Remez
K Hanna Korossy

Remez (Heb.): a harkening back

Dean's first reaction was amused disbelief. He didn't get the point of the Supernatural story? He and Sam, the ones who'd lived every freaking minute of it? Like the wannabe-Winchesters had a clue what their life was really about.

But Demian wasn't smiling. "…to be Sam and Dean, to wake up every morning and save the world, to have a brother who would die for you…well, who wouldn't want that?"

And Dean's mind was suddenly a few months and a thousand miles away.

Sam's touch was so light, he could barely feel it, even if he'd been paying attention.

"All right, almost done…there." A towel wiped over his freshly shaved chin, then was tossed aside. "That hot redhead nurse is gonna appreciate you a lot more without the mountain-man look, dude."

Dean didn't say anything, didn't listen, didn't care. Alastair had busted up his body like kindling, but it was his soul that felt irreparably shattered.

"Hey, time for dinner. You gonna have a little soup today?"

A filled spoon nudged against his mouth. He ignored it just like everything else, no energy left even if he'd had the desire to act.

"C'mon, man, open up. Just a little bit, okay?" Another careful prod. "Just a bite."

He still tasted the warm salt on his lips even after the soup was taken away, didn't even realize why until large hands bracketed his face, thumbs carefully swiping over his cheeks.

"It's gonna get better, Dean, I swear. I'll make it better. They're never gonna hurt you again, just…you have to keep fighting, all right?" Then Sam's face was an inch from his own, forehead just brushing his. "Please, Dean."

He'd forgotten about that, brain too mired in depression and body in anguish to pay attention. But for all Sam's burning addiction at that time, his frustration with Dean and defiance and even condescension, he'd been so patient and gentle in the hospital. With aching kindness, he'd tried to piece his broken brother back together, scared for him and protective of him and once more the caring kid Dean had known.

The one who'd die for him…or pretty much sell his soul to kill the demon responsible for Dean going to Hell in the first place.

…who wouldn't want that?

Dean was still thinking as he wandered back to the car to wait for Sam.

00000

"You sure you'll be okay, Sam? I mean, I know this was a shock. But you still have Dean, right? I mean, the relationship you two have…" Becky gave a rapturous sigh. "Most people would kill for that." She smiled coyly. "I was even a little jealous. But I'm glad you have him now." She patted him on the hand like he was two.

"Yeah, uh, thanks." Sam tried to be surreptitious as he pulled away from her. "That was really helpful, about Crowley. Thank you."

"Happy to help!" she chirped.

Sam exchanged a look with Chuck over her head—seriously, dude?—and Chuck sheepishly shrugged. Sam shook his head at him, smiled stiffly at Becky's over-eager face, then turned and tried not to hurry too fast back to the car.

…the relationship you two have…

Of course, she'd only read about their lives up to Dean going to Hell. She had no idea what had followed, about Ruby and the blood and Sam picking a demon over his brother.

His footsteps slowed, his mind remembering.

He was melting. There was fire in his blood, burning his brain, and his skin was sloughing off. The flames made him jerk and dance, but he couldn't move, he was—

"Shh, take it easy. I'm not gonna hurt you, just gotta make sure you don't hurt yourself."

He tried to open his eyes, but there was too much there, too much light and horror and so many faces, all leering, all condemning, all asking him to save them…

"Don't have to do anything right now, just hang in there, bro, rest. We'll get through this."

Cool and wet dragged over the sensitive face of his skin. It cleaned away something dry and itchy there, and his tongue flicked out of its own volition to try for some of the sweet moisture. A hand slid under his head, fingers pressing lightly into his scalp, and heavenly water tipped over his lips and into his mouth. He gulped until it was pulled away.

"Don't wanna make you sick again, Sammy. I'm still cleaning up the last time. Just give it a few, okay?"

More fingers probed the bindings around his limbs, then went back up to his hair, gently combing. He tried to follow the movement, but he was so tired, so…needed a drink, needed…needed Ruby…

"I'm all you've got, kiddo, but I'm not going anywhere. Just gonna be right outside, okay? Hang in there for me."

It was only when the door clanged shut that he was able to gather his scattered thoughts and voice enough to whisper back. "Dean…"

It'd seemed to be another hallucination then, just like the one that came soon after, Dean taunting and despising him. He hadn't thought Dean had ever come into the panic room with him, either out of fear or revulsion. But it was suddenly obvious that that Dean had been the real deal. He'd braved Sam's ersatz powers to make sure he was as comfortable as possible, to clean him up without disgust or hesitation, to even try to freakin' comfort him while Sam ranted and struggled and was generally about as unlovable as could be.

Most people would kill for that.

Well, Becky was right about one thing, anyway.

Sam stopped as he caught sight of Dean waiting by the car, then glanced back at the hotel. The lead on the Colt could wait another few minutes; Sam had something to do first.

00000

You okay? Sam had asked.

I think I'm good, Dean had replied, a little surprised himself at the truth of that.

He was, though. Like Zachariah's little alternate-reality trip a few months before—only a lot less insane and a lot more heartfelt—the reminder of how much he did have and the parts of their life that didn't suck had eased his soul-weariness. There was a lot of power in someone really loving you. Those two crazy ghosthunting kids might've been a little nuts and a lot in need of a life, but they'd been right: in some ways, he and Sam really were lucky.

Besides the Apocalypse, the deaths and losses and betrayals, and the ten different ways Heaven and Hell had screwed them over, anyway.

Sam finished his phone conversation and snapped his phone shut. Dean glanced away from the road to look at him.

"So, Jo and Ellen in?"

"They'll meet us there," Sam said, nodding.

"Awesome." Dean reached to turn the radio back up.

Sam put out a hand. "Wait. First…I gotcha something."

Dean cracked a grin. "Aw, Sammy, it's not even our anniversary."

"Shut up," Sam said heatlessly, digging in his jacket pocket. A moment later, he pulled something out and let it dangle from his hand.

Dean immediately pulled off the road. It freed him up to reach reverently for the brass amulet. "What—how?"

"It's not the real thing," Sam said quickly. "Cas still has that. But they were selling replicas at the con, and I thought…"

Dean hefted the small horned head in his hand, feeling the slightly different texture and weight. Not quite the same, but pretty friggin' close. He coughed a little. "That's… Thanks, Sammy."

Sam shifted, flushing a little but clearly pleased. "I know you probably don't want to wear it, but I thought maybe you'd just wanna hang on to it, or…"

Dean thought for a second, then tied a knot lower in the leather thong. He pulled out his knife and trimmed the edges off, leaving the pendant hanging off a loop about three inches long. It threaded easily onto his key ring.

"Looks good," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Feels almost back to normal."

Sam smiled at him, and Dean returned it.

Then he pulled back out onto the road, daring to feel something else he hadn't in some time: hope.

The End