I can't remember anything
Can't tell if this is true or dream
Deep down inside I feel to scream
This terrible silence stops me
-One, Metallica
Chapter Four
Dr. Whitaker kicked them out of the room at eight pm. Dean reluctantly left, and he didn't even put up a fight, even though he desperately wanted to. He didn't want to leave Cas's side. He wanted to be right there when Cas woke up-and really, Cas could wake up at any time. There was that time after Cas came back from the seventies and fell flat comatose on the bed. He'd been still as stone for almost two days, and then he shot up straight, gasping for air, suddenly and immediately, without warning. He'd given Dean a heart attack right then. But there'd been no signs that he was slowly coming to, like what typically happened with people coming back to consciousness. Cas just did. That could happen again. What if Cas woke up overnight and Dean wasn't there? In a hospital room with people he didn't know, no idea how he got there, no idea where Dean and Sam were, or if they were even okay? He'd be terrified. Dean couldn't do that. Dean couldn't—he couldn't—let Cas down again.
But Dr. Whitaker had that look on his face, the one that Dean knew left no room for arguments. And Dean couldn't risk pissing off the man that stood between him and Cas. It was only out of Dr. Whitaker's generosity that Dean and Sam were able to even see Cas in the ICU. If he wanted to be able to see Cas at all during his recovery, Dean needed to stay on the doctor's good side. Arguing, spitting, and kicking at the man wasn't going to achieve that.
Still, Sam had to practically drag Dean out of the room by the elbows, and Dean still wasn't in any sort of mindset to drive. He just let Sam push and pull his body where it needed to go. It was dark and the parking lot was nearly empty. Sam had the bag filled with his and Dean's dirty clothes, and Cas's bag of bloodied clothes—they were just going to have to burn them, there was nothing that could be salvaged—but Dean still had the tape in his pocket, and every few minutes he had to stick his hand into it and feel it, just to make sure it was still there.
He got in the Impala, and Sam fiddled with his phone for a moment, searching for the nearest motel. There was one just a mile away. Dean didn't remember the drive from the hospital to the parking lot. The entire thing was black.
"I'll get us checked in," Sam said. Dean nodded and forced himself out of the car. He had to be conscious of every movement, mentally preparing himself for each one. Even the simple ones. Undoing his seat belt, opening the car door, getting out, standing up, closing the car door.
Then there were the other movements that seemed to be just too much. Like opening the trunk and getting out their bags. Dean couldn't get his mind to shut up. It hadn't even been a full twenty-fours yet. The sun was a few hours away from rising when all this shit began to run down hill: Cas getting stabbed, Mom tripping into the vortex, burying Kelly.
Dean's stomach ached, and it was then he realized that neither he nor Sam had eaten all day. The thought of food made Dean sick, but he knew he had to eat. The starvation process could begin in just a few hours. He opened the trunk and pulled out his and Sam's duffel bags, and then he waited for Sam to show up with the room key. Sam was back in just a few minutes, jangling the keys from the pathway, and Dean walked up to him.
When they got to their room, Dean fell on the bed closest to the door, face first, and he screamed into the pillow. It was itchy and smelled like mothballs.
"I feel the same," Sam said. He rummaged through his duffel bag. Dean found enough strength left in him to turn onto his side and face Sam. Sam had his laptop out and was typing furiously.
"What are you looking for?" Dean muttered.
Sam ran a hand through his already wild hair. It was puffed out in all directions, like an angry cat. "Anything on Jack. If we're gonna get him to bring Mom back, we have to find him. Someone's had to have seen him, right?"
Dean shrugged. "That means it's gonna be on the news?"
Sam groaned. "Look, Dean. I am doing all I can, okay? We're grasping at straws, I get that, but I will take anything I can find, even if it's from some alien conspiracy theorist, the moon-landing-was-staged nutjob. He has yellow eyes, Dean. That sort of thing stands out."
"Enough for it to make headlines?"
Sam glared at Dean, lips curling over his teeth.
"Sorry," Dean muttered.
Sam sighed and rubbed his face. "It's fine," he said, shaking his head. He cracked his knuckles and began to type furiously. "We just gotta keep our eye out. For now, though, we gotta get the insurance stuff with Cas figured out."
Dean hadn't even thought of that. Shame swam in his gut. Once again, Sam was the one on top of things, figuring out all the important stuff. It was going to take a while. They had given Cas fake IDs and credit cards, but they'd never needed to go all out with insurance paperwork before. Sam was good at hacking into databases like that, but it would still take him a few hours to work from scratch.
Dean's stomach growled, and he clutched it.
Sam didn't look at him, his eyes stuck on the computer. "You should order take out."
"I'm not hungry," Dean grumbled.
"Your stomach begs to differ. I heard it from here."
Dean glared at Sam. "If I eat, I'm gonna be sick."
"You need to eat something," Sam said. He rubbed his eyes and looked to the ceiling. "When was Jimmy's birthday?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know. And what's the point in eating something if I'm just gonna puke?"
"Maybe you won't puke," Sam said. "Maybe you'll feel better." Sam chewed on his lip. "Jimmy was probably about your age, right? Maybe a bit older."
Dean shrugged again. He didn't know. He didn't care. "Put old as fuck," he said. "I don't think Cas even knows how old he is."
The bitch face Sam gave him made Dean smile, just a little bit. Sam shoved the old motel landline that was resting on the nightstand towards Dean. "Order dinner," Sam said. "And I'm gonna put down a date that's just a few years older than you, so if anyone asks, we're his younger brothers."
Dean closed his eyes and curled his fingers into the itchy bed sheets.
Sam waited a few moments. The room was filled with the sound of his super fast typing. Then, "You know, Cas is gonna need us to be in tip top shape. He'll be pissed if he wakes up and you've starved yourself. What good can you do him if you waste away?"
Dean ground his teeth together. That was a low blow, and Sam knew it—but Dean didn't have an argument in him. He racked his brain for anything he could use as ammo against Sam, and his stupid arguments, but there was nothing in him. Dean sighed, and picked up the take-out menu rested on the nightstand.
.
.
.
Everything was a muted gray. Dean felt like he was trapped under murky water. His movements were stifled, and he had to push through an unseen force. It wasn't difficult, but it did make his movements slower and clumsier. There was no light. Nothing, but an endless expanse of grayness. He didn't know which way was up, or down, or his own orientation. He walked forward—what he thought was forward- even though it felt like he wasn't moving at all. Everything was the same. It stretched on forever. He didn't know long he walked. Fatigue never set in.
But suddenly, there wasn't just grayness anymore. Something came into view above the horizon, a sight Dean had been conditioned to be on the constant lookout for, one that had come to mean relief, and elation, and comfort, and home all at once. A flash of billowing beige that was nearly swallowed and overshadowed by the gray. But Dean saw it. It was like a firework in the summer sky.
For a moment, Dean couldn't move. He stayed where he was and watched. The figure was facing away from Dean and it wasn't moving. Stock still, in the middle of all that nothingness. Dean knew that posture. Those hunched shoulders, tilted head. Even after all these years, he still wore that body like it was uncomfortable. Dean couldn't imagine what he was looking at. There was absolutely nothing around. It was just the two of them.
Dean swallowed and then he found his feet. He ran.
"Cas!"
Cas didn't react. Dean's feet moved fast, hitting what was underneath him. It felt like he was walking on water. He reached out, inching closer and closer to Cas with each step.
"Castiel!"
Dean made it to Cas. He grabbed onto Cas's shoulder and Dean was smiling so wide it hurt. He put himself in front of Cas, put both hands on Cas's shoulder, and gripped tight, reveling in this; the feeling of Cas, firm and steady, under his hands. "Cas," Dean said again, and there was a universe just in that one word; an amalgamation of all the things Dean felt but could never say. Dean felt so happy he thought for a moment he would cry, and he never needed to see those bright, blue eyes more than in that single moment. But in that moment, Dean was too happy to care. He pulled Cas against him, tucking Cas's head into crook of his neck. "Oh, God," Dean gasped.
They stood like that for a while. Dean didn't know how long. He didn't care. His eyes burned with tears. When he finally released Cas, he did so reluctantly, and stepped back just enough so that he could see Cas's face. He kept his hand tight on Cas's shoulder.
Cas wasn't looking at him. In fact, Dean couldn't even see his eyes. Cas's head was cast downwards, his hair and shadows concealing his face.
Dean's throat tightened. His heart slammed against his ribcage. His adrenaline was ebbing away, and all that elation was being replaced with anxiety. "Cas? You okay? What is this place?" Dean bent forward and angled his head, trying to catch Cas's eyes. He needed to see Cas's eyes, just catch of a glimpse of that bright, lightning gaze. Dean's mouth dried.
Cas twisted out of Dean's grip and turned around. He began to walk away.
"Hey, hey!"
Dean went after him, and reached out again, snagging the back of Cas's coat collar. Cas kept walking, unfazed by the pull of Dean's grip and there was a horrible ripping sound, razor sharp.
A piece of the coat fabric was in Dean's hand. Dean stared at it for a moment, breath caught in his throat. The fabric changed color in his hand. It was soaked in blood, still dripping in dark, thick, half-coagulated globs, smearing onto Dean's skin.
And Cas was still walking away. Dean chased him. "Cas, no! No!"
Dean ran in front of Cas, blocking his path. He put his hands on Cas's shoulders, braced his feet wide apart. He pushed against Cas. Cas stopped moving. "Cas, look at me. Look at me, please?"
Cas's shoulders rose and fell in tune with his breath under Dean's hands. It was a steady motion, one Dean latched onto, and threw all his hope in. Dean still had the bloody coat piece in his hand, and it was leaking onto the rest of Cas's outfit, running in rivulets down the hemming.
Cas said nothing. His head was still lowered. Dean shook him vigorously, putting all his weight and force into it, swinging him like a ragdoll. Cas's body moved bonelessly. Dean thought he was going crazy—for a moment, it seemed like wherever they were, it was getting darker. Gray bleed to black.
"Cas," Dean's voice cracked. "Castiel, do you hear me? I'm praying to you. I need you hear me. I need you to look at me, okay?" Dean shivered. His breath seized in his lungs. He hadn't prayed to Cas in years. Not since the angels fell and Cas was human. Not even after Cas got his grace back. His real grace. Dean didn't know if Cas could even still hear them and he never asked. He was too chicken to test the theory himself.
But right now, right now it was so important, critically important that Dean pray. He concentrated harder than he ever had with a prayer before, and filled every word with his heart, his need.
"Castiel," he closed his eyes tight, "I need you to look at me. This is Dean, do you copy? Show me those baby blues, buddy."
Dean peeled his eyes open like scabs. Snot was dripping down his nose. Cas's jaw was clenched tight, his mandible pressed up against his skin.
"Come back to me, buddy," Dean said. "You always do."
Cas's hand clenched at his side. His entire arm shook, the vibrations rattling all the way up his arm. Dean could feel it in Cas's shoulder. Cas's mouth parted open, and soon he was gasping for air. It was a low, raspy sound, crinkling like plastic. Cas was gasping like he couldn't get enough air, and angels didn't need to breath, but Cas wasn't an angel anymore-
"I've got you," Dean said, soft and gentle, gripping onto Cas tighter. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere and I've got you. We're getting out of here, right? I'm not leaving here without you."
Dean moved his hand from Cas's shoulder and gripped Cas's trembling hand. Dean squeezed it and brought it up, so that it was in-between their chests. "I'm here," Dean said. "Right here. I need you to see me. Please." It worked with Mom. It broke through the mind control the Men of Letters had put on her. Dean got her out. It had to work here, too. "Please," Dean said again.
Cas made a low sound in the back of his throat. A scratchy sound. Then, he released all his breath at once and slowly rose his head. Dean mentally prepared himself. Seeing those soft, gentle eyes, the ones that never failed to make Dean secure, even when they were fighting, was the most important thing in the world right now. Those eyes that had captivated him since a stormy night in Illinois, gazing not at, but into him, those eyes that had seen straight into his soul, knew all the awful, awful things he'd done in Hell, knew how he had enjoyed it, and still thought he deserved to be saved. Those eyes that had yet to ever look at Dean with disdain. Dean didn't know what Cas saw in him, but he did know that he couldn't bear to lose it.
Cas raised his head, and Dean's heart dropped into his stomach.
Cas's eyes were red.
Venomous, blood red. Pupils just a pinprick of black off center.
Dean struggled for words. His jaw trembled.
Nothing else was different. Cas still had that minute brush of stubble painted across his jaw. His eyebrows were pointed into that classic, scrutinizing gaze. His hair was dark and tousled. But his eyes—
Dean couldn't look at them and see Cas. Even with the change in color, there was something deeper inside the irises that wasn't Cas. Cas's gaze carried many things: years of war, grief, loneliness. They were the haunted eyes of a soldier, battered by the battles he endured. But they also carried a spark of life, dedication, stubbornness, and a gentleness that betrayed Cas's stony exterior. Even if Cas was a warrior, even if Cas was as acquainted with the horrors of war and grief as Dean was, there was still a hint of kindness swimming at the depths of his eyes. There was goodness.
Dean didn't see that. Cas wasn't anywhere in sight.
Dean dropped Cas's hand. He took his other hand off Cas's shoulder. The cloth piece in his grip was still dripping blood, staining Dean's hand, staining Cas where Dean had made contact. It was wet like water.
He took a shaky step back, like a trapped animal. Cas's hand was hanging in the air, reaching out towards Dean.
Dean continued stepping back. Slowly, one foot after the other, gradually putting distance between them. Cas frowned. He watched Dean take several steps back. And then his hand dropped. He put his head down, once more shielding his eyes, hiding them from sight. He turned around, and he began to walk away.
Dean watched. He was pulled apart by two different desires—to run away and to chase after him. Those red eyes were seared into his mind, depthless, but, Dean couldn't deny there was something magnetic about them. Something inside him itched to go after Cas. Cas was getting smaller and smaller as he walked closer to the horizon.
What if that was Cas?
He promised he wouldn't leave here without Cas.
Dean pulled the word from the very bottom of his throat. "Wait!" He tried to run, but his legs wouldn't obey his brain. His feet were cemented into the murky grayness. He couldn't move a muscle. "Cas! Castiel!"
Castiel vanished from sight.
.
.
.
Dean rolled out of the bed, whacking his head on the corner of the nightstand. Pain shot through him like electricity, and it hurt too much to even speak. He could only make a high-pitched whine.
"Dean?" Sam turned on the lamp. Dean shut his eyes as light filled the room. Sam climbed out of the bed and was beside him. "You okay?" Sam helped Dean sit up. Dean groaned and put a hand to his head. It wasn't bleeding, but he knew there would be a hell of a goose egg in just a few moments.
"Peachy keen," Dean said.
"Come on, get up." Sam put his hands under Dean's armpits and hoisted him up in one solid motion, and then he quickly dropped Dean back onto the bed. Dean rolled onto his back. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light.
"What time is it?" Dean muttered. He tried to turn his head towards the small alarm clock, but it was pointed out of sight.
"Little past seven," Sam said.
"Really?"
"Yeah. You slept for a good ten hours, at least."
Dean frowned. He didn't feel like it. His body was trained to perform on just four hours. He may have gotten a bit lazy with the bunker and stretched that out sometimes, but rarely did he ever sleep for more than seven hours. Ten hours was unheard of for him. And he felt like he didn't get a wink. His eyelids were heavy, and his thoughts were trapped in a cloud.
Dean pushed himself into a sitting position.
Sam's bed was still made. His laptop was sitting in the center, the charging cord plugged in, and Sam's side of the nightstand still had the trash from dinner last night strewn all over. The smell finally hit Dean.
"How long have you been up for?"
"Uh," Sam said, scratching the back of his head. "Actually. . ."
Dean huffed. "Hypocrite," he muttered.
"I've been working on the insurance stuff for Cas—don't worry, that's all settled, but let's just try not to raise any suspicion and get people asking too many questions."
Tension melted out of Dean. The pain in his temple had quieted to a dull throb. "And?" he asked.
"And," Sam inhaled, reaching for his computer, "I've been looking for anything that might scream Jack."
"You find anything?"
"Yes, actually."
Dean straightened up, wide-awake like ice water had been dumped on him. "What?"
"Check this out," Sam handed Dean his laptop. It was open on a news article.
CINCINNATI BEAR KILLED BY INTRUDER
Dean narrowed his eyebrows. "Really, Sam? Now's not the time for one of your 'Save the Animals' parades."
"Just watch the damn video."
Dean scrolled to the bottom of the webpage, past the article, and found the video. It was a grainy security camera, low quality, but Dean could make out the shapes of the bear and its toys.
A person came into view. Tall and skinny. He walked up to the sleeping bear, and touched its back. The bear jerked awake, and the person in the video jumped back. The bear stood up, hair on end, teeth bared. It lashed out a paw, but the man in the video raised a hand, and the bear seemed to be frozen in place.
This lasted for several seconds, then the man dropped his hand and stepped back. The bear fell forward, limp, tongue rolling out his mouth. The person looked directly into the security camera, eyes bright yellow. Then he disappeared, all at once, like he was never there to be begin with.
The video stopped. Dean stared at the end screen for a moment. "Wow," Dean said, looking back to Sam. "Didn't think Satan's kid would be the go to the zoo type."
Sam huffed. "Who knew?" he said in an attempt for levity. "That's all I could find. It looks like he's just zapping around all over the place."
Dean frowned. "So we're still batting zero."
"Yeah," Sam said.
"Great." Dean pushed the laptop back to Sam. Sam took it, and gingerly put it back on the bed. Mom was still in that awful world, with Lucifer, and they still had no way of getting her back. They had to find a way of catching Jack soon.
And Dean still couldn't shake off that dream. Cas's bright red eyes, cutting through the surrounding grayness. That place was horrifying. It brought him back to that prison cell. Just nothingness.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Dean jumped. "Yeah," he said, rubbing at his jaw. His stubble was rough against his palm. He needed a shave, but he didn't have the strength in him to do it. Just thinking about it was too much work. "Bad dream," he said.
"I bet."
Dean sighed.
"I called Jody," Sam said. "She's gonna put a BOLO on Jack and let other hunters know."
"What?" Dean snapped. "Sam, are you crazy? The kid's juiced up! We don't even know how powerful he actually is, but he killed that bear with his mind! You really gonna put Jody's neck on the line?"
Sam sighed in exasperation. "It was mostly for precaution. Jody knows he's dangerous. Besides, maybe teaming up with other hunters is what it's gonna take. It's how we were able to take out the Brits."
Dean rubbed his eyes. His head throbbed in sync with his heartbeat. He didn't want to have this argument with Sam. He didn't want to have any argument with Sam, but not especially right now, and not about this. Jody was one of the few people Dean hadn't fucked up by knowing her—he wanted to keep it that way. And he'd do whatever it took to keep her out of all this—even if it meant never seeing her again.
But there wasn't just Jody.
"What about Claire? Does she know about Cas?"
Sam shook his head. "No," he said, and there was shame underneath. "I—I didn't want to worry her."
Dean gaped at Sam. "Oh, so you'll tell them about Lucifer's bomb baby, but not that Cas is in a coma?"
Sam clenched his jaw and swatted his hand. "It's too soon," he said. "And. . ."
"And?"
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I didn't want to tell her," he snapped. "Okay? I was too cowardly to tell her! We promised her we'd look after Cas. I don't know how things are exactly between them, but she cares about him, at least a little. And she asked us to take care of him—and, and, I didn't want admit how badly we failed." Sam's eyes began to shine. "Okay? It's stupid, and selfish, I know, but. . ." Sam trailed off. He looked aimlessly into the corner of the room.
"Yeah," Dean said, sighing. He knew. He knew too well. And Sam was right. It did hurt. These past two years alone, Cas had been through the wood chipper. Lucifer, and Ramiel, and now this? "I get it."
Maybe Sam was right. Now wasn't the time to tell Claire.
When Cas woke up, that's when they'd tell her. That way she wouldn't worry so much.
Dean chewed on his fingernail. That dream still wouldn't let go of him. Those red, emotionless eyes. And all that grayness. That nothingness. He only spent six weeks in that government prison, and it drove him mad. Mad enough to make a stupid deal.
A stupid deal that Cas broke. That Cas broke that saved all of them: him, Sam, and Mom.
Cosmic consequences.
"Fuck," Dean muttered. He didn't need any more reminders of what a shitty friend he was. The worst part was he promised Cas he'd try better. That day in the car, when they thought the world was ending, and that this was their last chance. Dean had tried. He had a plan of what he was going to say.
And the he chickened out. He dropped the entire plan, and tried to make up something on the spot, and it ended disastrously. You're our brother, he told Cas, the words burning his throat as he said them, and then it had been too late. He couldn't take it back. And the world was ending. What kind of dick would he be if he had declared his love right then and there?
That wasn't the worst part though. The worst part was that he had promised Cas he would try better. That he wouldn't get so focused on himself and Sam that he lost sight of everyone else. Then Mom came back, and everything was thrown for a tailspin again. Dean had to juggle between Sam and Mom, and Cas once more was pushed back.
He should have balled up on that beer run. He should have told Cas the truth. He had been trying to spare Cas pain, and instead he heaped onto it tenfold. Maybe if Dean had told Cas what he really felt, they wouldn't be in this position. Cas wouldn't keep going off on suicide redemption missions. He'd stay there, in the bunker. He'd stay home, and they could be a family, and Dean wouldn't be sick with worry every moment someone was off on one mission or another. Him, Sam, Cas, and Mom. They were a family. Battered and broken and bruised, but they were family. They were supposed to stick together.
Dean reached into his pants pocket. He still had the cassette tape in his pocket. It left a red impression mark on his thigh. The tape was spooled all the way onto the right side. Cas had listened to the whole thing. Dean wondered how many times Cas wound and re-wound the tape. How many nights his truck was filled with the sound of Led Zeppelin, vibrating the seats and frame of the beat-up Ford.
"Why don't you go take a shower?" Sam asked.
"I'm fine," Dean said.
"Dean!"
Dean jerked at Sam's outburst, surprised. Sam scowled, eyes wide and wild. Dean stilled under his gaze. A lump was stuck in his throat. He forgot that Sam wasn't always just a goofy, puppy eyed nerd. Deep down, Sam was a killer just like Dean, and Mary.
"We'll each take a shower. We'll grab some breakfast. Then we'll go back to the hospital. In that order. Now, go."
Dean didn't have it in him to argue.
.
.
.
Dean wouldn't admit it to Sam, but showering did help him feel minutely better. He shaved and brushed his teeth, and for a moment when he looked at himself in the mirror, he could pretend that his entire world hadn't gone down the crapper just twenty-four hours ago.
It didn't last for long, of course. It all came back to him, ramming into him like a tidal wave. The emotions swelled in his chest, and threatened to pull him under.
But he swallowed and raised his head up, white-knuckling the sink basin as he stared at himself in the mirror. He wasn't losing himself this time. Instead, he was struggling to hang onto the coat tails of the other parts of his life that were falling apart at his feet.
Dean exhaled slowly, and released the tension that was resting in his body like stone. He couldn't not think of Mom, lost in that Apocalyptic wasteland. Their only hope of saving her was to track down Jack, and get him to re-open that portal. And that meant having to track him down, while he had the ability to fly anywhere in the World he wanted.
There had to be a way they could track him. Dean and Sam would just have to hit the books, and scourge the deepest corners of the Internet, and not their nose up at any sort of lore, no matter how asinine it seemed.
But until then, until they stumbled across anything useful, all they could do was wait by Cas's side, and hopefully be there when he woke up.
When Dean closed his eyes, he was back in that dream, and Cas was walking away. Dean couldn't let Cas walk away.
He got out of the bathroom, and watched the local news while Sam took his shower. He got dressed in clean clothes and sat awkwardly on the corner of the bed, plucking at a loose thread. The tape was sitting on the edge of the nightstand. Steam from Sam's shower curled under the door.
Dean took the tape and put it in his pocket. Having that weight in his pocket was comforting, somehow. It was an anchor to reality. Something tangible he could wrap his fingers around. And a reminder not to lose hope, not to fall into that pit of self-loathing. There were people counting on him to keep his head on straight. And he needed to be there to give Cas the tape back.
Sam came out, finally, and the two of them got ready to go. They left the motel room and crossed the parking lot.
There was a man standing by the trunk of the Impala, reclining against it, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his dark suit jacket. He was tall, with dusty blonde hair, and brown eyes.
Dean and Sam stopped.
The man grinned, teeth perfectly white and straight. "Sam and Dean Winchester. Just the men I've been waiting for." The man stood straight and walked forward. His blinked, and when he opened his eyes, they were yellow. "Name's Asmodeus. Let's have a chat, hm?"
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AN: What'cha think? Let me know with a review, pretty please! ^.^