THE CHOICE
The sting in the tender flesh of his palm is a constant reminder of the choice they had to make. He had to make. The shallow slash bites at him and sends comforting flames of pain licking at his senses as he digs his finger tips into it. The car is dark and quiet around them, the silence even thicker then the night outside.
The free air in Dean's lungs burns his throat and chest and while his spirit and soul flies free hurtling towards home and baby his heart is heavy with the sadness between the four of them. The relief, as tangible as Sam sitting just in front of him within touching distance, is crushing to say the least. His hair, his warmth...his dimples, God they're both still alive.
He has to look down at his own hands a few times, let his fingers run through that cut to remind himself that this is, in fact, real. He can feel Mary's simmering frustration with them from where she drives but he lets it wash over him in another soothing reminder that they are together again. Cas is looking at him with fond exasperation in his gaze every few minutes and Dean is basking in that too.
Real things and feelings, pleasant or unpleasant are both welcome to him. And he'll gladly deal with an angry Mom as long as he's there to experience it. He feels forgiveness and love and relief in Mary as she stops by the road and gets him and Sam some real food. And it smells so good...good enough to eat up in one bite. He tries at least.
It's testimony to how much Cas and Mary had worried about them that their mom doesn't stop driving...those two want Dean and Sam safe inside the bunker as soon as possible. The ride back to Lebanon is about a thousand times too long for Dean to stay awake through. As soon as Sam's head falls to the side and his breaths grow sweet and soft with sleep Dean's own body crashes and his forehead falls against the window.
He's aware of Cas warm and firm beside him...he's safe, Cas is keeping watch. Sam is asleep and safe too, their mom is alive and safe...he's thinking of the conversation waiting for all of them...but more importantly between he and Sam. He can feel the wounds, the scars torn open like great holes in the earth, smoldering and angry.
Deals, death, being locked up...it was all way to close to home for both of them. And the amount of time it would take to heal from this hurts Dean's head. But he can't help his brother exhausted, can't help himself exhausted...his brain is an open, raw, pulsing thing in and of itself, and Dean hides from the pounding in his head and all the traumatic memories he had buried that reality had forced back on him in sleep.
He slips into slumbers dark and thick...but he can't shake the feeling of 'trapped' even in his rest.
...
He gets the highest of all highs when they're break out of the facility and disappear into the woods. He keeps at Dean's heels as they run between the trees. This is what they're meant to be doing, this is where they belong. Side by side, on the hunt. God, he wouldn't want anything else to be his last day...or his last hours with Dean.
Sam's chest is rising and falling quickly, panting with their race, Dean's eyes are wide and so so green it hurts as he sweeps their surroundings thinking over their next move. Dean had always been their strategist. The cold, free air is burning in his lungs so good and the wind in his hair is making him feel invincible...that's the high.
And he and Dean are soaring through the heavens together.
One last time.
They lay in wait for the highly trained soldiers and Sam feels dark satisfaction when he leaves the rusty first aide kit with his victim in a borrowed twist of Dean's easy irony. They grin like fools heading off into the woods and the younger Winchester can't help but leave one last tribute to them...their brotherhood, their partnership...it's about to be over.
"We're the guys who saved the world."
And as they climb into the car with their mom and Cas Sam is coming down from the high and he knows there is no way in hell Dean is going to 'keep on doing good' without him. And he knows Dean will ask him to do it...and he knows he owes Dean at least that much. Owes it to the years they were each other's whole existence, owes it to the rest of his life that he'll be living without his brother.
Wants the last thing Dean sees to be him and his puppy dog eyes and sad dimpled smile...if his so so strong brother has to go down, has to be done doing good and doing their work, be done living his extraordinary life, then god help him, he wants to be the one to do it. He owes it to Dean, to the work they've accomplished together, the days and nights no one knows about, the smiles and laughs, the tears, the grunts of pain, blood running and drying.
No one else had that, no one else gets to take it away from them.
So Sam takes a deep breath and when Billie makes herself known his heart is breaking but he meets Dean's eyes straight on, a dying hope in his that somehow Dean will let him go instead. But Sam knows his brother, if he knows anything he knows this; Dean won't live because of someone else's death. He can't, would never survive like that, it goes against the very grain of his soul.
And then Cas is drawing his angel blade from Billie's dead body and his face is set and terrible, truly an angel of the Lord. And he's saying no more sacrifices and yes, Sam thinks desperately, wanting to grab Mary and Dean, both of which have died for him already, and just run and hide for the rest of their lives.
It was a stupid deal, Cas says and again Sam has to agree but what were they were supposed to do? Rot in there the rest of their lives? Die before they saw each other ever again...stay caged between those four walls.
Sam shivers. Just no. Lucifer's torture had treated him better. And Dean god, his big brother needed wind running through his hair, real food, grease and calories...cheap beer and just as expensive liquor. The only truly fine thing his brother seemed to properly appreciate. Dean was so easy. And as they get back into the car and Mary points them towards home, his hands are shaking and when they get home he really wants some liquor and he really wants to sip it with his big brother. Alive, air thrumming with his energy, his heart beat speeding and slowing with their conversation or whatever their watching on TV. They laugh with and at each other all the way until one of them drops off and then the other follows easily...
They wake with sore necks a handful of minutes later and Dean stumbles back to his room to stretch out on his own bed, Sam simply flops over taking back the space Dean had been in and being back to sleep within seconds frowning with the cold air Dean lets into the room when he opens the door.
That's all he wants. Not much right? He doesn't think so. So he wolfs down the food their mom gives them barely staying awake in the adrenaline crash, smiles fondly after his disgusted grimace at the happy noises Dean's making over his burger, gulps down ice cold water (he's never drinking apple juice again) and lets his mind and body crash.
Never mind the panic and darkness chasing him with the memories of being caged, with being hunted in the night, the fear of losing Dean, their Mom...all feelings he had hoped he would never feel again. He slips into blissful ignorance before his mind becomes a problem. Dean's presence behind him helps lure him into a temporary peace and he lets it drag him down.
...
It's just a rippling wave of unrest, but it's chasing him through his dreams growing bigger and bigger, thoughts moving faster and faster whispering of things he feared most. You'll never seen him again, you're never getting out of here, he's dying...you're dying. There's pain too, faint but there. An annoying reminder of his body in the wakeful world...he doesn't want to wake up.
Even with nightmares this is the best sleep he's had for the past two months. But consistent sharp hurt in his stomach is pulling him rapidly towards consciousness and he wakes to a warm palm on the side of his neck, slender fingers under his ear supporting his head, a thumb on his chin angling his face away from the window. Cas.
His blue eyes come into view, wrinkles, or more wrinkles than usual cluing Dean into the fact that his best friend is worried. He hears himself groan, Cas purses his lips quizzically.
"Dean, are you alright?" He asks, but it's so far away for Dean he can't quite connect Cas' words and himself together. He must have been talking in his sleep he thinks, and he sees Sam half turned in his seat and damn, did he look as bad as he did?
"Sammy," he tries to get out because he hurts and he's about to throw up, and is Sam alright?
"He's gonna puke," he hears his little brother say in tight tones, like Sam doesn't feel so hot either. And maybe it's the fear and confusion following him from his dreams but the car spins a little around him and as Mary slams on the brakes he's almost thrown into Sam's seat in front of him. Cas holds onto him though and then Dean has the door open and he's on his knees in wet grass tossing up the food he had eaten. Cas climbs out behind him because he looks over through tear blurred eyes and spots Sam on one knee wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes faraway but worried, looking at Dean.
Oh yeah, he thinks grimly, miles and miles to go before we're through this. Because haunted is a look he knows all too well on Sammy.
"Maybe too soon with the real food." He hears Sam say, with a grimacing smile in the tone, and then their mom is on her knees beside Dean wiping his face with a napkin and he sends her smile, taking it from her and doing it himself.
The heavy sleep and its images are finally leaving Dean for good. This is real, Cas' hand heavy and warm in between his shoulder blades, their mom's soft smile, her blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight literal inches away and that's Sam's hand in front of his face offering to help pull him back to his feet.
He takes it and the air is cool around his swimming head as he stands, lets a hand on Sam's forearm steady him, leans into the silent strength of Cas' hand on his back. Sam's hair is wild, tossed in the wind, his eyes even wilder landing on him fixedly sparkling and glazed...Dean knows he's dealing with the same dreams and fears.
"You good?" Sam asks, "If that prison food did a number on me, I can't imagine what it did to you."
Mary and Cas are silent, watching them interact more in tune with each other than ever before, like hawks, probably waiting for them to crack, to go crazy or something...something other than this eerie calm that Dean could bathe in forever.
"I thought the food was pretty good." Dean says, and his voice cracks with a dryness in his throat. The toothy grin accompanied by dimples and a fond shake of the head is the only thing Dean needs to chase away the rest of the nightmares.
"Of course you did." Sam laughs softly, and folds himself back into his seat, sighing exhaustedly. Dean lets Cas push him back into the car, takes the water Sam passes back to him, of course he's noticed the roughness of his voice.
Neither of them try to fall asleep again.
...
Sam is jerked from the wandering nightmares by his brother's voice. It's hoarse, and broken and pleading (no one else would hear the fear, but he does) and it worsens the ache in his chest. Cas' low rumble is layered over it, words meant to calm and soothe his brother that Sam already knows won't work.
He runs hands down his face, digs fingers into his gritty eyes. Is it just him or is it hot and stuffy in here? No wonder Dean's restless, he can probably barely breathe back there...he really misses Baby right now. Her engine's rumble would have put Sam and Dean to sleep for good, and the rest would have have stayed good and peaceful.
He hears the pain in Dean's mumbled words sooner then he feels the excruciating cramps in his own stomach. Shit, complete diet change to soon, too fast. The pain ripples under his skin, bubbling in his stomach threatening to boil up at any moment.
Dean's eyes crack, wild and glazed over roving over the interior of the car searching for something...
"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asks, and Dean's eyes snap to his face. Lines of tension fall away, Sam watches a little more awareness bleed into Dean's expression when his brother finds him. The tightness of his frame doesn't go away though, his fingers clench in his palms and Sam vaguely thinks of the cut there being pulled wider.
"Sammy." Dean manages a plea, and when Sam thinks of that cut and the meaning of the matching one on his palm it's the last straw.
"He's gonna puke," he spits out, really meaning, we're both gonna puke.
Mary skids to a stop beside the road and Sam has his door open in record time. He hears the quiet, somewhat familiar sound of Dean retching beside him, hears the way his knees hit the ground and grimaces, only falling on one of his own so he can lean on the other one.
Dean is bent double, one hand fisting in the wet grass, Mary appears beside him, her face creased with worry. Sam sends her what's meant to be a comforting smile.
"Maybe a little too soon with the real food." He grimaces, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Mary hands him a napkin and then goes to Dean. His heart aches with the sight, Dean's unfocused eyes landing unbelievingly on their mother's face.
We did it, Dean. He thinks. We did it again. And it's a scary thought, but it wasn't only them this time. This time the people closest to them helped, came through. Proved they were more than pretty words and family blood. It's scary as hell knowing he and Dean hadn't done it all themselves meaning they couldn't only depend on themselves, but also exhilarating; they have others trusting and loving them. But scarier still, they have people they must trust and love too. It can be hard for them to come outside their bubble of brotherly instinct and silent communication.
Sam's heart is at ease and brimming to running over at the sight of their friend and mother fussing over Dean. It's the best thing he's ever seen. He takes one step and that leaves him planted in their midst, a part of them. Dean latches onto his hand and Sam pulls him up, Dean leans into him, but not away from Cas, doesn't try and hide that he's struggling for their Mom. So Sam doesn't either.
"You good?" He asks, the worry, desperation and tiredness reflecting in his voice, but the love and exhilaration evident there too.
Dean's eyes leap to his and study him minutely, his lips slip up into a sad excuse for a smile, but it's better then nothing. Sam lets his head cock to the side a little, "If that prison food did a number on me, I can't imagine what it did to you."
Dean hears the challenge and fondness in his tone. We're okay, we can deal with the dreams, with the memories. We're still together.
"I thought the food was pretty good." He mumbles. And Sam smiles widely. I know, it's going to be hard but we made it. We made it, Sammy.
"Of course you did." Sam says with a relieved laugh, and lets his breath sigh out as he collapses back into his seat. He's shaking from vomiting, the taste acrid in his mouth. But he's feeling more put together as the rest of them climb back into the car. He can feel Dean's nervous energy behind him, glances back through the rear view mirror to find Cas talking to him softly. Seems even naive angels can pick up on the fact that Dean is distracted easily.
Mary switches on the radio, familiar sounds washing over Sam and easing tension from his muscles. He and Dean's eyes meet in the rear view mirror though, and it's the moment that their souls connect and mirror into each other.
And Sam sees the haunted, hollow feeling in his own heart in Dean's eyes. And he knows they're not feeling, or thinking half as much as they will yet. Knows they're dealing with the physical results from their ordeal right now, but not the emotional or mental.
He sees the same unsteady, anxious nervousness he's vibrating with in Dean and he tries to send comfort and assurance to his brother through the silence. Neither of them even attempt to go back to sleep even though their minds are shutting down with exhaustion, their eyes hooded with tiredness.
They both know what awaits them in their dreams, sleep that isn't restful, sleep that would wear them out more than anything. Sam looks away from Dean's expressive, bloodshot eyes and knows they're not going to last too long. That they're going to have to face it, talk about it, dream about it...think about it.
He cracks the window, because honestly he can't breathe...with every thought and breath and beat of his heart he has to remind himself he's not in that place anymore and just behind him, nodding along to Cas' words Dean is the best reminder of all. Their eyes are back in the mirror, the best they can do for now, each other the only proof that it had all been real and that this was real too.
There's still a little niggling doubt in the back of their heads though. Sam struggles to ground himself as Dean's eyes flit from his to Cas with a confused lost, hopeful expression on his face. We're going home, Sam thinks, it'll feel real at home.
...tbc
Alrighty guys SPN is back! So relieved and happy, loved this episode...hope u guys are as glad I'm back as I am to be back! Lets have some more fun ;):)
Lemme kno what y'all think?!