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Title: When God Is Gone And The Devil Takes Hold… (1/?)
Author: to_be_empty 
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam and Dean (Gen)
Genre: Gen
Summary: Takes place after 4.22. Sam wants to feel clean for once in his life.
Author Notes: This actually appeared out of nowhere when I was working on an original piece of fiction and I had to write it. It's my first Supernatural fic and a bit silly on the timing since it takes place after Lucifer Rising. Yeah, I've waited whole summer to write this, wow. But it finally burst out of me, I think. And the title of the story and the chapter is from, I think everybody knows by now, O Death by Jen Titus that is sung in the CW sneak peak of the 5th season. Anyway, hope you enjoy. I love comments so I'd really appreciate it if you comment after reading and I'm always open for con-crit  so don't hesitate=)
Disclaimer: Me? Own Sam and Dean? I wish... 


1. Who’ll Have Mercy On Your Soul?





I’m writing this because I know there’s no way I can say these out loud to you. You wouldn’t want to hear them, anyway. Sharing and caring, you’d possibly call it. But I can’t just keep it inside me, anymore. I owe you at least this much… And maybe myself, too.


The things I did, there’s no redemption, no apology to make them even sound better, let alone make me feel better. Letting that lying bitch manipulate me into those things was even worse. I guess you’re thinking I got it out on that orange monstrosity of hers with that tire iron in the trunk. But it wasn’t enough. Do you know what else was in that trunk that day? Or rather, who else? I’ll tell you. There was an innocent woman in there: Screaming ,punching, thumping and kicking, begging us to let her go. Cindy McKellen. She was young. She was a nurse. She had been married for six years. She was supposedly still possessed by Lilith’s personal chef. And she was innocent. And she begged me for her life, as I dragged her all the way to the car and forced her into the trunk and shut it closed to her screaming, sobbing face. And then I bled her out and drank from her alive as she watched. To get strong enough to kill Lilith. To save billions like Ruby said. And look what I did.


Now I think, maybe that wasn’t even the worst thing I’ve done. No, breaking the last seal wasn’t the worst, either. It was sneaking out at night to get a fix of that bitch’s blood, staying out exorcising demons while only days ago, I would have done anything to listen to your sound-asleep breathing again. When months ago, I had tried to give up my soul for yours. When months ago, I got no tears left and no home left and no family left. Yes, the worst thing I did was not even fully realizing that you were back. Alive and well and breathing beside me, heart pumping healthily. And I didn’t even appreciate it; I was past any recognition of the real world. Life was only reduced to hunting for me, and hunting demons. And I can’t even blame it on the demon blood because I wasn’t even a complete junky back then. No, it was just me. And my choices. And I chose to lie to you.


I used to hate Dad for how obsessive he was and for his ever-present need to get the job done no matter what. When you told me I was more like him than you could ever be, I knew what you meant. I did. And I chose not to care. I could have stopped it anytime if I wanted. If I listened. For a moment, looked at you and thought of you like I did before.


Anyway, I don’t know how you did it but I couldn’t do it without you Dean. You’re probably going to think “I only survived a couple of days; you went on without me for four months, Sam.” But that’s not true. I didn’t survive. I am already dead. I can’t feel, Dean. And I’m so deep in the well that I can’t even see a flicker of light. I’m not sure if I can feel anything ever again besides rage – at myself.


When I look at you, I should want to thank God every second of my remaining life for sending you back to me. But I didn’t. Not then. And I don’t even know if I’m feeling like that even now. I’m probably just feeling angry at myself, guilty for not feeling like I am supposed to. Back then, when I looked at you I kept seeing someone different. I’m not ashamed to say it now: someone weaker. I thought less of you, thought you not strong enough for the job. I said to myself you looked after me my whole life, I could look after you for once; I could take the weight off your shoulders. But actually, I was just being a selfish, obsessive bastard who didn’t care about anything but a pointless revenge. It had nothing to do with you or relieving you from the burden that had been put on you since you were child. It was just me trying to mask my desire, my obsession for my addiction. It was just me trying to blame it on you.


So you were right. About everything you said to me. I am not your brother. Not anymore. I’m not sure if I ever was. You were right. I am a vampire. I am a monster. And I don’t even know why you haven’t… Why you haven’t. I guess you can’t just bring yourself to waste your own brother in the end, can you? You couldn’t back then and you can’t right now. Even if I’m the only one responsible for Lucifer rising… I would have thought that a weakness. But it’s not. That’s why you’re so much better than me. I know that now.


Right now, I just want to feel again. Because I can’t feel anymore. I want to feel clean, again, Dean. Or for the first time since I was six months old. I’ve never been human Dean, you have to admit it. I have always been a monster, a freak ever since Mom died. I can’t even remember how it feels to be pure. Because I’ve never been pure for all I know. Never been free of this poison inside me. So that’s why I have to do this. And that’s why you shouldn’t stop me. That’s why I’m choosing this moment you and Bobby are gone to do this. I know this will work; I could feel myself weakening but purifying somehow at the same time while those ghouls bled me. I want to feel that again.


I just want to feel clean, for one moment.


I just wish I didn’t have to be alone. But you’ll never let me, I know you.


Don’t blame yourself. This has nothing to do with you. I’m just being a selfish bastard again; I’m not doing this for the good of the world or anything. If I gave a shit, I would stay and fight. But I guess I don’t. This is just to satisfy my selfish need to feel clean and pure and maybe innocent for once.  


So, bye.


Trust me; you’re better of without me.




who wishes he could still be your little Sammy. Not this piss poor excuse for a brother.


Dean banged on the bathroom door hard. “Sam, it’s been twenty minutes since we got back. What’re you still doing in there?” he called loudly. He could hear the shower running but no other sound came from inside the room to answer him. He listened to the spray of the shower for a little while longer. There was something wrong with it. The sound was monotonous in its continuity. It never changed like it should change when it hit different parts of a person’s body.


“Sam!” Dean yelled, banging harder, making the door rattle from its hinges with the effort. “Sammy! You okay?”


There was still no response. Dean took a deep breath as he tried to gather himself together. He couldn’t let anything happen to Sam, not now. Not when he’d only yet gotten him back. Not when they could change things, fix all that was broken and be like they were before.


He took a couple steps back and kicked down the door.


“Saaam!” he cried as he ran the few feet to where his brother was slumped on the floor, his head against the edge of the bathtub, his arms in the water. But it wasn’t just water. It was the darkest red Dean had ever seen water to be. It was blood. It was life. Sam’s life was slipping away into the tub as Dean watched.


“Sammy,” he gasped, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him to his chest. Sam’s arms surfaced from the pool of bloody water as he slumped against his brother.


“BOBBY!” Dean cried at the top of his lungs. “CALL 911! CALL 911!”


He turned around to reach the counter underneath the sink and opened it, grabbing two towels. He wasn’t thinking, he was acting on instinct, on years of training – thanks to his Dad.


Sam had cut open both of his arms. His left arm was slashed vertically and Dean couldn’t tell with all the blood oozing out of it but the wound looked pretty deep – Sam knew what he was doing. The cut on his right arm looked like Sam had tried for vertical but couldn't quite get it right as if he didn't have the strength in his left hand after the first cut. It looked shallower in comparison, too. And the bastard had soaked his arms in water, stopping the wounds from clotting, keeping the blood flowing.


Dean sucked in another gasp as he draped the towels around his unconscious brother’s arms while also holding them above heart level. He pressed on them, keeping pressure on the wounds trying to stop the bleeding desperately. How could Sam do this?


He wasn’t aware he kept chanting to the younger Winchester’s ear all the time. “Sammy. Sammy, don’t leave me. Sammy, Sam hold on.”


That was how Bobby found the brothers: One of them slumped against the other, unconscious and bleeding to death. The other whispering desperately, almost in shock himself.


The experienced hunter knelt close to them and covered Dean’s hands with his own, doubling the pressure on the bleeding.


“Dean,” he said but had to repeat it a few times until Dean gave him his eyes. “I called 911; an ambulance is on its way.”


Right then, Sam stirred, his eyes slitting open a fraction of an inch. But he still saw his brother by his side, holding onto him for dear life as if he could grab the life while it tried to leave Sam’s body and force it back in.


“Dean?” he croaked out, his voice even lower than a whisper. But the older one still heard him.


“Sam! Why would you –”


“No,” was all Sam said, interrupting him.


Dean blinked back huge, panic stricken eyes at his brother. “Sammy, I got you.”


“Don’t,” Sam whispered pathetically, eyebrows in a frown and eyes pleading. “Please.”


“No, Sam, I got you,” Dean said stubbornly, shaking his head and making his salty bitter tears to drop onto Sam’s face, making him blink.


“Let me.”


Sam was begging Dean to let him die. The man didn’t have the heart to kill him when he was told to, how could he just let him slip away from his fingers?


“No,” Dean insisted more firmly. “I’m not letting you go. Not like this. Not now.”


Sam’s eyes fluttered shut in the softest movement, his eyebrows relaxing as his face went slack before he passed out again.


“Please,” he said before diving back in black.


“Sam!” cried Dean and Bobby at the same time. The only difference was Dean kept repeating it while Bobby checked Sam’s throat for a pulse. He managed to get one, a weak one but it was still there nevertheless.


“Dean,” he said, trying to calm the poor boy down, “He’s okay. He’s just passed out.”


Dean was trembling as he held onto Sam tighter, pressed on the towels with all the strength he got left and held on.


“Bobby please,” he cried, tears falling freely from his eyes, all manliness aside. “I can’t –” he couldn’t finish his words because a hiccup interrupted him, stealing his breath from him.


“You won’t have to,” Bobby tried to reassure him and gave more of his body weight to his hands on Dean’s. “You won’t have to, kiddo…”


They stayed there and watched Sam’s life flicker away silently, his pulse fluttering weakly with each minute. They sat there and couldn’t do anything else than keeping pressure to tie him stronger to life.


When the paramedics arrived, even they had a look in their eyes that said this was a lost cause.


Dean watched from the bathroom door, the door frame and Bobby’s hand clasped around his elbow supporting him, keeping him up. He watched them do their job and thought of his failure.


That’s when he noticed the neatly folded paper next to the sink.




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