Some of this comes from a missing scene for the episode, available on the DVD. I recommend checking it out. - KHK

For Dean
K Hanna Korossy

"I just wanted to say that Cas told me what you're doing for Dean. And I'm not asking you to stop, but maybe going behind his back ain't the best idea. Your brother, he can be stubborn. But I think he'd understand. And I know it's the life…doing a little bad so you can do a lot of good. But sometimes the bad's real bad, and the good…it can come at one hell of a price. I ain't there on the ground, and whatever you do, I know you'll make the right choice. You're a good man, Sam Winchester, one of the best. And I'm damn proud of you, son. I was content up here. But getting the call from you, it's the happiest I've been in forever, no matter what it costs. So stay safe, keep fighting, and kick it in the ass." - Bobby's letter to Sam in Inside Man

00000

The hits just kept coming.

He knew it was bad news when he arrived at the bunker and found the door wide open. But it was even worse when Sam stepped inside.

Castiel was just limping from the library into the war room, wiping at the considerable amount of blood on his face. That was the first thing Sam zeroed in on.

"Cas? You okay? What happened?"

"Dean," the angel said gravely. "Well, first the Stynes, and then Dean." He stepped aside.

Sam's mouth fell open. There were bodies. At least two that he could see. And books piled in large heaps on the floor, a couple of empty bookcases lying beside them. The smell of gasoline, and blood.

"Oh, my God," whispered Sam.

"Just the opposite," Cas said bluntly.

Sam stumbled down the rest of the steps. "Where is he?"

"After declining to kill me, he left. He said he wouldn't miss next time." Cas took a breath and glowed bright for a few seconds. When Sam could look at him again, his face was clean and uninjured.

Sam swallowed, looking around the room again. No, there were at least three bodies. And one appeared to be really young. He nodded numbly. "He didn't kill you. He's not completely gone."

"He's close," Cas said unrelentingly. "There was no feeling, no humanity in his eyes. I don't think he's fighting the Mark anymore."

Sam's stomach lurched. Dean had always been his compass. If he'd gone fully dark-side, the whole world was upended.

"I'm sorry."

He blinked at his friend. "It's not over."

Castiel hesitated, but nodded grimly. There was still the Book, and no more question that it was the only chance they had left.

Sam straightened, taking another deep breath. There was still a chance. For Dean, there always would be. "Why don't you go wash up," he suggested. "I'll…clean up here."

Castiel nodded again and turned to walk back down into the library, stepping over a leg as he headed toward the dorm hallway.

Sam watched the bloody figure go, thinking of another time, another beating.

He'd felt every pound of his fist into Dean's face. Lucifer shared it like a gift, when it was really torture. Dean wasn't even fighting back, just murmuring over and over to Sam that he was there, that he wouldn't leave him, while Lucifer used Sam's skin and muscles and bones to pulp those of his brother, until Dean was bloody and swollen and nearly unrecognizable. And still his eyes hadn't left Sam's face.

With a shaky exhale, Sam moved toward the first body.

One guy was obviously muscle. Another looked like a Styne, the same pale coloring and features. But the third…the third was still in his teens. There were dried tear tracks on his face, and Sam flinched at the thought of Dean shooting the kid point-blank.

Ben probably hadn't been Dean's, but Sam knew his brother had considered him to be. Up until they'd cut ties, Ben still called Dean for advice or to talk, and Dean had always given him his full attention. Like he had mute, traumatized Lucas. And fellow hunter's kid Krissy. And Timmy, the orphan at Sonny's home for boys. And even the shapeshifter baby. If they were working a case with children, Dean was the default guy contact with the kid. He spoke their language. Sam teased that it was because he was still really a kid himself, but he knew the real reason: Dean was the one who remembered what being a traumatized kid was like.

Sam wasn't about to give the intruders hunter burials, even if there'd been time, but he couldn't risk them returning as vengeful spirits, either. He dragged the bodies one by one into the furnace room and dumped them into the incinerator. The kid was last, and Sam offered him a mental apology before sending him after the other two.

Then he returned to the library to clean.

They should be out looking for Dean. Keeping an eye on Rowena. Searching for any other last-minute leads. But Dean had turned off the LoJack on the Impala—Sam had already checked on the way over—and Rowena had her own motives now for cooperating, and there were no other leads. There wasn't a freaking thing Sam could do to help his brother right now, except to restore their home for Dean's return. So he would do that.

It smelled like the books had been doused with kerosene. Sam set the damp ones aside to dry, leaving the rest to sort later. He righted the bookcases and restored the few other items the Stynes had thrown around. Then he fetched a bucket of water and bleach from the kitchen and started to scrub the blood.

Dean was usually the one to get physical in his frustration and anger. But with nothing to hunt and destroy for killing Jess, Sam's rage had steeped and fermented and grown until it exploded. For several minutes, he proceeded to trash the motel room while Dean silently watched. His brother had only stepped in when Sam had been ready to smash the TV, pointing out that he had enough money for a suit for the funeral, or a new TV, but not both.

And then, when the fury had finally bottomed out and Sam crawled into bed, he'd heard his brother quietly putting the room back in order, fixing what he could in lieu of the brother he couldn't.

He was most of the way through the blood clean-up when he saw the pictures, tossed carelessly on the floor. Sam stopped, stunned, and reached for them.

They were two of Dean's most beloved photos, one of him as a kid with their mom, the other of Mary and baby Sam and Dean. The photos were faded with age and creased with years of wistful handling. Sam knew they usually sat in places of honor on the desk in Dean's room, and cringed to think the Stynes had penetrated the bunker that far. He would have to go see what other damage they'd done there.

But for now, he slipped the pictures safely into his shirt pocket. Dean would want them back…after.

"Is that Mommy, Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy. And that's me, and that's you."

"She was pretty."

"Yeah."

"Where is she? I want her."

"She's in heaven, kiddo. She can't come back."

"Not even—?"

"Hey, let's go play with the Frisbee, okay?"

The floor clean and the dirty water dumped, Sam returned to the library to see if there was anything else he needed to do now. The books would take some time, obviously, and there were some broken objects he'd need to research how to fix. But for the moment—

His eyes fell on the satchel on one of the library chairs, half-hidden by the table. And his throat tightened again.

Charlie.

He had her ashes; when they were past all this, he would make sure she was buried with her parents. She'd never had more stuff than she could take with her in a duffel, probably still in her Gremlin back at the motel. Her smashed computer was in a dumpster back at the motel, but Sam had forgotten about the computer satchel they'd brought back with her body.

"You got her killed. I think it should be you up there, not her."

There hadn't even been time for mourning. Her death had shut off something in Dean, letting the Mark take over. Dean's words over her funeral pyre had told Sam as much even before he heard about the carnage at the Styne compound and returned to see the horrific mess in the bunker. He'd been focused on that since. But Sam hadn't forgotten.

"I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy…come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard, and all the sons of bitches that killed Mom, walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you. It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you."

"What now?"

Sam blinked and looked up, to see Castiel, newly pristine, watching him from the doorway.

He took one more deep breath, then pulled himself to his full height. "This," a twitch of the head behind him toward the room he'd just cleaned, "was not Dean."

Castiel didn't argue, just watched him with those penetrating eyes.

So he would see that Sam never meant anything more when he said, "We're getting Dean back." He nodded. "One way or another, I'm gettin' my brother back."

The End

One more piece coming Wednesday to finish the season, and winter hiatus. - KHK