The motel's ceiling paint was peeling around the dingy water stains. Moonlight bathed the cheap room, strikingly harshly against the chipping off-white paint directly above Dean's head. In lieu of sleep, it was all she could focus on. She only needed four hours a week anyway, and she'd already had two since Wednesday.
It's different now.
Dean grumbled low in her throat and threw the covers over her pinched face. It was warm under the comforter, so she snuggled deeper. Get outta my ass, Cas.
Laughing at the mind-sigh she heard in response, Dean sent up a quick prayer to her guardian angel. The rain came down in sheets. Rain for days wasn't good for people like Dean. People who needed to move around.
The carpeted walls (was this a 70s porn video?) were starting to feel like iron bars with their incriminating Fleur-de-Lis stamp patterns. Who put yellow carpet on walls? Freakin' Azazeal would.The fridge hummed too loudly, the floorboards creaked in too many places, the bathroom door didn't close all the way! Feeling she had the right to believe so, Dean thought this place was Hell.
To the right, Sam was snoring like what could only be described as a moose in mating season. It was suffocating. The clock ticked.
Tick. Snore. Tock. Snore. Rain. Snore. Tick. Snore. Tock. Snore. Rain.
Dean exploded up out of the bed, her dark blonde hair settling around her like a nest. She buried her face in her hands and moaned in misery. Cas, how much longer do we have to be here?
For a long time, there was no response to her prayer. She just sat on the edge of her bed; waiting out the storm, waiting out the night, and clutching her stomach to keep in the uneasiness.
In times of panic like this, Dean just wanted quiet. Just silence. But all she could hear was the rain on the thin windows, the stupid refrigerator, and her monstrous, pain-in-the-ass little brother. And the souls. God, how she could hear the souls screaming as her blade sliced through their flesh. The room grew suddenly hot, imaginary flames licking up and down her arms and teasing her feet. Breath lodged in Dean's throat, unable to escape, unable to go back down. The souls grew louder and Dean pounded at her temples, struggling in vain to force the sounds out.
They were getting louder, more anguished, desperate. They clawed at her body, ripping, tearing, shredding. Dean's lungs burned for air in the midst of panic.
Gently, a hand caught her wrist before it could bludgeon her head again.
"I thought you had gone to sleep," the gruff voice said.
"Cas," she gasped. He sounded so sad. Dean's first instinct was to make the air lighter. She drew in her first deep breath of the night. "What? Just because you fed me a one-liner? You know it takes more than that to get me in bed."
Dean looked up into Castiel's blue eyes. They were squinting with concern and irritation. With a disheveled sigh, Cas sat down on the bed, his trench coat crumpling around him. He held Dean's hand in his.
"Dean. Were you…thinking of the pit?" His voice was low, eyes piercing. Was Dean trembling or had she left the Magic Fingers on?
"No. That crap-hole doesn't deserve my thoughts." Dean put her face on the angel's collarbone, breathing in as his arms wrapped around her.
"Do not lie to me, Dean. I can still see your eyes when you are sad." Dean fisted his crinkled, white button-up underneath the suit jacket.
"Cas…" Her voice was so much broken than she had meant for it to be. Cas hesitantly touched her hair as they sat face-to-face. "I can't…talk about the rack. It makes it worse."
"I wish you would tell me these things, Dean," Cas breathed from his stubbled mouth into Dean's ear. "Keeping it inside you—it is not good for you or…"
"I know, Cas. I'm sorry. I know you're worried. I'll be okay. I've gone this long with all this crap in my head—I can keep both of us safe." Castiel laid a hand across Dean's belly.
"I know you will keep him safe, but what about you? You cannot keep 'stowing', as you say, these memories and expect it to not affect you."
Dean just laid her hand over his and repeated herself stubbornly, brokenly. "I'll keep him safe." Castiel sighed deeply. It was such a human expression, one he hadn't found himself using often before having met Dean. The bed springs creaked as Dean moved closer to the angel.
"Please be safe," Cas whispered softly as he kissed her forehead. Dean clutched at his tie. "I will collect you and Sam within the next day. Please trust me and stay where you are."
"No promises, Cas." He smiled very slightly, an almost undetectable twitch of the muscles above his lip, at her response. "I love you."
"And I love you." The angel lowered his head to Dean's stomach, and laid a gentle kiss there. "Please rest, Dean. You need it, and he does as well."
"It makes me tingly when you take control, Cas." Dean laughed at herself. "I'll try."
Suddenly, she heard the flapping of wings and fell forward unceremoniously onto the bed, feeling very empty and very cold.
In the morning, Dean stared out the window. That was all. Montana was cold this time of December. Wrapped in the comforter, she sat in a chair by the large window of the one-story motel. Wind whipped at the trees, bending them in ways they weren't meant to bend. Dean worried they would break and hit the Impala.
Oh, Sam had taken the Impala to get decent coffee. The motel seemed a little quieter without Sam's snoring. But the fridge was still too loud and the wind was still too abrasive, even through the window.
Slowly, Dean wrapped her arms around her belly. Keep him safe, she told her mind. Don't let him see what I see when I close my eyes. If her horrifying PTSD affected her baby in anyway, Dean would never forgive herself. Keep him safe. This had been her mantra for five weeks now. Fear and excitement had riddled her with holes. Sam didn't know. It was better that way.
Dean smiled with her eyes closed, feeling peace as she stroked the warm skin of her belly. She would get out of the life eventually—she would not raise the baby to hunt. She and Cas could live cherry-pie lives. Not apple pie because that was too sweet. Their lives would always be a little sour. But with a baby, she would be so much happier. Maybe she could do this, after all.
The loudness around her was just white noise now as she thought of her baby's first movements and steps and words. The smiles and tears and scrapes and trophies. God, it would be so worth it. She would protect him from everything her father had never protected her from.
And then pain happened again. It had happened twice that morning—twice since she'd woken up. Low in her belly. Just cramping, the Internet had told her. Normal for the first few weeks. Outside, the trees whipped harder.
The pain grew until she couldn't bear it anymore and went to the bathroom. If she was sick, she would protect the baby from this too. Looking in the mirror, Dean saw the dark circles under her eyes and splashed them with water.
The pain shuddered through her body, evoking a silent scream from Dean as she doubled over with the force of it. She put her hand between her legs. Her fingers came back bloody.
No. NO. Dean shifted to all fours on the dirty bathroom floor, panting and gasping at the cramps. Blood trickled down her legs.
It was gone. The baby could not live inside her.
Through the rushing in her ears and the hopeless tears coursing down her face, Dean heard the door open.
"I got coffee and pie, Dean!" It was Sam.
"Help." Dean tried to call, but her voice was so soft and watery.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was closer to the bathroom door.
"Please, Sammy," Dean coughed. Sam kicked the door in—no hesitation. He saw his sister on the floor, spread out, bleeding, pale.
"I couldn't keep him safe."
"Oh, God, Dean. What happened?" Sam fell to his knees beside her, dragging her up by the shoulders. Dean gasped at the wave of pain that caused.
"Couldn't keep him safe from myself," she hiccupped. The tears dripped off her face and diluted the puddle of blood underneath her.
"Cas!" Sam called up to the angel. "CASTIEL! Please help! She's hurt!" Sam looked back to his sister. "Who couldn't you protect?"
"Cas…get Cas."
"He's coming." Sam's eyes were so sad.
A lifetime of saving people, and Dean could not protect the thing she loved most from her own body. She felt so light from the blood loss. Wings flapped and Cas was kneeling next to her.
"Dean…"
But it was quiet now. There was no noise. Dean couldn't hear anything anymore. Just the steady tick of the clock right outside the bathroom. Tick. Tock. Silent.