Separation Anxiety
SPN fanfic [started 6/14/2012]
A/N: First part is a summary of purgatory, how they got out and parted ways. The way I saw it in my head was like a montage. It sets up for the second and third parts, which will be about a moment Dean and Cas share presently, but at the same time Dean reminiscing about stuff in the past. Hope its not too confusing.
I really suck at plot, that's why the details of how they got out of purgatory and Sam's ordeal are vague. I'll let your imaginations fill in the blanks. Thanks to my betamaster Jimj.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke.
PART ONE
Dean is home.
Home is the Impala, with her sleek, sexy lines and purr of her engine, blasting Zeppelin's melodic wails of Ramble On as she speeds down the road. Home is a cooler stocked with beer, ready for Miller Time at any given moment. It's falling asleep in a warm bed with the certainty of waking to a morning bright from the shining sun.
Home is Sam.
And when the behemoth of his baby brother pulled him into a bone-crushing hug that afternoon in a vacant chapel, Dean knew with tremendous relief he was finally home.
Dean and Castiel had been banished to Purgatory for over nine months. But since time in other-worlds move at a much slower, glacial pace compared to Earth, for these lost boys, their exile lasted twenty years.
Twenty years in the dense, swampy forest with nothing but the grey dim light of an absent moon and each other to count on. Their life in the perpetual night was a continuous endeavor, always looking over their shoulder and fleeing from one corner of purgatory to the other searching for haven from the monsters and deprived souls that lurked in the deep dark. Though the duo was blessed with moments of stillness, Dean was never fully able to relax.
He was under the ever-present fear of not knowing.
Dean took some small comfort in the fact that Sam remained on Earth and relied on blind faith that his little brother was OK. Sam was probably going ape-shit kicking down doors of hunters, demons, witches and every name in the book for answers. That's what Dean would do if roles were reverse.
But Dean could not worry about that. His goal was to see Sammy again. To do that meant staying alive long enough to bust out. He also refused to discover what would happen if he were devoured by one of these monsters.
Most likely wake up here to be devoured yet again, but from another, even hungrier creature, Castiel had inferred using that deadpan tone of his. Fortunately they never had to find out if that were true.
Castiel assumed the obvious role of Dean's partner-in-crime. There had been some crazy left in him, which concerned Dean at first, but he quickly learned the struggle to survive was the kind of therapy Cas' needed to get his head in check.
In fact, he almost reverted back to the Cas he used to know, but now is a more affable version of his friend. As if the crazy balanced him out.
In simpler terms, Dean gradually found Cas easier to talk to. When Dean would bring levity to their dire circumstances with crude jokes and pop culture references, Cas would actually laugh, albeit after a period of serious thought about the punch line. Regardless Dean would on many occasions garner a chuckle out of this once nerd angel. He also refrained from disappearing at a millisecond's notice. Dean really hated when he'd do that, even if it were for recon purposes.
Wherever that stick up his ass went, Dean was glad to be rid of it but was grateful his friend was still Cas at his core. Dean recognized it in the way his head would tilt at something that genuinely confused him, or his poker-faced expression he'd don when giving an explanation with grim honesty. That nostalgic familiarity was like a comfort of home.
Cas may have been responsible for the events that had lead them to the plight they were in, but he redeemed himself in spades to Dean, erasing any doubt in his mind that he could trust Cas with his life. They depended on one another, had each other's back. They were a team.
Together they made the years bearable; their shared singular focus of returning home to Sam was their motivation through that dreary, stagnant existence.
With their wits, an unlikely ally from the inside, and good old Winchester stubbornness, it was together they escaped purgatory.
It was in a quaint little country chapel in a small town in north Alabama where Dean and Cas waited. They sat on a pew in the first row, facing the giant wooden cross that hung high above the altar while a reverent silence hummed around them. Afternoon light poured through the stain glass windows, exuded a kaleidoscope of color to swirl on the canvas of blank walls.
"This is real," Dean stated incredulously. It was only hours ago they dwelled in darkness. "We're actually here."
"It appears so," Castiel answered and then they turned upon hearing the doors open.
Dean rose when he realized it was Sam entering.
The brothers stood on the far opposite ends of the aisle, allowed the disbelief to form then hang between them. The second it dissipated into certainty, they strode towards each other, a determined purpose in their gaits.
The closer he drew to his brother, Dean saw Sam reflecting the same sheen of tears in his eyes, the same grief for perished time, the same overwhelming relief hitching his chest. When they collided into a great embrace, they held on, astounded that they were reunited after once again being separated by years, death and dimensions. As Sam muttered I love you, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like each punishment was even worse than the last.
After they broke apart, Castiel extended his hand politely. "Hello, Sam." But Sam skipped all niceties and threw him a gigantic hug. Cas had no choice but to place his hands on the wide expanse of his back.
"Good to see you, Cas," Sam said in a released breath. Cas smiled at Dean from over Sam's shoulder, a mere curve of his mouth that indicated all is now right with the world.
After administering the necessary precautions on each other—holy water, salt and silver, the three hit the road in Dean's beloved Impala. It was a day and a half road trip from Alabama to Sioux Falls, and they used that time to recap the last few months. Sam spoke of his lone search for Crowley, his demise and how he with some angelic assistance returned the prophet Kevin home safely. When he asked about purgatory, Dean vaguely described it as a friggin' long-ass game of extreme tag, at night. Except that we were never 'it.'
Dean didn't mind that Sam had the wheel for most legs of the trip. It gave him the opportunity to watch the changing landscapes through the window, reeling by like a surreal slideshow presentation of déjà vu.
Sam had Bobby's house rebuilt after the whole business with Crowley was over. The massive project was the only thing that kept him sane when he learned that his brother and Castiel were trapped in purgatory. He made it his fervent mission to free them, but being lead from one dead end after another, rebuilding Bobby's house offered him a temporary sense of control.
"You know, a dominatrix could've helped you with that problem too," Dean teased with a waggle of his brows as they passed the shining bay windows. Sam regarded him with one of his patented bitch-faces.
"Oh, please don't tell me you didn't get any action while I was away? If so, we're going to a bar like, pronto."
"Well I'm not saying that," Sam replied modestly, the smirk he gave implying he got plenty. But no way was he going to share the details of his sex life, especially with Dean.
"That-a-boy," he commended his brother with a proud pat on the back.
Sam restored the basic structure of Bobby's house, keeping the layout as he remembered it, complete with panic room and devil's traps. He also added a few more bells and whistles any decent hunter would envy. A more organized weapon section in the basement, hidden exits per room, and the library, transformed to a design only Sam's beautiful mind could imagine.
The library was the only fully restored room because it was an area he used most often. It also served as his living area. There was a couch beneath the wide bay windows and a flat screen TV mounted on the wall across. There was a polished oak desk in front of the fireplace. Where Bobby had towers of books and cluttered cabinets, Sam maximized space with built-in floor to ceiling shelves. The wall to the right of the window and couch was bare for the use of brainstorming. Currently it was a web of newspaper clippings, pictures of three women who were young and blonde, and notes loosely pinned—information about a werewolf who craved a certain type of victim. Sam was investigating this in a town outside Charleston. He'd gotten the call from Dean just as he wrapped up that case, and broke speed limits to get to Beaverton, Alabama where he and Cas were waiting for him.
"Sam, this is truly remarkable work." Cas complimented with awe as he swept his gaze across the room.
"I had help. To say Garth has a big family is an understatement."
The rest of the house was sparsely furnished, only the basic necessities. More work needed to be done, walls painted, fixtures to be installed. It probably demanded more than the three of them, but they deemed themselves fully capable to handle it on their own, especially when they have Castiel, whose mojo was limited in purgatory but now fully juiced. It was like they had a crew of twelve men.
The several weeks that it took them to finish was rewarding for Dean. It felt good to be put to work again, to earn that certain sense of accomplishment that can only be achieved with nothing but your bare hands and a few tools, even more so because it was Bobby's house, rebuilt in his memory. He couldn't fathom creating a home anywhere else.
Castiel had mentioned returning to heaven after they finished, something about following up on the prophet Kevin, and being curious about the state heaven is in. Dean agreed absently, too engrossed in completing the wall he was painting to dwell on the idea. Then forgetting it entirely when his sonofabitch little brother then "accidentally" spilled paint on him, thus creating a paint war and undoing all their work with the carefree mess they made.
The house came together as they added more of the basics; a kitchen table with chairs, a well-stocked first aid kit in the bathrooms, a bed for Dean to sleep in instead of a sleeping bag. Sam suggested some fancy artwork to hang in the upstairs hallway, to which Dean's response was, "Really, Samantha?" And the argument ended at that.
Once the walls gleamed neutral shades of grey, plumbing all in working order and furniture and appliances in place, Castiel approached Dean in the kitchen where he was uncapping a bottle of beer and announced his leave.
"Oh, right." Dean tried not to sound like the rug was being pull out from under him. He was with Cas every waking moment in purgatory and they were never too far from each other after returning home. The idea of him leaving, even if for a day, let alone indefinitely, gave him a weird, sinking feeling and he didn't know why.
"Dean, I informed you of my plans weeks ago."
He placed his beer on the counter. He wasn't thirsty anymore. "No, yea. I remember." Sort of.
Dean told himself this is fine, this would be good for them. They have been practically joined at hip for how many years and each needed their well-deserved space.
He looked at his friend, standing there earnestly, wearing his signature trench coat. After all this time, he still had on those white hospital scrubs. Dude needed new clothes, maybe another suit. He'll have to take him shopping when he comes back. If he even does. "You'll be back. Right?"
"Of course," he confirmed, but there was a forlorn tinge to his voice that made Dean's chest tighten suddenly.
"Ok then. You'll let us know if you need anything." Dean held his gaze as if anticipating any more to be said from him, but Cas only sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Finally, he rejoined his gaze and though his eyes were smiling, there was a trace of something else—regret, reluctance, maybe. Dean wasn't sure. "I'm happy you're home."
Dean wanted to thank him, tell him he couldn't have done it with out him. But Cas disappeared before any of those words came to fruition. Dean was left blinking at the vacant space in front of him, and swearing he heard pieces of his heart chipping away.