Dean doesn't know how he's still managing to stand upright. Doesn't know how he's still breathing, how he's still alive.
It might have something to do with the fact that he'd just collapsed into his brother's arms, though.
He might be having a seizure, because his brain isn't working and he's shaking like a diabetic. He can't see anything besides the long hair that is in his face—dark hair, Sam's hair, and his muscles aren't working correctly, legs failing to hold him up without support. He hasn't started crying yet, but thinks that he may soon. It's all just too much. He can't do it.
Sam's speaking to him, voice soft and melodic, vaguely reminding him of his mother's, but Dean can't make out the words. No, Cain's dark mantra is filling his mind, blocking out every other sound and repeating over and over again. The words kill and death and Sam. Those words are not meant to be paired with his brother's name, not ever. He wishes that he could listen to Sam, because he needs some reassuring now, needs someone to ground him to this place in order that he won't float away.
Cas has left to hide the Blade, Crowley's gone back to Hell, and now it's just Dean and Sam, so Dean breaks down.
"Sammy…," he murmurs brokenly, burying his head into his brother's shoulder when tears threaten to fall. All thoughts of this being a chick-flick moment don't even cross his mind; he needs this contact, he needs his brother. He has brief recollections of Sam doing this exact thing not even two years ago after the Trials. His brother had been dying and destroyed, but when Dean told him to let it go, to put all of this gates of Hell stuff behind them, he'd nearly fallen into Dean's welcome arms. Nearly died in Dean's arms.
Now, Sam is doing similar things to his brother—his brother who's supposed to have everything under control, who isn't allowed to show weakness—rubbing his back in soothing circles and whispering more calming statements, but Dean can't register them. Instead he grips his brother even tighter, fists clenched tightly into his shirt. He's shuddering madly, though he isn't cold. Much the opposite, actually. His right forearm is burning, shooting a white-hot pain up his arm and through his whole body, as if the Mark is keening for its other half, the Blade that makes it rise to full power.
"Dean." Sam's voice comes in for the first time. It sounds a bit hollow, as if it's underwater. Dean sways dangerously. "Let's get to the car. We'll start driving home."
Home. The word echoes, temporarily blocking out the macabre words of Cain, the gory depictions that are running through his head. He's not sure if he wants to go home just yet. He feels content here in Sam's arms.
But yet, home means a bed to rest his exhausted body in, a cupboard of aged whiskey to drown himself in. Maybe that will dim the voices, the images of death that are plaguing him like horrid premonitions of what it to come.
Sluggishly, Dean nods his head against Sam. The younger man's arms are unbound from him, and Dean feels a pang of abandonment even though he knows that Sam is still here, only now they aren't in contact.
Then, Sam has an arm around Dean's chest, supporting him as they make the trek to the Impala. Dean nearly cries when he sees his baby; she's so beautiful, and is one of the only constants in Dean's life. The car had been the Winchesters' home, and Dean would be eternally grateful to her for being there for them even when family couldn't.
Sam manages to lower Dean into the passenger seat, shutting the door gently, and Dean rests his head against the cool glass of the window. Sam climbs in, revving the engine and closing his door with a slightly louder crunch. Dean almost cringes at the sudden noise.
They drive in complete silence, besides the low purr of Dean's baby and the soft thrashing of a classic Metallica tape playing. Sam's looking over to Dean on steady increments, but Dean doesn't acknowledge him. He knows that Sam wants to talk about everything, but Dean doesn't.
"Ride the Lightning" is playing, and Dean finds for the first time in his life that Metallica is not calming him. All it does is set his nerves on the edge, filling his mind with nasty flash-forwards.
"Guilty as charged,
But darn it, it ain't right,
There is someone else controlling me.
Death in the air,
Strapped in the electric chair,
This can't be happening to me.
Who made you God to say,
'I'll take your life from you!'"
"Turn it off," Dean mutters in a low voice, begging, pleading. He can't handle this.
Sam shoots what may be an incredulous look at Dean, but he doesn't care. Even freakin' Taylor Swift's light, meaningless lyrics would be better than these dark, heavy ones that are bearing far too much resemblance to Dean's current situation.
Sam obliges to Dean's out of character request, and they ride the rest of the way to the Bunker in a thick silence, neither man eager to face what was to come in the near future.
Yes, I've already published a tag to this episode, I know... I couldn't help myself, especially after thinking about how Metallica's "Ride the Lightning" applies to Dean's trials right now. And yes, the title is also a Metallica song.
Hope you enjoyed it, reviews are awesome!