Mute 𖤐 Sam Winchester

SEVEN

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JOYCE had lost count of how many syringes of human blood Sam had injected into Dean. But as he was injected with more, Dean thrashed around in the chair he was restrained to, snarling and groaning as he fought the demon inside of him.

"For all you know, you could be killing me." Dean told Sam breathlessly.

"Or you're just messing with me." Sam said, turning back to face him. "Either way, the lore doesn't say anything about exceptions to the cure."

Joyce looked up from the rather large book she held in her hands as Dean began to laugh.

"The lore. Hunters, Men of Letters. . . What a load of crap it all is."

Sam stared at him.

"You got nothing?"
"You want me to debate you? This isn't even the real you I'm talking to."

"Oh, it's the real me all right." Dean said to him. The new real me. The me that sees things for what they really are. Winchesters— do-gooders. Fighting the natural order. Let me tell you something, guys like me, we are the natural order. It's the way it was set up."

"Guys like me still got to do what we can. Women like her." He motioned to Joyce.

"Don't be so full of yourself, Sammy. Cause, see, from where I'm sitting, there ain't much difference from what I turned into to what you already are."

Joyce dropped the book onto the table angrily.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I know what you did when you went looking for me. I know how far you went. Crowley told me all about it. So let me ask you. Which one of us, is really a monster?"

Joyce tried to distract Sam as the man clenched his jaw. She stepped in front of him, signing.

"You can't let him get under your skin. Don't let him do this."

Sam looked up at her with remorse, and Joyce shook her head.

"You were trying to get a twenty on Crowley and me from any demon you could snag. But Crowley didn't want to be found. And no one showed when you summoned. But you found a way, didn't you, Sam?"

Joyce cut him off. "What is he talking about?"

"You would've liked to have gotten there before the deal went down, but you didn't really care about poor ol' Lester, did you?"

Joyce walked towards Dean, but Sam gripped her arm tightly. She stopped in her place, looking back at him. He avoided her eyes.

"Oh, and so you know, I killed Lester myself. And that wife of his married the tattooed guy."

Sam smacked his hand against the table.

"I never meant—"
"Who cares what you meant!" Dean yelled. "That line that we thought was so clear between us and the things that we hunted ain't so clear, is it? Wow. You might actually be worse than me. I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life and his soul. And on top of it all, you brought your little girlfriend here who can't say a damn word into it. Hell, Sam. If she were to get hurt, she couldn't even scream. Nice work."