A Little Help

Famine: That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex. You can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me. I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated. You can't win and you know it, but you just keep fighting, just keep going through the motions. You're not hungry, Dean because, inside, you're already dead.

Dean Winchester: Please. I can't… I need some help. Please.

Bobby flinched as the sound of Sam's screams echoed up through the ventilation system from the panic room below. It wasn't actually very loud up here, but considering that it was coming from a completely enclosed space made entirely of iron, it was damn loud. He wouldn't have thought it was possible, but this time actually seemed worse than the first time that Sam had gone through withdrawals from his addiction to demon blood. The physical symptoms were less severe – Sam wasn't levitating into the walls, for one thing – but the emotional toll was about a hundred times more intense. Bobby, and especially Dean, kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sam's last battle with demon-blood addiction had ended with him beating the crap out of his big brother and then starting the apocalypse. A man couldn't help but be a little uneasy, wondering what would happen this time.

Dean was taking it hard. He wasn't drinking as heavily as he had last time, but he wasn't eating either. Mostly he just hung out downstairs, by the door to the panic room. He'd gone outside briefly, marching right past Bobby in the kitchen without saying a word. When he'd come back in, his eyes had been just a little too glassy, his shoulders a little too slumped, and he'd gone straight back downstairs to resume his vigil outside the panic room. Bobby desperately wanted to follow him. He wished he could be there for both those boys the way he had before, but the damn chair wouldn't navigate the stairs, and he wasn't about to ask Castiel to carry him up and down the steps or teleport him just so he could keep an eye on them. It's not like he'd be much help if Sam turned violent anyway. Those boys were worlds and away stronger than him at the best of times. Now, with his gimpy legs, he was pretty near useless when it came to the physical stuff. But that was okay. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was okay because Dean had Cas to back him up. Thank God there was one angel who seemed to actually give a damn what became of humanity in general and the Winchester boys in particular.

Twelve hours into his self-imposed lockdown, Sam's voice had begun to give out and Castiel had finally persuaded Dean to go upstairs for some much needed rest. Bobby had tried to persuade him to go use one of the empty bedrooms on the second floor, but the kid had lain down on the couch in the living room, unwilling to be any farther away from his baby brother than that. Sometimes those two could just break your heart with how much they loved each other.

When he was done eating breakfast – he still needed food even if Dean didn't seem to – Bobby rolled into the living room to check on the eldest Winchester. The kid was conked out on the couch and dead to the world. He'd lost all his covers in his tossing and turning. Bobby considered tucking him back in, but he knew that with the wheelchair hampering his ability to be stealthy, he would be bound to wake Dean up and that was the last thing he wanted to do. The kid didn't look like he was having pleasant dreams. His brows were drawn together in a frown and his eyes moved rapidly back and forth beneath his eyelids, but the fact that he was sleeping at all was pretty darn amazing under the circumstances. Asleep and twitching was a definite improvement over wan and about to pass out from exhaustion.

Bobby wheeled out of the room, heading for the top of the basement stairs. It was time to check in with Castiel and see how Sam was doing. He'd gotten as far as the hallway when he heard heavy footsteps and the angel came barreling up the stairs, looking alarmed. "Where is Dean?" he demanded, coming to a dead stop before the wheelchair.

"He's asleep," Bobby replied. "Why? What's happened?"

"Sam is fine. He grew too quiet, so I went inside to monitor him invisibly. He was lying on the cot, sleeping soundly. The worst of the withdrawals appear to have passed."

"So soon? Isn't that kind of strange?"

"It is exceedingly strange. It was while I was observing him that I noticed… " The angel looked down and trailed off, seeming reluctant to finish the thought aloud. After a moment he raised his gaze and locked eyes with Bobby, his expression intense and almost desperate. "Where is Dean?"

"The living room," Bobby answered, only mildly reassured by the news that the younger Winchester was okay. The angel looked freaked. Angels were not supposed to look freaked. Bobby turned, but before he could take control of the chair, Castiel began to push him.

"What's going on?" Bobby knew he was pushing, but those boys were his family and this was his damn house. He had a right to know what –

As he passed through the double doors that separated the living room from the hallway, Bobby's eyes tracked reflexively to where Dean was still sleeping on the couch. What he saw there made his hands tighten spasmodically on the handrims, braking him to a halt at an angle and blocking the entire doorway. What in the blue blazes? It just didn't make sense. The blankets that had been pooled on the floor by the couch were no longer there. Instead, they were spread over Dean, pulled up to his chin and tucked in neatly at the sides. With the way that they were cocooned around him, Bobby knew there no possibility that the kid could have maneuvered them into place himself. Besides, Dean was down for the count, as deeply asleep as he'd been when Bobby had seen him two minutes before. The only difference was that now the lines of anxiety had been smoothed from his face. He looked peaceful and impossibly young as he lay there with the smallest of smiles turning up the corners of his lips. The grayness had left his skin, replaced by the kind of healthy glow that Bobby usually associated with teenage skin care commercials. What the Hell?!

Abruptly, Castiel shoved Bobby the rest of the way into the room and then hurried around him. The angel knelt down beside the couch, placing a hand lightly on Dean's chest and then reaching into his trench coat with the other hand. Bobby watched in puzzlement for a moment, but enlightenment dawned as the angel pulled Dean's amulet from the folds of his own clothing. Castiel clutched the necklace tight in his fist, his normally somber features illuminated by a look of… joy?

"Cas, what's going on?" Bobby hissed, trying not to wake Dean. "What in the name of Christ is going on?"

For answer, the angel got up and walked over to the hunter. "Hold out your hand." Perplexed, Bobby did as he asked. Then, taking the cord of the amulet from around his neck, Castiel dropped the necklace into Bobby's palm and closed the hunter's fingers around it. Bobby stared at his closed fist in confusion. The metal radiated a soothing warmth against his skin, like a lap-cat that had been sitting in the sun. Bobby's eyes widened as he realized what it had to mean and his head snapped up, his eyes searching out the angel's.

"He was here," Castiel whispered breathlessly. "My father was here."

The End… Maybe