Truth or dare?

Sam felt the sharp metal cut into his skin, the chains being too tight for his wrists and arms. Nausea was building up in the back of his throat, and waves of pain hammered against the insides of his skull. His upper lip was bloody and swollen; a red drop could be traced all the way down to the grey cement-floor underneath him. He tried to look up, but the only thing he saw was the corpse of Ruby… No, the corpse of the girl, who used to be someone else entirely. She was dead. They were all dead. His nostrils went wide, and the frustration, more than the pain, made him cry out. How could they do this to him? He was trying to save them, and they did this?

"What is wrong with you, Dean…?" Sam sneered to the silence outside, knowing that his brother could hear him.

Castiel watched Dean stand by the door, his face half hidden in the shadows. Watched him take a deep breath, and swallow, as he fought the tears that had overwhelmed him. His eyes were so brilliantly green, contrasting with the red edges around them. A single transparent drop fell from his chin. And Castiel realized that he found the man in front of him, beautiful. He could taste his emotions; almost touch the soul behind the layers of flesh. What if Sam did not forgive Dean? What if Dean could not forgive him?

Rats scurried in the corners. Someone had relieved themselves on the far wall. The room smelled vaguely of urine. They had found them in an old warehouse, but it truly had been too late. Destroyed vessels lay everywhere inside the dark building. Ruby was dead, and Sam had been beaten beyond recognition. Castiel was worried. He seemed to be either insane, or processed, though they could not sense a demon inside of him. In fact, they couldn't feel much inside of him at all.

Uriel entered the room. The towering figure was filled to the edges with undiluted wrath, and there was black fire burning in the dark eyes. Castiel felt his shoulders sink.

"Where is he? Oh, I am gonna enjoy plucking the flesh from his monkey bones. Feel him squirm in my hands, like a snake…" He hissed the first letter of the last word, and threw a nasty glare towards Dean, who now sat with bent knees, without touching the floor, and his back against the metal wall. He sneered, and turned towards Castiel.

"Where is the demon bitch?"

Castiel cleared his throat. "She was killed during the battle."

"What battle? He destroyed a few vessels, before you stopped him." Uriel sounded even angrier now. "Those rituals would have worked, if the demon whore had not been weakened. Next time, coincidences might not be on our side."

"There is no reason to kill him. Without the blood, the demon inside of him will starve. The boy could regain full control."

Uriel made a disbelieving sound.

"Could? You are a fool, Castiel."

Dean had gotten to his feet, watching the heated conversation some feet away from him. The last line from Castiel made him feel cold inside. He was trying to use logic against Uriel. It wouldn't work; the other angel was far too angry, and hungry for revenge.

Uriel drew a silver bladed-knife from the sleeve of his coat. Panic grabbed a hold of Dean, and he held his breath trying to find a way out for them. Castiel turned towards him, as Uriel made his way into the other room.

"No…" Said Dean, choking on the word, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

"I won't let you do this!"

Dean moved without thinking, almost running towards the door. Something yanked him to an abrupt stop, and he felt the air being pressed forcefully out of his lunges. A strong arm was placed firmly around his chest. He tried to tear it off, but another one gripped his left arm. The scent of vanilla. He was fighting for his brother's life, yet somehow he noticed the vague scent of vanilla.

"Dean, be calm." Castiel's voice was but a mere whisper against his ear.

"Control yourself."

"You be calm, you friggin` fairy!" Dean threw an elbow backwards, and it made contact with firm flesh, but the hold on him did not loosen. He tossed, and threw himself around. Then he felt the familiar feeling of his own limbs dying into a state of apathy. Sliding down on the floor, the only thing he felt was the arms holding him, cradling him like a child. Tears ran from his eyes, blurring his vision, concealing the world in a mist of fear and hopelessness.

He couldn't move, couldn't fight. At first he thought he heard screaming from the room. Then he only heard Castiel, whispering something vague, holding his writs, gently. He felt heavy, and tired, and at that moment, all he really wanted was to sleep. Disappear. Not feel the pain, or the fear, ever again. He felt safe, and warm. Like he was losing himself; losing himself to someone that had just betrayed him. The panic resurfaced.

"Let me go… Please- "

Dean didn't know what else to do. Everything else had failed him. Without Sam, there would be nothing else to fight for.

"Please, Cass… Please, let me go…"

He would have to let go of everything, and he couldn't. Wouldn't.

Not a life alone. Not a life like that. Not lose Sam, when they had made it through so much.

And Castiel let go.

Dean felt the strength slowly return to his feet. Felt his mind go clear.

Sam.

He stumbled into the room, falling apart just inside of the doorway. Uriel had already left. And Sam. He wasn't dead. Deep cuts went across the burnt-in symbols on his chest, but he wasn't dead.

"I thought you didn't bother." Sam mumbled. Blood and spit were dripping from his chin. "I thought you'd let me go."

"I'm your brother, Sammy." Dean tried to get back up on his feet, but he found himself to be so heavy.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam was crying as well, now.

Castiel was watching them from the darkness outside of the door.

How could he go back, to that cold place, when he had seen this? How could he keep fighting, knowing that Dean might never look at him again with those eyes? Those deep hazel eyes, mirroring the depths of soul within.

How could they go back to just fighting?

… … …

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala. It was an unusual place to sit, but he had found no other place where he could rest his mind. Things felt different. Normally, it would scare the hell out of him, but… Something was very different. Sam had slept when he left, and Bobby was taking care of him. The hunger, and the mood swings would pass in time, but the withdrawal could still kill him.

"Feeling better?"

Dean turned his head slightly, and saw Castiel sitting next to him.

"Not thanks to you." The old phrase slipped out, so easily.

"He never walked into that room, with the purpose of killing your brother, Dean. If you had calmed down, you might have heard what I was trying to tell you."

Dean did not reply. He kept his gaze directed at a bird, flying low above the field on the other side of the road. It wasn't fair. If he could have at least hated him. Or felt the slightest bit of anger. Sammy. They had gone after Sammy.

But he couldn't.

He turned towards the angel.

"You are a bitch, you know that."

Castiel frowned, his eyes just slightly narrowed.

Dean continued;

"My brother could have died, and you're still on your high horse."

"This is a car, Dean, and it isn't mine."

Dean shook his head, and tried to prevent the smile that tried to force its way through his mask.

"Wow. Cracking jokes. Guess there really is hope in hell, huh?"

"Dean…" Castiel had the same hint of a plea in his voice. The name sounded so soft, so important, when it came from him. It didn't make sense.

He turned his head, again. Smelling the scent of vanilla, seeing pure emotion in the look he was given. Dean swallowed. He felt it stir deep inside him. Rolled him, like some sort of a siren. Only, he knew the blame was his own. He was allowing himself to feel.

Feel something real.

Dean leaned in towards him.

He didn't know what he would do when it came down to it, but then again; a Winchester never does.