Contains dialogue from the episode 'The Rapture', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Jeremy Carver.

Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)

"You found anything else?" Dean asks, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes to stop the headache that's threatening behind his eyes from too many hours staring at a computer screen.

Sam sighs and pushes the book he was buried in a few inches away on the table. "Nothin'. There's gotta be more than one of 'em, man. This thing was rippin' Sabrina Feist apart just before 6:30, and then like ten minutes later it's killing Darcy Ulrey all the way across town? I know Shifters are quick but there's no way it's that fast, even if it's taking the sewers. It has to be a team."

Dean nods. He heard what Sam said but he's too tired to deal with it at the moment. They've been at this for two days straight. "Think I'm gonna call it a night, I'm beat. We can pick up in the morning."

"Yeah. Me too." Sam stands up, pushing his hair off his forehead, and starts to make his way to towards the bathroom. He stops halfway there and turns around, a small, shy smile on his face. "M'gonna shower, you, uh, wanna come with?"

Dean grins. "You gotta ask?"

Sam shrugs a little and then he continues into the bathroom, and Dean jumps up out of his chair and follows him, suddenly not tired at all.

Things have been better between them the last week or so. Not perfect, not back to how it was before Dean went to Hell, but better than it's been in months. He's still itching to know about what Sam was doing with Ruby, exactly how she was helping him hone his abilities, but he's mostly stopped asking because every time he does Sam just insists Dean doesn't need to know and honestly, as much as Dean hates not knowing, at least this way they're not fighting. And, as far as he knows, Sam hasn't seen Ruby in almost a month. So maybe he's decided he's done with her. Maybe he just doesn't want to admit it because he doesn't want Dean to be right. Either way, Dean will take it.

He trails after his brother into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself and the pulling his brother into a kiss.

Sam laughs into it, wrapping his arms automatically around Dean's waist. "Thought you were tired."

"Was." Dean pushes his hands under Sam's shirt and drags it over his head. "Not anymore."

Sam smiles and shakes his head fondly. He unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them while Dean strips, and he twists the nozzle in the shower on while Dean's struggling to get out of his socks without tripping over himself and ending up with a black eye. Sam takes his hand once they're both bare and tugs him into the too-small shower stall, squishing himself right up against Dean so they both fit. Dean is definitely not complaining. He slides his hands into Sam's hair and pulls him back in for another kiss while the water warms up and falls over them.

Sam kisses him, slow and sweet, while his big hands slide over Dean's wet skin, and Dean shivers. Sam makes him feel way too many things sometimes. It would be scary if it wasn't so good. Dean dips his tongue into Sam's mouth, smiling when Sam's lips part for him so he can slide it inside and taste Sam's mouth. He trails his fingers down the sides of Sam's ribcage and hips, reaching lower to cup Sam's growing erection in his hand and stroke it gently until it's hard in his palm. Sam reaches down too, sliding his fingers over Dean's stiff flesh and then pushing them together, wrapping his hand around them both and squeezing.

Dean hums into Sam's lips at the sensation. He threads his fingers around Sam's and matches his movements, jerking their cocks together. "Just like this?"

"Yeah," Sam answers softly, bringing his other hand up to cup Dean's cheek and press another kiss to his lips. "Then we can go again in the bed. Y'know. If you want."

Dean smiles. "I'm sure I could be convinced."

"Well thanks for shakin' a tail," Bobby says as the three of them walk towards his panic room

"Yeah, you got it," Dean answers tightly. He hates, hates, that they have to do this. He'd give just about anything to not have to. But he's out of options. Sam's been drinking demon blood. Dean can still barely think the words without feeling like puking his guts out. That's what's been going on all this time, right under Dean's nose where he had countless opportunities to put a stop to it and he didn't. So much for protecting Sammy. If Dad could see them right now, if he could see how bad Dean's let things get, he'd wish Dean wasn't his son. The thought makes Dean almost sicker than the thought of what's coursing through his little brother's veins with every beat of his heart.

Sam pulls the vault door open and Bobby says, "Go on inside. I wanna show you something."

"Alright."

Sam just walks in without giving it a second thought. He doesn't have to think, because he trusts them. Trusts that neither of them would ever do anything to hurt him. That's maybe the worst part of this. That Dean has to break that trust.

"So, uh, what's the big demon problem?" Sam asks, not noticing at first that Dean and Bobby haven't followed him into the iron-lined chamber.

"You are," Bobby tells him. "This is for you own good."

Sam frowns at them as they close and lock the door. The slamming of the metal echoes around the empty caverns in Dean's chest and bounces off his ribcage like white-hot nails.

"Guys?" Sam calls, his voice muffled from inside the room. "Hey, hey! What?"

Bobby closes the little window and latches it. Dean feels like his heart just got locked up in there with his brother.

"This isn't funny!" Sam continues. "Guys! Hey! Guys?"

"What do we do now?" Dean asks Bobby in a choked voice. The words feel like daggers on their way out of his throat.

Bobby sighs in that world-weary way of his. "We wait," he says, clapping Dean on the shoulder and starting to head back up the stairs. "You comin'?"

"I …" Dean stares at the door Sam's still banging on and calling for them. He blinks back tears and turns away so Bobby won't see them. "Just gimme a minute, okay?"

Bobby doesn't answer but Dean listens to his footsteps going up the stairs.

"Dean? Are you still there?" Sam sounds scared and confused and a million other things he should never have to feel because of something Dean's done.

Dean doesn't want to answer, but he says, "Yeah."

"I don't know what you think you're doing, man, but this isn't cool. Let me out."

"I can't, Sammy." He wishes like hell he could. He wishes like hell he'd never let it get this far. This is Dean's fault, he knows that. He should've pushed, all those times when Sam said Dean didn't need to know how he was getting strong, how Ruby was helping him. Dean should've made Sam tell him. He was so stupid to stop pushing, to let himself believe that everything would just work out as long as they were together. Sam was so adamant that Dean, for once, trust him and give him the benefit of the doubt. And Dean felt bad that he never has done that. He wanted to. He sees now how much of a mistake that was. Dad was right. He shouldn't have just told Dean to look out for Sammy, he should've told Dean to never let Sammy out of his sight.

"Why?" Sam asks angrily.

"You know why." Dean closes his eyes when they won't stop burning. "You gotta get clean."

"I'm not a freakin' heroin addict! I need the blood to kill Lilith!"

Dean sighs and shakes his head. "I know. I know that's what you think, what Ruby told you. But she lied to you, Sammy. You gotta see that. She's been lyin' this whole time."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes I do."

"How?" Sam demands. Dean can see the bitch-face in vivid detail even though there's a foot of iron and steel and lies separating them.

"Because! Because where is she?" he says loudly. "You've been in withdrawal for freakin' weeks now! I didn't realize that's what it was, but looking back? That's what's been wrong with you lately! And she's just ditched you! She has you wrapped around her finger, man! She wants you to think you need her!"

"I do need her!" Sam fires back, pounding roughly on the door. Dean wishes he'd stop. He's going to hurt his hands. "I know that's hard for you to swallow because you only ever want me to need you – "

"It has nothing to do with that!" Dean interrupts.

"Like hell it doesn't! That's what it's always about with us! I show even the slightest sign of doing something on my own, of not needing you holding my freakin' hand all the time, and you wig out!"

Dean glares across the room at nothing in particular. He almost wants to open the door just so he can punch Sam a few times. Almost.

"It's for your own good, okay? You gotta believe me. When that stuff's worked its way outta your system, you're gonna see that."

"You don't get to fuckin' tell me what's for my own good!" Sam yells, and Dean closes his eyes again.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, even though he's aware Sam won't have heard it, and then he trails after Bobby up the stairs, clenching his jaw and trying desperately to ignore the frantic way Sam's shouting his name.

Bobby's sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey in front of him with an inch of it poured into two glasses. He's holding one, and when Dean walks into the room he nods at the other one. Dean walks numbly over and sits, taking the glass and swallowing it all in one gulp without thinking. It doesn't taste like anything. He puts the glass back onto the table and stares into it, shaking his head a little when Bobby lifts the bottle to offer him another. Dean thinks dimly that things have gotten really bad when even whiskey won't help. Sam's still yelling for them, Dean can't hear the words themselves but he can hear Sam's voice and the thunks as he pounds on the door, and each one breaks Dean down just a little bit more.

"It's for his own – " Bobby begins.

Dean cuts him off with a short, "Don't. Just don't, okay? I know. It doesn't help."

Bobby nods. He reaches out and briefly pats Dean's arm in a rare show of affection. He's trying to be comforting, and that makes it worse.

"Demon blood," Dean says tensely, more to himself than to Bobby. He's not sure he'll ever be able to wrap his head around it. "That's what he was doing all this time. Every time he'd sneak off with her, that's what they were doing together. What he didn't wanna tell me, every time I asked. That he was drinking her Goddamn blood."

"I know it sounds crazy," Bobby starts slowly, like he's trying to quell the storm they both know is building inside Dean right now. "But this is Sam. Much as we don't get it, he must've had a good reason."

"But that's just it!" Dean cries, the words exploding out of him like a grenade. He stands up so quickly he sends the chair skidding behind him on the tile floor. "What the hell could it be? To stop Lilith? To avenge my death?"

"I don't know."

"It's Sam, Bobby! My stupid, kid brother, the one I've spent my whole freakin' life with! Other than when he was off at school, we never spend more than a few hours away from each other, ever! We've spent two decades living out of each other's friggin' pockets, I'm supposed to know him better than this! I should be able to make sense of this, but I can't! I have no idea what the hell he was thinking, how he could possibly have thought this was a good idea!"

Bobby doesn't say anything. He just looks at Dean like his heart is breaking for him, for all three of them. Dean turns around and storms a few steps away, balling his right hand into a fist and resisting a nearly overwhelming urge to put a fist through Bobby's wall.

"That guy down there?" Dean grinds out, pointing in the direction of the stairs to the basement. "A year ago, I could tell you every single thing there is to know about him. I could tell you what he was gonna say before he'd even said it. And now? I feel like I don't even know who he is."

"Dean … you don't know, alright? You weren't here, when you were gone."

Dean blinks, trying for a moment to unscramble that sentence in his head. "I don't – what does that mean?"

"It means you were in Hell," Bobby tells him, standing up too and facing Dean. "You don't know what it was like up here, for us. For Sam."

"Yeah, because I was in Hell!" Dean explodes, anger sparking bright and hot in his veins. He's getting pretty damn tired of people blaming him for things that happened in those four months and forgetting that he spent that time being tortured because he went to Hell to save Sam.

"I know," Bobby says, holding his hands up like he's trying to calm a wild animal. "I'm not sayin' you were on a beach in Tahiti, okay? I know where you were. All I'm sayin' is, you bein' gone was way harder on Sam than you know. I was here. I watched that boy grieve for you. I lost my wife, I should know a little somethin' about pain, but I ain't ever seen anything like what went on with Sam. I had to watch him spiral right outta control, I got a front-row seat to what losin' you did to him."

Dean feels like shit about all that, he really does, but it still doesn't explain what Sam's been doing behind his back. And with a fucking demon, no less, even after Dean told him the angels wanted him to stop. "So what? So he was sad, you call that an excuse?"

"No, I'm not callin' it an excuse. I'm callin' it a reason. There's a difference, you knuckle-head," Bobby growls. "Maybe Sam turned to that demon because he didn't know what else to do. And maybe that doesn't make sense to you an' me because we don't know what he was goin' through."

Dean glares at him, but Bobby continues before Dean can say anything.

"You're allowed to be mad. But just remember that that guy down there? You do know him. Whatever else has gone down, he's still Sam. Maybe he's gone off the rails a little, but that don't mean we can't put him back on 'em."

For a second or two Dean's still angry, but then a particularly loud, "Dean!" floats up through the floor, and Dean just deflates. He leans back against the kitchen counter, reaching his hands behind him to steady himself. He drops his head and he can't stop a few tears from spilling over the rims of his eyes, trailing down his cheeks in hot tracks. Sadness overtakes him and it's all he can do not to break down right there. Because it's Sam down there, screaming for him. It's programmed into Dean's hard-drive to take care of Sammy, to help him, to give him whatever he needs. And now he can't.

"What'm I supposed t'do?" he mumbles pathetically.

"Nothing," Bobby says quietly, as gently as he's probably capable of. "There's nothing we can do yet, at least not tonight."

"So, what, we just sit here and listen to this? And try not to slice our wrists open?" Dean doesn't even bother wiping at the tears on his face. He's too strung out to be embarrassed about them being there.

"It's probably gonna get worse before it gets better, kiddo," Bobby points out reluctantly. "Right now he's just pissed off. When he starts detoxing …"

Dean hadn't even thought about that. It makes him feel sick.

"You should head on upstairs. Try to get some sleep."

Dean shakes his head. "One of us should stay up, in case he … just in case."

"So then I'll take the first shift. Go." Bobby nods towards the stairs, a look on his face that's daring Dean to argue. "I'll come get you when I start dozin' off."

Dean's too exhausted to fight him, so he nods listlessly and goes up the stairs. He walks numbly to the room he and Sam always sleep in together, and the sight of it brings back a flush of memories that hurt almost more than anything. The two old, rickety twin beds they've so often pushed against each other so they can sink into the sheets together, hands pressed over each other's mouths so they don't make noise. The way Dean always regrets it just a little in the morning because he feels bad for doing it in Bobby's house. They both know they shouldn't, but sometimes they haven't been able to help themselves. Sometimes Sam's skin just calls to him, pulls his hands there like magnets and Dean's almost never strong enough to resist. And now Dean's in here alone, and Sam is … Dean doesn't even want to think about where Sam is. It hurts too much.

Everything is so, so messed up.

Dean pulls his clothes off and crawls into the bed that's usually Sam's. It doesn't smell like Sam, because Sam doesn't sleep here often enough to have left anything behind. But it's still something, that he's wrapped up in sheets that usually wrap around his brother. Dean closes his eyes, but he won't sleep. He knows he won't. Just like he knows Bobby won't come for him, no matter how tired he gets. Dean's stuck here for at least a few hours, so he turns his face into Sam's pillow and just tries to pretend Sam's here with him. Even he's not stupid enough to think it will work.