Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As Sam shook on the floor Dean was as motionless as a statue, the knife still in his hand. He watched with hooded eyes as his brother wept. It was almost as if all his work had been for nothing, but he wouldn't let himself succumb to despair. There was still hope for little Sammy, Dean could fix him.

Dean pulled out his silver Zippo lighter, flicked open the cap and ignited it, slowly running the blade of the knife over the flame, "This is for your own good." He said as he pressed the hot blade into the soft skin of Sam's neck.

Sam's eyes seemed to roll back into his head as his crying twisted into howls of pain. He tilted to the left and fell onto his side, desperately clutching at his fresh wound.

"I'm sorry." He wept.

"You say that so often that I think it might have lost all it's meaning. Do you even know what sorry means Sam?"

Sam let out a small shrill noise in response.

Dean craned his neck downwards and to the side to look at him, "Sorry means taking the necessary actions in order to prove that you are sorry, show me how sorry you are Sam." Dean blew on the blade of the knife softly, as if cooling some kind of food "Here comes the air-plane, down the hatch Sammy.", then he turned the knife in his hand so he was now clutching the blade and pointing the handle in Sam's direction "Safety first Sammy, always handover a knife handle out."

Dean smiled softly, "Make her bleed Sammy, blood is purifying, carve the demon out of her."

"I can't." Sam whispered.

Dean squatted down on the balls of his feet, "It's not hard Sammy. It's really not."

Sam shook his head quickly. He couldn't do this, he couldn't hurt her. He didn't care if there was a demon in there, there was a person in there too. Sam was a person, at least most of the time and he couldn't do it. Sam vaguely remembered that when he was eight he'd stumbled onto a documentary on slaughter houses and he'd sworn he'd never eat meat again. It lasted a week before he missed bacon enough to change his mind but he still did never get the images out of his head. Right now those images were flashing through his brain, rapidly flicking by like picture slides except instead of a cow or a pig he saw Michelle like that; cut up and bloody.

Sam suddenly scrambled backwards until he hit into the bottom of the windowsill.

Dean stood and sighed. Dean wasn't happy but he wasn't allowing it to show, this wasn't going the way he had hoped. Sam hadn't tried to run for a long time, he had learned who loved him but he'd yet to really embrace the family business. It seemed he couldn't wrap his mind around the concept, the mission. It was hard to understand for Dean who'd taken to the life like a fish to water. This was all there was, his one thing; something he was supposed to share with his little brother, his only family left, and he wouldn't let him. It hurt. Dean felt like a barrier of glass was being lowered down between them and it made his chest tighten. Sam was still cowering by the window, the curtains still drawn.

Dean picked up his keys that he had absent-mindedly discarded on the kitchenette counter top, "You and her aren't leaving until you excise that demon." Dean threw the knife down in front of Sam, it stuck up vertically into the floor and made Sam flinch as it hit the ground, "I on the other hand am getting hungry. I want pie." he moved towards the door, "You know what I want you to do Sam. Make me happy."

Dean opened the door and locked it behind him, it would be easy for Sam to unlock it from inside but he knew he wouldn't. He sauntered to his car and got in, turning on the engine and driving off in search of a diner they had passed on their drive here.

There had been a point in his life when being left alone like this would have made him scream, bang on the door, pull out his own hair but maybe he was past that phase or maybe he was just too tired for it right now. Sam was sorry but he couldn't do it.

The girl on the bed made a noise and it struck him suddenly that she'd been strangely quiet the entire time Dean had been in the room. Sam slowly got to his feet and took a few steps towards her. She made another sound and Sam took an uncertain step back before taking the next few short steps towards her. He realised he hadn't really looked at her before, too distracted by what he was supposed to do to her to look at her. She was pretty Dean liked them pretty with black shoulder length hair and bright green eyes but her black hair now was stuck to her face, slick with sweat. Sam found his hand reaching out to pull the hair away from her face. The girl tried to pull away but was caught in place by the zip-ties.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered.

She tried to mumble something but it was impossible to understand.

"I'm sorry I can't help you. I'm sorry I can't get the demon out of you, I just can't."

Her eyes widened as she began to thrash at her restraints.

"Stop that." Sam said but she didn't comply. "You'll hurt yourself." Sam got up and pressed his body into hers, trying to hold her in place and prevent her from pulling at her bonds. She continued for a moment before stopping.

She looked him in the eye and Sam caught himself and pulled back, "I'm sorry...Can I...can I take off your gag without you screaming? I hate screaming."

She eyed him for a moment before slowly nodding. Sam reached over and slipped the piece of knotted fabric down her chin.

She breathed sharply and coughed before clearing her throat, "Michelle. My name is Michelle."

Her voice was hoarse but soft, it didn't sound like the voice of a demon but Sam knew that demons could be deceiving. "I know. Dean said."

It was Michelle's turn now to have a good look at one of her captors, the one she heard the other call "Sammy". He was tall, a good head taller than the other one, but gaunt; a man with pale withering skin who stared deep but absently into her eyes like a puppy dog. She remembered the hands of the other one, strong and inescapable, this one on the other hand looked fragile as if he could shatter into a thousand pieces if only a strong enough wind somehow blew through the room. It was clear to her which one was in charge but she hoped against hope that she could make this one bend just enough to let her go.

"Are you okay? You were crying."

Sam wiped his face, suddenly aware of the wet liquid still lingering on his skin. It had mostly dried but he still followed through on the action, the farce of it all.

He began to sob, "I'm sorry."

At this point she was concerned that 'sorry' was all that he could say, "You don't have to apologise for crying."

Sam dropped to his knees, kneeling beside her and the bed.

Michelle eyed him cautiously, "Are you gonna hurt me, Sam?'

Sam shook his head, "I don't want to."

"But he's expecting you to..." Michelle's eyes leapt to the knife sticking out of the floor, "But you have a knife. Can't we, can't we just escape?"

Sam's eyes went wild, "I can't leave him. He's my brother. He loves me."

A pit grew in Michelle's stomach filled with pity, "How long have you been with him?"

Sam's voice was small, "I don't remember."

"I'm sorry Sam." Michelle took a sharp breath in, "He hurts you, doesn't he?"

"When he feels like he should, yes." Sam rubbed the fresh burn on his neck absent-mindedly.

Michelle was desperately grasping for straws, how could she convince him to let her go? "If you...if you want to...I'll, do anything you want."

Sam shook his head, "I don't want anything. This isn't about that."

"Then...then what is it about?"

"I guess it's about you, Dean says you're a demon."

Michelle smiled despite herself, "I'm not a demon Sam."

"That's what a demon would say."

"I'll give you whatever you want."

"I don't want anything. I just wanna go home."

"Where's home Sam?" Michelle asked, twisting her neck to try and look at Sam kindly in the eye.

"Dean." Sam replied simply.

Michelle was getting worried. This wasn't going anywhere productive, she didn't know how to turn him to her side, she feared she wasn't getting out of this place alive.

"My arms hurt Sam. Could you help me?" she asked, smiling gently.

Sam shook his head again, "I shouldn't, Dean wouldn't be happy."

"I promise I won't do anything."

Sam looked at her with child-like suspicious eyes, as if Michelle was promising to give him a cookie and he doubted she would follow through.

Sam stood up and walked over to the knife sticking out of the floor, he pulled it up and it slipped out of the carpet and wood easily enough. He took the few steps over to Michelle and went to cut one of the zip-ties before stopping mid motion.

"Do you promise you won't be bad?" Sam asked.

"I promise."

Sam ran the knife over the zip-ties, one by one, until Michelle was free of her restraints.

Slowly Michelle unfolded herself, rubbing her marked wrists. She took a sharp breath in.

Suddenly Michelle jumped up, pushing Sam away and bolting for the door as fast as she could; this was her one chance and she wasn't letting it escape her!

A panicked and surprisingly strong Sam instinctually pushed out at Michelle in response and she fell backwards onto the bed with a bounce. He twisted forwards, the knife still in his hand as he plunged the blade into the soft flesh of her torso. Again and again, the crimson red blood splashing onto his face, the walls and pooling on the cheap motel sheets. A cascade of sanguine liquid threw up into the air and painted the white walls like a Jackson Pollock.

Sam stopped just as suddenly as he'd begun and stared, horrified, at what he'd done. By that time he found he'd sliced through her flesh hard enough to penetrate her lithe body and enter the faded mattress on the other side. Sam stared at the knife in his hand, slick with blood and screamed, throwing it across the room.

He threw himself backwards from her body and onto the floor, scrambling as far away as he could which ended up being underneath the window frame by the door. He twisted in on himself, curling some of the curtain around his body and pulling it away, revealing the scene to anyone who cared to look that way. He wiped at the blood on his face, smearing the splatter into an unrecognisable mess as he began to weep.