these tunnels for hours, taking a turn after a turn, trying to keep up with the directions in his mind to avoid running in circles. But he wasn’t getting anywhere.
”Son of a bitch!” He swore as he skidded around yet another corner and fell to his knees as his boots slipped on the damp floor. He paused and leaned his shoulder against the wall for a moment, trying to catch his breath.
”Why the hell did you do this, Sam?” He muttered under his breath. ”Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve figured something out.”
Dean really thought the issue had been sorted out. He’d believed it when Sam had said he was clean, that he’d finally gotten rid of his demon blood habit. He’d chosen to believe it despite the silent nagging somewhere in the back of his mind, despite the small voice asking why Sam still hid things from him if he was clean. But he’d ruthlessly stomped on it, ignored it until he could give Sam an open smile and a pat on the back. ”Good to have you back, Sammy,” he’d said, and it had all been good.
Except that it hadn’t.
And now he was trapped in a subterranean tunnel compound in Bumfuck Nowhere, looking for Sam.
Of course.
Hindsight was 20/20 and, sure, now he could say he should’ve recognized the defeated look in Sam’s eyes, the dark glint that tried to hide behind easy smiles and brotherly bickering. He should have because it was the same look that stared him in the eye every time he looked himself in the mirror.
How the hell had he been so blind?
After weeks of silence, of waiting something—anything—to happen, he’d gotten a call.
”Dean?” Sam’s tinny voice over the static had asked. ”Dean, is that you?”
”Yeah, Sammy, it’s me,” he’d choked out, gripping the phone with white knuckles.
”Dean, I can’t—I need you to—” Sam’s voice had broken into a pained whimper.
”Sam? Sammy! What do you need?”
”Dean, please, help!”
”Sammy? Sam, talk to me!” Dean had shouted, like his yelling could lend Sam some strength.
Sam had managed to reveal his location before he’d started screaming, and Dean had made up his mind even before the call had abruptly ended.
He was going after Sam. He was going to save his brother.
Because what other choice did he actually have?
Dean heaved a sigh, scrubbed a hand across his face, and pushed himself to stand up. He needed to keep on going. Stopping meant giving up and giving up wasn’t an option.
It was never an option.
Sam needed him.
His footsteps echoed in the dark tunnel and bounced oddly off the walls. Sometimes, it sounded almost like someone was following him but he never saw anyone no matter how many times he checked. But still, he stopped and turned his head, trying to listen to the darkness behind him, but was empty.
Of course was empty.
He huffed and shook his head as he turned to face the tunnel in front of him and—
”Hello, Dean.”
The man standing in front of him was wearing his brother but even without the black eyes, the difference was glaringly obvious. Sam never held himself preternaturally still, never had a cruel smirk on his face, never looked at Dean like he was a bug under a microscope.
”You sick son of a bitch,” Dean growled. ”Did you enjoy it, making him call me and—”
The demon sighed. ”Dean, Dean, Dean…What makes you think he did anything?” When Dean didn’t answer, he tilted his head. ”Please, Dean! Help!” He cried while the smirk on his face stayed the same.
It was chilling, watching the cruelty ripple along Sam’s familiar features, and Dean couldn’t, he just couldn’t—
”Stop,” he said hoarsely.
The demon threw his head back and laughed. ”Oh, you stupid Winchesters. Always ready to jump when the other gets hurt, no matter how foolish it is. You never learn, do you?”
”Why don’t you just shut your mouth,” Dean spat.
”Why don’t you make me,” the demon mocked. ”Oh, right, you can’t.”
His lips drawn into a silent snarl, Dean took out the demon-killing knife. ”Wanna bet on that?” He asked, pressing the blade into the hollow just under Sam’s—the demon’s—Adam’s apple.
He realized his mistake a split second too late when the demon grinned and gripped his hand, pushing it slowly forward until it pierced the skin.
”No! Sammy!” Dean yelled, trying to yank the knife back but the demon was way too strong.
”Azazel’s family sends their regards,” he whispered as he pushed the blade home and the sickly, orange fire started cracking through his body.
Dean saw none of it because right there, in front of his eyes, the endless black void bled away from Sam’s eyes, leaving behind nothing but Sam’s terrified gaze.