Chapter 2: How Can Love Survive?

I rode out the momentary vertigo when we reappeared and looked around. I immediately recognized our location—we were standing in the middle of Singer Auto and Salvage Yard. The place looked even more overgrown and decrepit than the last time we were here, when we'd captured Crowley for the third Trial. My gaze fell on the rusting hulk of Bobby's Chevelle, and I could make out the shape of someone sitting inside.

I ran up to the car and skidded to a halt, staring in shock. Dean was slumped in the driver's seat, a deep gash cutting across each wrist. Blood was everywhere—dripping down the seat, pooling in the footwell, and smeared on the steering wheel and console. He was corpse-pale and barely breathing. His pocket knife lay open and bloody on the passenger seat. Resting on the dashboard, behind the steering wheel where he'd have a clear view of it, was a picture of the two of us laughing together years ago.

I yanked the door open and pulled him out, collapsing to the ground with my brother carefully cradled in my lap. I shouted, "Cas, hurry!"

Cas crouched next to us and touched Dean's forehead. There was a brief flash, and the gaping wounds on the omega's wrists knit closed. The angel dropped his hand and slumped, looking tired.

"I have healed most of the damage to his wrists and replenished enough of his blood to no longer be life-threatening. I wish I could do more, but I need to conserve my energy for the return trip to the Bunker. He has lost a lot of blood—if we had come even five minutes later, he might not have survived. It is fortunate that he chose to cut across his wrists instead of down; if he had done the latter, we would have arrived too late."

"Not that I'm complaining about the results, but why would he do it like this?" I asked. "It can't have been a cry for attention—otherwise why pick a location where he most likely wouldn't be found in time?"

Castiel glared at me. "Your brother chose to try to end his life this way because he felt he deserved to suffer. Look at him! Look at what your neglect has caused!"

I examined the unconscious man in my arms. His skin was cool, his breathing faint though stronger than before, and his pulse rapid. His complexion had improved somewhat but was still far too pallid. And it did nothing to hide the fact that his eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark circles, that his eyelids and nose were reddened and swollen, or that his lashes and cheeks were crusted with dried tears as well as smears of blood. His dark gold hair was lank and dull, his full lips chapped and bitten. Most telling, he was thin—his cheeks were hollow, his skin was stretched tightly over his bones, and he felt far too light.

Cas continued, "I touched Dean's thoughts as I healed him. He has been barely eating or sleeping these past several weeks. Instead he has been expending all of his time and energy in trying to please you, whether by researching or cooking or other methods. I am surprised he is still able to walk in his condition, let alone drive or hunt."

I gasped as the seraph pushed up my brother's sleeve past his elbow, revealing a series of cuts in various stages of healing on the inside of his upper arm.

"There are similar wounds on his other arm and on both of his thighs. He has been intentionally injuring himself whenever he thinks that he has disappointed or angered you. He spends hours each day crying and trying to find new ways to punish himself. And you have the gall to ask why?

"I will forever blame myself for becoming engrossed in other matters and not discovering Dean's pain until it was almost too late. But you—what is your excuse? You have been right here, and yet you failed to notice how badly he was declining?" Cas' look was scathing.

I hunched my shoulders in shame. "You—you're right, man. I've avoided really looking at him because I didn't want to deal with the guilt and recrimination, and—and I blocked out our bond. He was right in front of me this whole time, and I didn't see what he was going through."

"Your excuses are meaningless. When you first mated him, I thought, 'At last, someone will finally cherish Dean the way he deserves.' But this obviously was merely another way for you to hurt him." The angel's condemnation was inexorable. "Dean Winchester is the strongest man I ever have known. But you and your love have managed to break him more thoroughly than even forty years in Hell could. I simply pray I can heal the damage to his psyche after this."

I flinched at each of his statements. "Cas, you have to let me make this right! I do love him, and I'll do whatever it takes to prove that. He means everything to me—he's my mate."

Castiel tugged Dean's collar down, revealing the dull, faded grey mating mark on his nape. "Technically he is not. You did not merely block your bond, you broke it. Therefore you no longer have any rights to him. And before you try to protest, stop and admit the truth. Dean could not have done this—it is the alpha who initiates the bond and is the only one who can sever it. Now I have to hope that the profound bond he and I share can act as a replacement for the one you carelessly destroyed."

I stared at the washed-out scar in shock. I'd only seen marks like that on omegas who'd been widowed or divorced. Even then it was a rare sight, since omegas in those circumstances seldom survived for long. And my poor mate had endured that loss for who knows what length of time, until something finally must've pushed him over the edge. No doubt something I'd said or done had finally driven him to attempt to kill himself.

I looked at Cas pleadingly. "Please, you have to give me another chance! I—I need to try to make this up to him. I promise I'll take care of him, and I won't let you down. Please, Cas!"

He paused in thought and then nodded begrudgingly. "I will allow you one more opportunity, but only because it is what Dean would want. You will have two days to redeem yourself. If I do not see a marked improvement in his mental and emotional as well as physical health when I return in forty-eight hours, I will take him away.

"The important thing now is to ensure that he recovers. I will return you to the bunker and help to get him settled. You can call on me afterward if he requires anything. And remember, it is not my approval you need to seek—it is his."

Cas put his hands on my and Dean's shoulders, and we disappeared to the sound of fluttering wings. We reemerged in Dean's bedroom.

"Can—can you make up the bed?" I asked. "You can put the boxes on the desk for now. I'll put all his stuff back later. I'm going to get Dean cleaned up first before putting him to bed."

I carried my brother to the Bunker's bathroom and cradled him in my lap as I sat on the lip of the tub. I turned on the taps, and as the tub started to fill, I removed his clothes. In addition to being soaked in blood, his clothing—and his person, for that matter—hadn't been washed in some time. Dean normally was very fastidious, sometimes even showering twice a day, so this had to be another symptom of his decline.

Naked, his poor condition was obvious. Not all of his muscle mass was gone, but his ribs and hipbones were far too prominent. Small cuts covered the inside of his upper arms and thighs, and his skin was clammy and pale. I could feel him shivering, even though the room wasn't cold.

Once the bathtub was half-filled with steaming water, I turned off the faucets and quickly undressed. I lifted the smaller man up, stepped into the tub, and settled in the water with my brother leaning against my torso. I soaped up a washcloth and gently scrubbed him all over until his skin was clean. Then I tipped his head back and used my scooped hands to carefully wet his hair. As I worked shampoo into his dark gold hair and then rinsed, I noticed it was longer than usual—he must've neglected to get it cut for a while.

Something else I realized as the blood and dirt washed away was that neither of us smelled mated any more. Yet another thing I'd been ignoring recently. And I now understood why the beta at the bar was so upset. My instincts cried out to reclaim him immediately, to re-establish my mark and ensure no one could confuse his scent as not belonging to me again. It took most of my self-control to rein them in and not take advantage of his vulnerable state. I wasn't going to do that again, not like the first time.

After Dean was as clean as I could manage with one bath, I got us out of the tub and wrapped him in one of the large, fluffy towels he'd added to the bathroom soon after we'd moved in. As soon as he was dried, I lifted him up again, still cocooned in the towel, and brought him back to the bedroom.

Inside, Cas had not only remade the bed but also found additional pillows and blankets from somewhere and piled them onto the bed. He'd also unearthed a small space heater, so the room was pleasantly warm. As I carried the omega in, he pulled back the covers and helped me settle him in.

Cas waited until my brother was comfortable before speaking. "You should be aware that Dean has not used this bed in weeks. On the rare occasions that he allowed himself an hour or two of sleep, he lay there, as another means to punish himself." He pointed to a corner of the room where the floor was bare and probably quite cold.

I put a hand on Dean's soft, damp hair. "God, I have a lot to make up for . . ."

The angel continued as if I hadn't said anything. "Dean will not regain consciousness until late in the morning—I am keeping him under because he needs the rest. He is still anemic from the blood loss, so you must keep him warm and make sure he takes in plenty of fluids. He will also require foods high in iron. But since he has been virtually starving himself, he should be restricted to small amounts of easily digestible foods several times a day initially to ensure it doesn't make him sick. If you do not have the appropriate supplies in the kitchen, I will acquire them."

"Thanks so much for everything, Cas. I don't know what I would've done without your help."

"Your thanks are unnecessary. I am not doing any of this for you." His gaze was icy.

I felt stung. "I know I've fucked up, man, but I thought we're friends?"

"We were friends. But a person who abuses someone he is supposed to love—and make no mistake, Sam Winchester, your disregard and neglect towards your brother is abuse—is not one I wish to associate with. And when that someone is Dean, who deserves so much better than this, than you—well, you should be grateful that I can control my temper. You must make amends for your mistreatment and earn his forgiveness. Then perhaps you will be worthy of more than my disdain." With another flutter, he was gone.

I sank to the ground and wept. Castiel was correct. While I had a right be angry over the possession, I never should've abandoned my mate like I had. I was deeply ashamed that it had to take almost losing him to truly understand how much I took for granted. I just had to pray that he survived this and would still be willing to give me a chance to work through everything that had gone wrong between us.

I sat up after a few minutes and wiped off my face. I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself—there was too much to do before I could rest tonight. Besides, I'd spent the past several weeks wallowing in my own self-centered emotions, and it was time to focus on my brother now.

First, I brought out our medical kit. I placed pads over the gashes on the omega's wrists and wrapped them in gauze to protect them while they finished healing. I spread antibiotic cream over the cuts on his arms and legs and bandaged the ones that were still fresh. I checked and recorded his temperature, pulse rate, and other vitals so that I could monitor whether his physical condition was improving. I put some balm on his chapped lips before putting the kit away.

Next I emptied the boxes on his desk and painstakingly put Dean's belongings back in their proper places. I retrieved the garbage bags from the garage and did the same with their contents, thankful that nothing was damaged. I grabbed the silver ring and the Impala's keys from my room and slipped the ring onto his finger and the keys into his jacket pocket.

I also brought my clothes and other possessions and returned them to their former spots in what once was our shared room. It might be presumptuous to move back in now, to assume that the other hunter would want me here after how I'd treated him. But I hoped that seeing the bedroom back to the way it used to be, my stuff there as well as his, would make him feel better—a sign that I was trying to bring our relationship back too. For the same reason, I took my ring out of my wallet and put it on.

I went through the bunker, turning off the lights and activating the security systems, both physical and metaphysical. Once I came back to the bedroom, I stripped down to my boxers and slid into bed. I carefully rearranged the pillows and blankets around us to ensure my brother's comfort, then wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Just hang in there, Dee. I'll find a way to make this right," I murmured as I pressed a kiss into his hair. I counted his breaths until I fell asleep.