Disclaimer: None of it's mind. Obv.
AN: I can't stop. I have like, three other ideas in my head for more fic. This fandom has consumed me, for real. Like, with Comic Con (didn't go, just have been reading all the exciting spoilers lol. NOTE: There may be some similarity to those, although I wrote this before I read those, and any connection is mere coincidence.) But yeah. On with the show. Kudos to those who can tie the female victims name to another fandom. :) Rated for language, cause there's quite a bit of it toward the end of this. Typed it all up yesterday morning, while the idea was fresh. Hope you all enjoy.
It isn't long before Dean gets restless and begins hunting again. Small time at first-a ghost here, a witch there-nothing too big, and always within a few hours' drive, so he can be home by dinner. But then, not too long after getting back in the game, he gets wind of a vampire nest outside of Indianapolis, and after that, a few demons wreaking havoc in western Ohio (nothing too big time; they actually ran when they saw it was him. Didn't stand a chance.)
Every time he comes home and unpacks, his clothes and hair smelling of smoke or gunpowder, blood or some other type of inhuman bodily fluid, Lisa scowls or makes some sort of derisive sound before shaking her head. She's fine when it's close to the area. He's doing good things for people; hell, without his expertise, Ben and all those other kids...she shakes away the thought, the knowledge of what could have happened almost making her physically ill.
However, this time...this time is different. This time, after a particularly bad outing with a poltergeist, Lisa appears in their bedroom doorway and crosses her arms without so much as a hello, a duffel bag with his things next to her on the ground. He gapes at her, and then sighs.
"I don't care," She cuts him off as he begins to explain. "You've been here a year, Dean. We were doing so good for a while, and then you started hunting again, which was fine when you were only gone for a day or so..." She sighed, suddenly sad. "It was Ben's championship game. You promised, even though you missed most of the others. You promised him."
Dean's heart skips and he feels like the lowest person ever as he skulks into the boys' bedroom. Ben is hunched over his desk and scribbling something on a worksheet, and doesn't even look up when Dean knocks on the doorway.
"Hey." Dean breathed.
The pencil stopped. An impatient sigh emitted from the boys lips. "Hey."
"So." Dean began, wandering into the room. "How'd you guys do?"
Silence. More scribbling.
"Come on, Ben." Dean started again. "Talk to me. Throw that stapler at my head."
More of a huff now. "I don't care, Dean. It's fine."
"Obviously."
The boy glared at him sharply. "The only reason you care is 'cause Mom yelled at you."
"That's not true, Ben." Dean replied softly. "I just...I lost track of time. I'm sorry..."
He shook his head. "I know you help people. It's fine. I just..." He trailed off. He wasn't one to share his feelings. That was for wimps, for bitches. And he wasn't a bitch.
"Just what?" Dean asked, scooting closer on the bed, inching near the desk. Ben avoided his look.
"You told me you'd be there." He explained, looking up finally. He wasn't upset to the point of tears, but the look of betrayal and mistrust was there.
Dean suddenly understood. "I broke a promise."
"I get what you do. It's definitely more important than a stupid baseball game..."
"It's not a stupid game, Ben."
"...even if Mom doesn't like it." He finished, looking pointedly at Dean, who suddenly felt very unwelcome. "It's not a big deal."
The year had been rough. The first couple of months were torture as he fought through his grief, unable to tell either one of them what he had truly been through. And that meant not really being able to open up about what had happened to Sam. About the guilt. And the loss. After the initial loneliness though, it got better. He started doing the soccer dad thing, and the family dinners and the gatherings. It wasn't until the spring that he began to hear about weird stuff happening in the next town over. Unable to ignore the itch, he shrugged it off as mere curiosity. But when it actually was fixed, Lisa had looked at him with suspicious eyes, knowing he had something to do with it.
"Don't make a habit of it." She had told him playfully, and he had laughed with her. But hunting was like a drug, and it was his life. It was what he was good at, and what he knew. As much as he liked the mechanic's shop, it wasn't in his blood and his bones. This was genetic. He couldn't shake it.
"I really wish I would've been there." He started. Ben snorted, because that's obviously not true; cause if you wanted to be there, you would be. Nothing can keep you away. Because even at 13, Ben knows it and so does his mom. Hunting is the only thing Dean Winchester has ever been about. That, and his family, and while he and his mom are great stand-ins for the latter, they all know it's just a great big game of pretend. So all Dean has left is hunting. Why wouldn't he choose that?
"I know she doesn't like it." He began again. "But...it's my job, Ben."
"What about the garage?" The boy asked, tracing a pattern on his worksheet. "That's your job too."
Dean sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But this is what I'm good at. And I'm helping people, Ben." He bites his lip. "It's all I've ever known. I can't stop."
"You mean you won't." Ben surmises, sighing after. He turns back to his desk. "It's fine, Dean. I have homework to do."
Dean feels like there's more he should say, or do, but as he opens his mouth, he realizes there's nothing he can say, or do, because it's the truth. You always have a choice when you live your life. He won't choose something else, and it's not just because this is genetic, or because it's who he is and has always been. Now that he had started back, he can't stop. Sometimes, if he tries hard enough (and hell, sometimes, he doesn't have to try at all), he can hear Sam next to him, feel him watching. He remembers Jo talking to him about her dad, telling him that this was how she was close to him. That was the most accurate thing he could do to describe hunting, even if he had promised Sam he would quit and be normal. He felt close to Sam. Like he wasn't quite gone.
"It's really doesn't bother me," Ben insisted, even if it was obvious it really did. "It's okay if you hunt a little. You keep people safe." He sighed. "You just...shouldn't make promises you can't keep."
Dean sighed and Sam's face entered his thoughts. Boy, don't I know it.
He decides to lay off hunting for a while. When he does hunt, he sticks within a few towns, and is never gone for longer than a day. It's better. Until he hears tell of a job in Kentucky, about 6 hours south of them, just in time for a soccer tournament. Dean is itchin' to take the case-Bobby's started tipping him off, and mentioning how great his help would be and Dean really wants to check it out, cause it's different and new. He decides to talk to Ben, and see what the kid thinks.
The kid, is less than thrilled. Lisa glares, and he sighs, knowing he won't be getting laid for at least a month. At least.
Oh well. He's gone longer without it. Ben is insisting he goes at that point, although Dean believes him to be a little more upset than he's letting on. But, the kid insists he understands that this is for the good of everyone, so he tells Dean to go. There'll be other tournaments.
People are disappearing. Out of thin air, one every few months, in the same wooded area in some backwoods town. Except now, they have some woman who got away from whatever it is, and she's told a few people the truth and the truth has gotten back to him.
He finds her in a diner on a rainy day. She's twitchy like a trauma survivor, a few cuts and bruises still healing on her face and arms. She circles both hands around her coffee cup as the waitress sets it down, breathing a deep sigh as if she's gone too long without it. Dean sits and waits, knowing you can't press people like this.
"Ms. Bell, I just need to know what you saw." He begins gently, taking a flip pad out of his coat pocket. He's faking an FBI agent once more, a detective in cold case work, Agent Glenn Frey. She looks at him with wide eyes for a moment, then back down at the table, shaking her head.
"No...no, I can't." She sighs, shakily now as if she may cry soon, and Dean hopes she won't. It's times like these he wishes Sam were back with him more than anything because he was always better at the shmoopy, self-help, talk your feelings out crap. Dean's more of a "what's the problem and how can I fix it?" type of person, especially given the roller coaster his life has been the past two years. All he wants to do is hunt and kill something simple. He doesn't need to have to develop people skills.
But Sam's not here, so he puts his hand out over the woman's shaking wrist and looks at her, trying to channel Sammy's puppy dog soulfulness. It seems to work, because she swallows hard. "You won't believe me. No one does." She barks out a laugh. "They all think I'm crazy."
"I won't." He insists harshly, and the way her eyes widen tells him he should be gentler. "It's just that, uh...the things I've seen in this business..." His mouth quirks into a smile. "Well, I'd bet it's got nothing on some of the things I've seen."
She scoffs once more, not understanding how a FBI agent could have seen anything like this monster, but she shakes away the thought. "Um well...it was...it was awful. It had these long, long claws. And fangs like...like I've never seen. Tall, skin and bones, but it moved so fast. It um..." She swallows, closing her eyes. "There was someone else there. Tied up, before me I think. And he...it," She shook her head. "I think it was eating him."
"Remember when we used to just hunt Wendigos, and how simple things were?"
Dean's heart almost stops in his chest, and he's amazed at how crisp Sam's voice is in his head as he remembers those last few days with his brother. He clenches his fist under the table. He clears his throat.
"That...that is disturbing," He begins. "But not unheard of. Now this other person...was he still alive?"
She looks at him in horror. "No! No, I don't...no." She shook her head. "But that's why we need to get up there. The man that helped me..."
He looks up at her fast. "There's was another person with you?"
She shakes her head again, frustrated that he's interrupting her. "If you'd let me finish...that's how I got away. This...this guy, he showed up in the cave. Told me he was gonna help me and kill the thing. Said he had experience in this line of work." She shook her head, tears now gathering. "He saved my life. He told me to run, toward the front, and that he'd take care of it." She started crying then, not heavy sobs, but silent tracks, running down her face. "The...thing, came up behind him. Knocked him down, and he kept telling me...telling me to go, and..." She shook her head. "I did. I've been trying to get people to go up there, to help him, but no one...they don't believe me. But it's been almost 4 days and...Please help him. I was in there for almost a week. He could still be alive."
The gears were shifting in Dean's head and he begins to realize this isn't so much of a hunt/kill mission as it will be a search and rescue, and he's filled with a sense of urgency that has been absent for years. This was about saving someone, from a Wendigo. A simple, basic hunt. He was amazed at the sense of relief that washed over him. He realizes that this person, this man she speaks of, is probably a hunter who misread the situation, or is really reckless. Either way, it's someone who needs his help. His face hardens.
"I need all the information you can give me." He leans toward her, hand over hers once more in a gesture of comfort. The guilt she is feeling is palpable. "I'll find him. I promise."
This time, as she really starts to cry, it's not out of frustration or fear, but of relief.
Dean finds himself straining to remember the hunt with his brother. It's been over 5 years (he shakes his head in disbelief at that realization) but finds himself picking it back up as he goes. He hikes out to the wooded area that the victim described to him, but of course, as it's a forest, it's hard.
Until he starts to see things. A ribbon on a tree here, a supernatural symbol marked into a tree (another reason he wished Sam was here. Sam with his egghead knowledge of everything. Kid was like a damned data repository). Markings that he just knows were made by this hunter. He begins to believe that maybe this guy isn't so stupid after all; that these are precautions, in case someone comes looking for him, in case something went wrong.
But he could be giving him too much credit. He follows the markings to where they stop, in a clearing behind a bluff. It's similar to what Katie Bell told him but he can't be sure and he swears under his breath. He lets the pack he's brought with him drop to the ground, filled with water and snacks in case this turned out longer than he expected. He smiles to himself. At least he learned something from the first time around.
He sees some brush move. The sound of skittering perks his ears and a flash of light draws his attention. He pulls a flashlight from the inside of his jacket pocket and starts to spin it with nervous energy. As he nears the brush, he sees it. A piece of jewelry, probably an earring or what's left of a necklace but it's there, on the brush. As he nears it and leans on the branches, the brush gives way, and he can see the gaping hole of the cave entrance. His heart leaps, but his gut gnaws at him. This is just way too easy.
Oh well. He pulls a gun from the back of his jeans. It was filled with silver bullets, but in case that doesn't work, he has his machete on the side of his legs in a holster. He breathes heavy. It's dusk, with night coming on soon, so he hoped he could at least get to the guy before the monster showed up. Best case scenario is that it was out scavenging the area and that he could come back the next night. Worst case...
Well, worst case, he had to be ready for. He turns the flashlight on, staying close to the cave wall as he slowly walks in, making sure to concentrate on the silence around him. He keeps hearing little things, but nothing to alarm him, until he comes to a fork in the paths, not sure of which one to take. He scowls.
"...uhhhhh..."
It's a groan; a lowly emitted, breathy groan. And not from him, and certainly not a sound the Wendigo would make. To the left.
He walks about 10 paces in before, out of nowhere, he is knocked to the ground with such force that he thinks he must've cracked a rib or two. He rolls over immediately, and is hit with the putrid odor of rotted flesh and saliva, hot and wet on his face. The creature is crouched above him, and is not pleased. Fuck.Me.
He swings the Maglite in his hand up with all his force, catching the beast in the side of the head at the temple. Disoriented-and probably more pissed off-it rears back, screaming in an unearthly manner. Dean decides to take this opportunity to scramble for his gun, which has been knocked out of his hand from the tackle. He's breathing heavily, thinking as fast as he can, realizing that it's beginning to get Worst Case Scenario bad; he hadn't even come upon the captured man yet.
The creature lashes out at him again with its monstrous claws, catching Dean on the upper arm, making him hiss in pain. He rolls to the side, fluidly grabbing at the machete on his leg, the gun forgotten. He pulls it out quickly and swings at the creature, which roars in pain as he strikes a glancing blow. He growls to himself. Not enough.
He's able to scramble up as the Wendigo howls, and then begins to stumble after him with more anger this time. He begins to walk backward in a zigzagged pattern; his body is crouched, tight and wound, like a snake ready to strike. The monster lunges at him and he uses the flashlight to disorient it once more, shining it directly into its face. It stumbles and he slides to the side, jumping a little to reach as he brings the blade up in an arched motion, guiding it down behind the beast and making contact with the base of its neck.
The body hits the ground with a quiet thump, as the head rolls a few feet, resting at the cave wall. Dean lands on his feet, hunching over to catch him breath. Wasn't quite as young as he was once. He sits back on his haunches, and then stands to wander over to his gun, picking it up and placing it back in its spot on his lower back. He turns to focus on trying to find his way to the present victim; he had heard a groan, and was probably closer now. He moves to pick up the flashlight near the branch in the tunnels, when he hears the voice again.
"...here..." It's breathy and low, but it's human. "I'm here..."
Dean forgets about the flashlight. It's super bright and is producing enough light to make the cavern dim, and although he wouldn't be able to make out a face, he'd still be able to see the guys shape. The flashlight could wait. He begins to walk toward the voice. "Okay, pal, just keep...making sounds. I'm gonna help you."
"...wha...who are you? Wha...what..."
He follows the voice, which soon becomes confused, rambling, although he's not really listening to what the guy is saying. He comes across the shape of four bodies, all strung up and suspended, their toes barely touching the floor. 3 of them are unmoving, and Dean moves to check for any signs of life when the man interrupts him.
"They're dead. They've been dead since I got here." He pauses. "How did you find me?"
"Katie Bell." Dean replies, turning toward him. "Said you saved her life. You a hunter?"
A pause. Dry laughter. "Yeah, yeah you could say that. Mind helping me out here?"
Dean smirks. "Pleasure's all mine sunshine. Can you walk?"
"I don't know. I may need some help, if that's cool."
"Nah I just figured I'd come out here and wave a rescue in front of your face before leaving your ass here."
The man snorts. "Jerk."
There is an odd sense of comfort in the insult, and he scoffs as he arches up to cut the man down. He realizes that the guy is big, and probably has about 4 inches on him. As he severs the rope, after about a minute of working at it, the guy drops to the ground, his legs giving out as his feet hit the ground. He can't make out the other hunters face, but he can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. "Guess that walking things out of the question."
"Eh, it's okay. Lucky for you, my kid plays hockey in the winter. His bag weighs a ton."
The guy is trying to stand, and he suddenly feels like the silence is uncomfortable, like the man wants to say something but can't. "You have a kid?"
Dean is grabs the guys arm and loops it around his shoulder, taking most of the weight on his good side. His left side is painful to the touch, and now, he's almost sure he cracked a few ribs, plus he'll probably need stitches in the gash on his arm. Oh well. He's had worse.
"Yeah. Names Ben, he's 13. You got any?" Because it's not uncommon. He and Sam were the rare ones; none of these guys were really raised into it like he and his brother had been.
The guy laughs, almost crazily. "No. Nah, I don't...this life's not exactly conducive with the Beaver Cleaver family model." He skips a beat. "You shouldn't be here, Dean. You should be with them."
"Yeah, well, lucky for you, that's not the way I roll." He shrugs as he moves toward the exit, stopping to crouch and grab the flashlight near the fork in the tunnel. "Tried to quit though, after...some stuff." He shakes his head. "Didn't really take."
The man mumbles something, something Dean can't discern and he decides he'll ask later. This guy is huge and heavier by the second, and he's almost delirious it seems. He probably hasn't had food or water in a few days either, and will need to be dropped off at some hospital.
They near the exit in silence, and outside, the stars are beginning to twinkle and glitter as night has begun to set. Dean is thinking back on the conversation they've been having. There's something that is nagging at him, something he can't really place.
They get outside and conveniently, there's a boulder right near the entrance, so he sits the guy down. He sets the flashlight next to him on the rock as the guy puts his face in his hands (poor bastards probably all sorts of out of it) and starts to move to where he left his pack, thanking someone (cause he doesn't thank God anymore for anything) that it's remained untouched. He thinks back to how easy it was finding the cave and surmises that the creature had been tracking him for a while and that it had led him to the cave expecting another meal. He smirked to himself, opening the pack and pulling out some water and jerky. This guy might've been unprepared, but Dean Winchester...
The thought stops him as he sits there, the conversation replaying in his head.
He never told this guy who he was.
His stomach begins to churn. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's messed something up. He hasn't paid attention. He begins to back track. Maybe he's come across him before. Maybe the guy got a glimpse of him, where Dean couldn't see him. He wasn't really concerned with looking at the guy; he was concerned with getting him out of there safely, to a safe place. He took a breath, and as he stood and turned, kept his head down and brushed his free hand to his lower back, making sure the gun there would be easy to draw. Fuck. He's usually so much more cautious than this.
He makes his way slowly back to the guy, thinking about the man more severely now. The guy is super tall, but thinner and wirier, like he hasn't had a good meal in months. The voice is...familiar, he realizes now, and he starts to think harder, his expression full of concentration. He hands the guy a bottle of water. "Here. You need to drink this."
The guy doesn't move to take the water. He leans over, closer to his face. "Hey, dude. Water. Come on. Drink."
"You shouldn't be out here." The guy mumbles back, keeping his head down as he snatches the bottle, and Dean senses the anger in his voice. He backs up, more affronted than anything.
"Well, you're fuckin' welcome. Hey, how about I just take you back in there, string you up again, leave you for death? You prefer that?"
"Fuck you." The curse is low and sharp and Dean bites back a growl. "You promised."
He's spiraling now. He promised what? "Okay, you better fuckin' tell me what the hell is going on, because you seem to know who I am, and you seem to have some sort of grudge..."
He steps back now, because the guy doesn't look up, doesn't say a word, but it finally clicks in his mind. He can't believe it's taken this long to realize, any more than he can believe it's actually possible. He drops to his knees.
"Sam?"
He's looking up at the guy, because he's still hunched over and Dean's hands are free since dropped his own water where he hit the ground. His hands scramble to push the guy's head up, so he can see it, and the guy jerks back, irritated. Dean rises up slowly, and in the moonlight, he can see the guy-
Sam, looking up at him, an array of emotion flittering across his dirt and sweat stained face. "You broke your promise."
And the kid sounds fuckin' broken and pissed off, but Dean's mind is raging inside. He's numb everywhere else, shock overriding any logical reaction to this, so he just stands there for a second. "You're fuckin' lucky I did. Is that all you can say to me?" He breathes. "Sam?" He asks it again, because he can't believe it.
And Sam just sits there, still angry and wounded looking, sheepish even. "You're supposed to be in Indiana."
Dean doesn't even think before he does it, but he hauls off and punches him right in the face. Sam reels back, but he doesn't clutch at his cheek or even wince. "Okay, I may have deserved that, but you..."
He's interrupted as Dean kneels again and hugs him, so tightly he can't even breathe. "Just shut up. Just shut the fuck up. You son of a bitch..."
Sam knows this isn't a battle to fight right now, so he hugs his brother back. "I'm sorry. I should've told you."
Dean pulls back, and Sam sees his eyes are red with the force of holding back tears. "You're damn right you should've. What the hell were you thinking coming out here by yourself? Without having any one covering you?"
"You did it too," Sam accused.
"Uh no. Katie Bell, knows I'm out here. Park services, knows I'm out here. 'Camping'." He makes air quotes.
"Oh yeah, if you were to get knocked out by the damn thing, they'd of been real help."
"Better coverage than you had. You'd think after everything we've dealt with over the past two years you'd be able to handle one god-damned Wendigo." Dean snaps back, and he wants to punch the kid in the face again. "I don't even know what to do right now." He sighs. "We need to get you back to town, to a hospital. Luckily those markers you put up are still there..."
Sam nods and tries to push himself up off the rock, but falls back down, hissing as he tries to put weight on his leg. Something's definitely wrong, he's sure of it, and he looks up at his brother sheepishly. "Looks like I did some work to it."
"I'd say so," Dean shrugs. "Okay, well then. Man the flashlight; I'll get us back."
It takes a while, but they make it in one piece, ending with Dean lowering Sam into the passenger seat of the Impala. As he stands back and closes the door, he's surprised with the lump that forms in his throat. Sam's back; he's fuckin'...skin and bone, and warmth and alive. And as pissed off as he is that the kid has obviously been back in the game awhile and just not told him anything, he also hopes he never forgets this feeling for as long as he lives.
For the first time, in a long time, he sends a silent prayer to his "friends" up north. Thanks Cas, cause he's sure he has something to do with it. But maybe not. Maybe he's giving them too much credit.
The ride to the hospital is quiet, and they make good time. Sam seems kind of out of it, and when Dean checks him in, it's under Dean's name instead of his own, so he can make use of the insurance the garage provides. They start him on an IV, and patch up his busted ankle (broken) while stitching up some cuts on his face. Dean tells them he fell down camping. They seem to believe him.
He calls Katie Bell and lets her know he found him, and she insists on coming to the hospital for a quick visit, just to say thanks. Dean is hesitant to say yes, but he does so, because he really just wants to avoid the whole brotherly revelation to too many people. He needs to call Lisa anyway.
He's not ready for it when he does. She answers the phone softly, and hesitantly. "Hey."
"Hey, hon. How's everything?"
"Well, it's almost 9. Everything's fine." She pauses. "How're things on your end?"
What a loaded question. "Everything..." He laughs, because he can't help it. "Better than ever."
"So the hunt went well, then? You'll be home soon?"
He's silent now. Another loaded question.
"Dean?"
"...I don't know, Leese. I don't...I don't think so."
She's quiet, thinking. He can almost hear her nodding. "Um...okay. Well, you're gonna have to give me something to go with here, Dean."
"It's Sam."
"...care to elaborate?"
"Well, he's...he's alive." He rushes to say more, because after the year of drinking, and bad moods, for him to just be alive, doesn't really make sense. "We haven't really got around to how yet, but I came across him on the hunt and...well..."
"You're gonna stay away and hunt with him." She finished.
He took a deep breath. "Well...yeah. Yeah, I think that's about it. I mean, he was a little banged up, so we're at the hospital now, but I think we're gonna head to Bobby's later..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sure." It's short, and he closes his eyes, because that means she's pissed. He'd be surprised if she wasn't. "I'll think of something to tell Ben."
"Is he there? Maybe..."
"He's not. He's at the Coopers, for a sleepover." She pauses again. "It's probably for the best." And Dean can tell she's holding back. "Look, I get it, Dean. This isn't even about Sam. I knew...once you started hunting again, it was only matter of time. It's just...who you are. But you can't come back around. I can't have you doing that to Ben."
It hurts more than he expected it to, but he knows it's true. "I know. I won't. I promise."
She scoffs. "Hopefully you mean that one more than the others." She falls silent. "I'm sorry, that was..."
"Understandable." He runs his hand over his face with a sigh. "I'm gonna let you go. Call me if you need anything okay? In case it's our kind of thing."
"I will. Goodbye Dean."
"Goodbye."
He wants to tell her he loves her, but he doesn't cause he figures it will only make the situation worse. Instead, he closes the phone and stands outside for a moment, reconciling that part of his life with what it is now.
Promises were horseshit. They only ever caused problems in his life. Promise me you'll go to Lisa, Promise me you won't go down that road, promise me this, promise me that. But unless you mean it-and Dean never had, just like Sam hadn't when he'd punched out-they were useless.
He made his way up to Sam's room just as Katie was leaving. She had teary eyes and hugged Dean once more with a thank you. "He said you guys are brothers?"
Dean's face burned; he hadn't really wanted to share that particular piece of information. "Uh, yeah...actually..."
"Well. I certainly feel safer knowing people like you are out there." She smiles. "Thank you, so much. Agent Frey."
He heard the sarcasm in her voice. "Yeah...let's keep that our secret."
"No problem. Take it easy."
She leaves quietly, and Dean makes his way into his brother's room. Sam's head lolls to the side. "Hey."
"Hey." Dean replies. "You feeling better?"
He nods. "Tired."
"Yeah. I bet." He looks around the room. "We gonna talk about this?"
Sam scoffs. "When have you been one to talk about anything?" Dean's withering stare turns him serious. "No. No we're not. You're gonna go back to Indiana..."
"No I'm not."
Sam just stares at him. "You stupid son of a bitch, what did you do?"
"I told her I wasn't coming home."
Sam groaned. "Dean, you don't have to..."
"I know I don't. Don't you get it Sam? This isn't about you coming back. Not just that, at least." Sam's looking at him like he doesn't understand, and with that pissy little bitch face and Dean, yet again, wants to punch him. "I didn't start hunting again to find you. Or rescue you or whatever, as much as I wanted to. That promise, I kept. But this...this life, it's inside of me. It's what I am. I can't change that. I don't want to change that."
"You promised..."
"Fuck promises. They only mean something if you mean it. And while mowing lawns, and having beers at football games sound great, I couldn't get into it. I never really meant it, Sam, because I only want those things if you can have them too. I always had the itch. And while it was fun trying to make it work with Lisa, you're still the only family I've got. You're the only person..." He sighs, because he hates this shit. "You're the only person who knows who I am, and how I work. You're my brother. So for whatever reason you didn't come get me, for whatever reason all this shit has happened it's done. It's over. Let's just...just do this. The way we always have. Can we just...be brothers again?"
Sam just stays still, his mouth opening and closing like a god-damned fish. "We never stopped being brothers, Dean."
Dean nods. "Okay then. I guess I have my answer." He stands up and walks to the bed, and pats his Sam's good leg. "Rest up. We're heading to Bobby's in the morning. I'm gonna go get some food and hit the motel. Visiting hours are almost up. You good?"
Sam nods.
"Okay then. I'll see you tomorrow Sammy."
He turns to walk away, content to having said all he felt was needed, and he gets to the door just as Sam speaks. "Dean, wait."
He turns back, expectant. "Yeah?"
"Thanks for saving my ass back there. I missed you." He looks down as if he's ashamed. Dean smiles.
"Back atcha kid. Now get some sleep."
It's not until he's in the car that he starts to tear up, when the reality hits him in the gut and he sits and he breathes deep, unwilling to cry. He's so tired of crying. He thinks of Lisa, and what he's losing from her. He thinks of Ben, and he thinks about how that hurts worse than Lisa, because Ben had faith in him, because it was Ben's promise he broke, along with Sam's.
And he feels bad, because things didn't happen the smoothest, but in the end, he really doesn't care at all.
Sam's back. He's alive, and he's here. For the first time in a year, he feels whole. And that's all that matters to him now.