A/N: For Elektra Elentari, who requested a h/c coda to 10x22 "The Prisoner." There is pain, but then, that episode was painful.
Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading. ^_^
"In a Minute"
Sam pulled up outside the bunker, his pulse throbbing with trepidation and anxiety. No one was answering their damn phones. The last he'd heard from Cas was that Dean had slaughtered the Styne household and was making his way back home to the bunker. Cas was supposed to be right on Dean's tail, and the angel's Continental was sitting in the gravel drive. The Impala wasn't, however, though it could have been in the garage.
But that did not explain the unfamiliar SUV parked ahead of Cas's car. If Dean had driven it here, where was the Impala? No way he'd leave it somewhere, unless Dean was already that far gone. When he'd been a demon, he hadn't cared one whit about his Baby.
Heart rate ratcheting up, Sam sprinted to the door, afraid of what he would find inside—Dean, drinking himself into oblivion out of shock and remorse like after the incident with Randy and those thugs who'd tried to hurt Claire. Or worse, Dean not even caring that he'd massacred an entire family line. And it didn't matter that the Stynes were monsters, black-hearted to the core; nothing could justify the action of wiping them out in that manner.
Sam descended the stairs into the war room, and pulled up short when he reached the bottom and caught sight of a body slumped on the steps leading to the study area. The strange man was face-down with a knife sticking out of his back. One of the Winchesters' knives they usually kept in the Impala.
Sam swiftly drew his gun and moved cautiously into the library. He wanted to call out for Dean and Cas, but didn't want to alert any other intruders to his arrival. Still, it was too quiet, as though the fight was long over. So where was everyone?
The library had been ransacked, books cleared from the shelves and piled in the middle of the room. The tang of gasoline hung thick and cloying in the air, along with the hint of blood. Sam froze when he spotted Eldon Styne's body sprawled on the floor. The guy had a new arm stitched to his stump to replace the one he'd left behind in the dungeon, but also a bullet hole in his brain. Lying a few feet away was a third body, also with a bullet wound between the eyes…oh god, it looked like a kid.
A kid who likely belonged to a seriously psychotic family. Dean must have walked in on them raiding the bunker. And while Dean of course needed to defend their home, there was something about the swift, non-messy executions that made Sam's stomach churn unpleasantly.
But where was Dean now? And Cas, for that matter?
That's when Sam noticed the body he'd missed before, lying off to the side on top of another pile of mishandled books. Black slacks, beige trench coat… Sam's heart nearly stopped.
"Cas?" He surged forward and dropped down next to the angel. Cas's eyes were closed, and his face was streaked with blood from a split cheek, busted lip, and other abrasions. He appeared unconscious. Unconscious, not dead, because there were no wing prints seared into the floor.
But there was an angel blade point embedded in a book right next to Cas's head. Had Cas made it back to the bunker first and walked in on the Stynes? But…surely even souped up as they were, they wouldn't have been a match for an angel. Besides, Dean had definitely been the one to kill them, and he wouldn't just leave Cas like this. Maybe he'd been taken…
Except, Dean had killed all the Stynes. Single-handedly.
A rock dropped into the pit of Sam's stomach as he took in the battered angel. There was one thing he could think of that had the power to do this. But god, please no.
"Cas." Sam's voice quavered as he reached out to grip Cas's shoulder and give it a small shake, trying to rouse the angel. Dean couldn't have been gone long; they could still catch him, bring him home and talk some sense into him…
Cas let out a hitched cough, blood spurting from his mouth in dark, viscous drops. Sam's breath froze. He flattened his palm against Cas's chest and tentatively pressed down. The ribs underneath gave way, and Cas's whole body jerked, expelling more blood to dribble out the side of his mouth.
Sam snatched both his hands away, terror mounting. Shit, this was bad, really bad.
"Cas," he called urgently, needing the angel to wake up, to snap his fingers or whatever and heal, or at least tell Sam what the hell he should do to help. Because it looked like Cas had a punctured lung, minimum, probably other internal injuries. And now that Sam was looking, he noticed Cas's arm was bent at an unnatural angle.
Bile rose in his throat. Dean had been here, but was now apparently gone. There was an angel blade stabbed ominously into the floor right next to Cas's head. And the angel was lying in a growing pool of his own blood, possibly dying.
It was getting harder for Sam not to fill in the blanks anymore, and his vision blurred with hot moisture as he leaned down and clasped the sides of Cas's neck, bracing it in case Cas convulsed again.
"Cas? Come on, man, wake up. You gotta wake up."
You gotta be okay because I can't lose you both.
Cas's eyelids finally fluttered as he managed to blink blearily. "S'm," he rasped, voice thick from the blood probably clogging his throat.
"Cas, what happened?" Sam asked before he could stop himself. He shouldn't have said it, should have lived in denial just a little longer, should have pushed it aside until Cas was at least upright and fully conscious.
But on the off-chance Cas was dying—and Sam should have pushed that thought far away as well—he wanted, needed to know.
Cas squeezed his eyes shut. "I couldn't stop him."
The last remnant of hope Sam had been holding onto shattered. His throat constricted. "Dean?"
Cas tried to loll his head to the side, but couldn't with Sam holding him still, so his eyes rolled instead, gazing at the angel blade sticking up mere inches from his face. "I couldn't do it," he murmured, sounding wrecked. Another cough punched from his lungs, making him jerk and sputter.
Sam tightened his grip on Cas's neck, tilting the angel's head so he wouldn't choke on his own blood. "Shit, Cas, tell me you're going to heal."
Cas took a couple of wheezing breaths. "Y-yes. Just- just give me a minute."
Sam gave him a doubting look, but was glad the angel would recover. They needed to go after Dean, stop him from doing worse.
Sam slowly rocked back, glancing over his shoulder at the other bodies, not even cold yet. The fumes from the gasoline were also starting to give him a headache. He should start cleaning up while he waited for Cas to heal, and then they could think about tracking down Dean.
Sam pushed himself to his feet. "Okay, you just sit tight," he said. "I'll be right back."
He headed back out through the war room and up the stairs, veering left on the landing to peek inside the garage. Sure enough, the Impala wasn't there. He pressed the button to open the garage door, and then left the inner door open as well to at least start ventilating the place. He'd have to go sifting through the storage rooms for a fan to plug in downstairs.
Sam turned and headed out the front door, taking in a shuddering breath of fresh air. He stood outside for a moment, focusing on his breathing and keeping the tears of desperation and despair at bay. He couldn't give up on his brother now. Not when it seemed Rowena was finally close. Not after what Charlie had sacrificed to get them this far.
Sam pulled out his phone. His throat tightened as he dialed Dean's number. It rang twice before going to voicemail, as though Dean had hit 'Ignore.'
"Dean," Sam started, struggling to speak past the lump trying to choke him. What was he supposed to say to all this? To three dead bodies and Cas beaten to a bloody pulp?
"Dean, whatever you're about to do," Sam tried again. "Don't. Just come home and we'll figure this out."
He wanted to say something else, but it would just be more of the same, and so he hung up. Out of a sinking suspicion, he checked the app monitoring the low-jack he'd put on the Impala. Disabled. Of course Dean would have figured it out after Cas had followed him so easily.
Sam stood outside for a few minutes longer, mustering his resolve. Dean never gave up on him, ever. Sam would be damned if he let himself do anything less. Taking a deep breath, he turned to head back inside and begin cleanup.
He pulled up short, however, when he came into the library and realized Cas hadn't moved. At all.
Sam quickened his pace and hurried over to crouch down beside the angel again. "Cas? Hey, you doing okay?"
Cas's eyelids fluttered open, revealing pupils clouded with pain. "I just…need a minute," he wheezed.
Sam frowned. "It's been several, Cas."
Cas lifted his hand, flailing it weakly as his fingers flimsily grasped Sam's sleeve. "Don't- don't go after Dean…alone. He said…he threatened…" Cas coughed, a horrible, wet, gurgling sound. "I'll be ready…in- in a minute." His voice was growing fainter, and his eyes were starting to slide closed again.
Sam's heart clenched, and he took Cas's lax hand to give it a squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere." And not because he was afraid Dean would hurt him when he tracked his AWOL brother down…though maybe Sam should be afraid. If Dean could do this to Cas…
They were running out of time. At some point, Dean might cross the threshold from which he wouldn't be able to come back. Looking at Cas, Sam was afraid he already had.
"I'm not leaving you like this," he added, shoving those thoughts aside. He needed to be present and focused, because Cas's assessment of only needing a minute was obviously a gross underestimate.
"How are your internal injuries? That lung still punctured?" He was assuming Cas would be able to tell, that he had some kind of supernatural insight being an angel in a vessel. And though Sam did not want to leave Cas lying in the spot Dean had nearly pummeled him to death, in the middle of the surrounding massacre, he also didn't want to move the angel and risk aggravating his injuries. Sam wasn't equipped to deal with that level of trauma.
Cas didn't answer, so Sam carefully pressed his palm against Cas's chest again. The ribs didn't give way like they had before, but Cas still let out a strangled cry of pain.
"Sorry, sorry," Sam gushed, fear gnawing ever deeper in his gut. It really shouldn't be taking Cas this long to heal. "Cas, please tell me those ribs are back in place. I don't think you can afford to puncture any more organs."
Cas's breathing was labored, sweat beading his pale forehead, but he managed to nod with his eyes still squeezed shut.
"Do you think you can get up off the floor?"
Cas nodded again. "I just need a minute," he murmured.
Sam was seriously starting to worry about a head injury with the way Cas kept saying that. He wanted to get the angel away from this brutal scene and to a bed so he could heal faster. If at all.
Swallowing hard, Sam steeled himself for causing Cas more pain. "Okay, let's get you up."
He looped his arm under Cas's other side, mindful of the broken arm, which definitely did not look mended yet, and started hauling Cas upright. Cas let out a pained cry through clenched teeth, his knees buckling as he tried and failed to support his own weight. Sam took most of it, trying not to crush Cas's already precarious ribs against his own chest. Cas curled forward, hacking up a small amount of blood that speckled the already stained floor.
Sam's heart seized, and he prayed he wasn't making things worse. As quickly and smoothly as he could, he half-dragged Cas through the library, down the corridor, and into one of the spare bedrooms. As he eased the angel onto the bed, Cas listed sideways, and Sam had to catch him before he could fall. Even memory foam wasn't enough to protect broken ribs from such a soft impact.
"Easy, easy." Sam guided Cas's head down to the pillow, watching the dazed and dilated pupils carefully. "Don't move," he instructed, and then hurried to the bathroom to grab the med kit they kept there, along with towels and a bowl of water.
He came back to find Cas had, unsurprisingly, not moved. Sam didn't know if he was in shock because of his injuries, or because it was Dean who had inflicted them.
Maybe both. Sam couldn't even begin to imagine, and seeing the evidence of what his brother had done was horrific enough.
Sam dropped a towel into the bowl of water to soak, and dragged the desk chair over to the bed. Then he wrung out the towel before leaning over Cas to start wiping the blood from his face. There was nothing he could do for the internal wounds except wait and hope, but he kept glancing at the angel's busted arm lying awkwardly at his side.
"Do I need to set that?" he asked worriedly. Not that he wasn't practiced in setting broken bones, but the idea of doing it for Cas—an angel—put an unpleasant knot in his stomach.
Cas blinked confusedly at him. "What?"
At least it wasn't another assurance that he just 'needed a minute.'
"Your arm is broken," Sam replied, managing to keep his tone calm and patient, even though on the inside he was practically screaming.
Cas's gaze slowly slid down to stare at the misaligned limb. He didn't speak again, and Sam focused on cleaning up the minor cuts scattered across Cas's face. Out of habit, he moved to Cas's knuckles next. Because whenever he and Dean got into fights, there were always defensive wounds to patch up too.
But Cas's hands were unmarred.
Sam frowned at that. Had Dean been that cold, that frenetic, that Cas hadn't even had an opportunity to fight back? For a brief moment, Sam wondered how close Dean had come to killing their best friend.
He stood up in a rush, as though he could physically avoid that train of thought. "Cas." Sam cleared his throat. "I think I should set your arm."
Cas was still staring at it. "I'm sorry, Sam," he finally whispered.
Sam furrowed his brow. "For what?"
"I let Dean go."
Sam's brows arched dubiously. "No offense, Cas, but it doesn't look like he gave you a choice."
"That's what Dean said," Cas continued softly, sounding frighteningly detached as he stared at his broken arm with unnatural fixation. "That I didn't have a choice. I did. I just…" There was a catch in his voice. "I couldn't bring myself to hurt him. I wanted to stop him, Sam, but I couldn't do it. Not again. I couldn't have his blood on my hands again. I'd rather he snap every bone in this brittle body than be forced to break his again…"
"Whoa, whoa." Sam sat back down and gripped Cas's shoulder hard in an effort to disrupt the ramble he was spiraling into. "Cas, Cas look at me."
Cas startled slightly, finally flicking his gaze up to Sam's. His eyes were wide and glazed with a distant, haunted memory. Sam figured he knew which one, too.
He squeezed Cas's shoulder tighter, willing the angel to snap out of it. "It's okay, Cas."
Cas shook his head. "I let Dean go. Whatever he does, it'll be my fault. But if I had stopped him, the destruction would have been my fault too. Why do I only ever hurt those I care about?"
Sam closed his eyes against a swell of anguish. Oh, didn't that sound familiar? Sam had entertained that thought before, and he knew Dean did too. They were quite the dysfunctional family, the three of them. And each of them had taken their turn going off the reservation. But they somehow always managed to bring the other back.
At great cost.
Sam's shoulders sagged under the weight of their crappy lives and the burdens they were forced to bear.
"You didn't have a choice, Cas," he said gently and with complete understanding, with forgiveness and no condemnation.
Cas stared back at him for several long moments, some lucidity finally seeping into his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, voice calmer but still rough. "I know you want to go after him…"
"It's not your fault," Sam reiterated, then paused as he glanced at the still broken arm. "But, Cas, why aren't you healing faster? I thought you got your own grace back?"
Cas flicked his gaze down, away from Sam's earnest one. "I got what was left of it," he replied softly. "Enough to keep me from burning out, but…Dean is gaining the powers of a Knight of Hell."
A hard lump lodged in Sam's throat. Right.
"So, you're hurt pretty bad," he asked in a low voice.
Cas's throat bobbed. "My grace is working on the most pressing internal injuries."
Meaning Cas was still bleeding on the inside, dammit.
Sam let out a long breath. "Okay. Will setting the bone help for when you have the strength to heal it later?" He didn't even bother asking when that would be.
"Yes," Cas mumbled, ducking his gaze as though ashamed. "It…might make it heal faster. At the very least I can get back on my feet quicker."
Again, Sam was seriously doubting that, but didn't say anything about it. He simply stood up and walked around to the other side of the bed to take up a position with good leverage.
"This is gonna hurt," he warned.
Cas just gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.
Sam placed one hand above the break, the other below it, and hesitated with the realization that he was about to cause as much pain to his friend as Dean had. One to wound, the other to heal, but that didn't make much difference in the moment.
He sucked in a sharp breath. "One, two, three." He pulled Cas's arm straight, grimacing when the only sound Cas made was a choked gurgle in the back of his throat. "You okay?" Sam asked.
Cas nodded, jaw clenched. Sam rigged up a splint to keep the bone in place until Cas's grace was ready to work on fusing it back together all the way.
"Anything else I can do?" he asked, roving his gaze over the abrasions on Cas's face and wondering if he should apply antiseptic.
Cas gave a small head shake. "Just- just give me a few more…minutes," Cas said, volume tapering off as his eyelids slid closed.
Sam rested a hand on the top of Cas's head as the angel succumbed to exhaustion. "Take as many as you need," he said quietly.
Cas was already out.
Sam sank back into the chair and dropped his head forward into his hands, listening to Cas's breathing slowly even out as lung tissue and muscle must have knitted back together. He needed to get back to the library and cleaning up that mess. He needed to check on Rowena and see what progress she'd made.
He needed to find his brother.
But he also needed Cas by his side if he was gonna make it through this.
So he'd get up and face the impossible. In a minute.