A/N: Hello!

So, I will start uploading a new story this Monday, and due to that, we have decided to put the updates on this one, to once a week. Thursdays.

Thank you for your support!


JUST WALK BESIDE ME

Five: Matrem

Mary

The first thing that Mary realises when she comes to is that she is drenched from head to toe.

Through her shut eyelids, she makes out a flash of light and when she opens them, there is thunder, just like she'd expected. Large, chilly drops of rain fall on her, drenching her further, if possible. There are goosebumps on her skin from the cold. She pushes damp strands of hair out of her eyes and sits up.

Where is she?

A vague memory comes back to her — of feeding Sam and putting him in his crib. She remembers taking Dean to say goodnight to Sam, and then going to sleep in her room while John tucked in Dean and probably went to watch TV or have a beer. She can't remember anything after that, and she has no clue why she's outside, in the rain.

She takes a deep breath. She has to find John and her children. Once she does that, she can pull this apart and try to figure out what supernatural thing did this to her. That is if she gets back to her family alive. Then she can figure out a way to hunt this thing down without John's scrutinising eyes finding her out.

Mary stands up on shaky legs, with her translucent nightgown sticking to her body. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tries to swallow down the fear bubbling up in her. She has no weapons, no memories of how she got here, and no idea of what she's facing. She's not prepared at all, and there's a huge chance she'll not survive this.

What will happen to her babies if she dies? How will John singlehandedly take care of them?

Okay, no, no, she has to think. She has to get out. Standing here and panicking about John and the boys won't help. She needs to find her way back… or at least try and figure out where she is right now.

She looks around, and the answer comes to her. In the middle of nowhere.

She looks around, eyes trying to focus through the large water drops falling into them. The fog around her is thick, but she can see a large object in the distance. A house? A small hill? Deciding that she might as well start somewhere, Mary starts making her way towards the large structure. Her feet are bare and they squelch against soft mud as she finds her path. She can't stop thinking about her boys. Would John have gone crazy, looking for her?

How long has she been away?

The dark structure looms closer and closer and Mary is nervous as she approaches it. When she takes a few more steps, the shape becomes evident and she realises that it is, indeed, a house. It looks ancient, though, with a large, wild lawn and several trees around it. Lightning crackles, and the house glows blue and Mary stops in her steps for a minute.

What if this is the lair of the creature that kidnapped her?

Okay, she needs to be prepared. As she approaches the house, she sees that the windows overlooking the porch have weak light streaming out of them, and she takes a deep breath. So the house is inhabited. Hopefully by humans. She picks up a length of barbed wire and holds it gingerly, taking care not to hurt herself. She heads to the door and puts her ears against the wood to listen, and all she can hear is soft voices from inside. And then, with her heart thumping rapidly, Mary goes ahead and stops at the porch for a moment, before reaching shaking fingers to the doorbell.

She puts her ear to the door again, only to note that the voices have stopped. She waits for a couple of minutes, but no one answers the door.

Mary knocks this time. "Hello?"

There is more silence, and then footsteps. Mary leaps away from the door and a second later, it's opened, and, oh God, Mary can't believe what she's seeing.

John.

Except, John is much older. He's all salt-and-pepper and lines (how?) and he looks tired, but determined and alert… and so different.

And he's staring at Mary just the way she's staring at him.

Mary's fingers loosen from around the barbed wire and it falls beside her feet. She opens her mouth, and shuts it. She's not sure what to make of this. Is this really John, or another trick of whatever creature has her? And if this is John, what's he doing here and why is he… old?

"Who is it?" asks a gravelly voice from behind John and John shifts, to reveal a man in a tan trenchcoat, who is wearing a frown, and has his hands crossed across his chest.

However, at the sight of Mary, the man's eyes widen and his hands drop. "Mary Winchester," he whispers.

Mary stares at him. Does she know this guy? She shakes her head, and turns to John. Her John, because she can smell the Old Spice and leather and motor oil… and something else…

… Gunpowder?

John is blinking sluggishly at her. "Mary?"

"John?" she questions with a tremulous smile. Her ingrained training has her already thinking of escape routes as her gaze darts to her surroundings. She still can't believe what is happening. This can't be her John, can it?

He chuckles. "Yeah."

And just like that, his arms are around her, pulling her close to him with a hunger that she's never actually seen in him. John holds her tight, thick arms enclosing her, and a hand going up to cup the back of her head, fingers clutching on to her damp hair.

"John," Mary whispers, realising the hold is too tight.

He doesn't seem to hear her.

"John?" she repeats, gentler, and he does let go. His eyes look bright in the moonlight, and Mary realises that the man behind him has been observing them all this while, without saying a word. He gives her strange vibes, and she's not sure she wants him watching them.

She turns her attention to John. "What's happening?"

His eyes widen. "What do you remember?"

"I…" she frowns, trying to remember, but her memory fails her. "I put Sammy to sleep. Dean kissed him goodnight and you took him to his room to tuck him in—" She is about to continue, when an alien voice interrupts her.

"Mom?"

Mary turns around, trying to see if someone else is standing behind her, because the voice that just spoke is adult, so obviously, it wasn't addressed to her. But then, another milder, equally adult voice speaks up.

"Mom?"

Mary tilts her head to observe two strange men, both gigantic in height, and holding on to each other, as though for support. She turns around again, to see if their mother followed her here, but one of the men seems familiar to her, and suddenly, Mary realises who he is.

"Dean…" she begins, and John's jaw starts to drop, when she remembers his full name. "Dean Van Halen."

"What?" John asks her, and she turns to him.

"We need to get out of here."

John shakes his head. "How did you know who he is? Who's Dean Van Halen?"

Mary takes his hand, and whispers. "We need to leave, John. I'll explain it to you. This man, he—" He was there the day my parents died. The day I made a deal with the Yellow Eyed Demon. The day I brought you back from the dead.

"He's Dean, Mary," John finishes for her. "Our Dean."

Okay, this makes even less sense. First, John is old. And Dean… Dean's… gosh, a man in his late thirties, now? And he's a hunter too?

"Mary," John says, shaking her out of her thoughts. "We're in the year, 2016. These are our boys." He gestures to the giant men behind him. "Sam and Dean."

As if on cue, Mary feels a sharp ache in her chest and she sees two young men, in the kitchen of her house, both tearful, and her hand goes to cup the younger man's — Sam's cheek, as she whispers, "I'm sorry."

It's not a memory, and Mary doesn't know what it is. She just knows, somehow, that this is not the first time she's seen the guys behind John, and that they are, somehow, Sam and Dean.

Mary frowns at her husband. That's it. This is a dream. This is a dream.

John's strong hand encloses her arm.

"You should come inside."

~o~

Mary's sight and presence seems to have made her husband and her sons forget about everything around them. All three of them gawk at her while she enters the house, and the hunter part of Mary's brain tells her that it's possible this is all an illusion — that maybe she's been attacked by a witch or a djinn. Although neither of those theories explains the presence of the trench coated stranger.

He has startling blue eyes, and something about him is not normal. He knew Mary without the need for an introduction — although Dean hobbles forward and speak to the guy. "Cas, this is Mom."

Cas is a strange name, and the guy lives up to the weirdness when he tilts his head and squints at Mary. "I know," he says, nodding. Then he smiles. "Good to meet you, Mary Winchester."

Mary looks towards Sam as he asks in a low voice, "Cas, you are sure it's her right?" Mary frowns at the emotion in his tone. It's like he's scared of knowing the answer.

"No," Cas replies. "But I don't think I should use my method to confirm, although I could do it if you insist."

"NO!" Sam and Dean say in unison, cringing.

And Cas nods. "Okay."

Mary watches them and remembers what John had said. They're in the year, 2016. Which means Dean is thirty-seven and Sam is thirty-three. And she and John are supposed to be, what… sixty-two? The only thing is, although Sam and Dean look their ages, she and John definitely don't. John is off by at least a decade and Mary… she's still in her nightie from 1983.

What the fuck is happening?

Mary is surprised when they ask her to take some salt and hand her a flask asking her to drink up. They're tests, she realizes. They want to know if she's human. But how is this happening? Her family doesn't know anything about hunting, or the creatures that roam this godforsaken earth. Her heart jumps to her throat as she thinks about her sons, her husband being involved with hunting. This can't be true.

…Right?

She keeps her thoughts to herself, vowing to clear up everything once her family is sure that she's not a supernatural creature. Although they could be supernatural creatures too. They test Mary with salt and holy water. Mary chokes down the salt, drinks the water, and looks at her family with a scrunched-up face. "How do I know that you're not—?"

She barely completes her sentence when Dean reaches for another rock salt shell, cuts it, and puts some into his mouth. Sam copies him. John just looks confused, but Dean gives him the salt.

"Test yourself for her, Dad."

John obeys, although he's still bewildered, and they pass the holy water and silver test too. Then Dean comes forward with a silver knife and Mary willingly extends her forearm to him. He is, however, reluctant to cut her.

Mary takes the blade from him. "I'll do it," she says softly. "I've done this a lot of times too, you know."

He nods, as he lets her have the knife, and then backs away, splaying his palm against the wall for support. Sam is standing behind him, nonchalant, but John interrupts Mary as she goes on to make the cut on her skin. "What?"

Mary turns to him, and John continues. "What do you mean?" he asks. "You've done this a lot?"

"I…" Mary turns again to Sam and Dean, who are looking at each other, understanding dawning on their faces.

"We'll explain," Dean replies, his voice gruff. And then he looks expectantly at the silver knife, and Mary understands at once why he is so eager. And she presses the blade against her skin, feeling the sting and watching dark blood bubble over before withdrawing it.

There is a beat of shocked, hopeful silence between her family. And when Mary's skin doesn't sizzle, she is positive she sees a light in all their eyes before Dean stumbles forward and hugs her.

Thanks to all the supernatural weirdness, he's older than she is, but he is still her child. Those bright green eyes, the smile, it's still the same but his soul is automatically a lot younger than hers, and when Mary holds Dean, he practically burrows his face into her shoulder, as though he's trying to bury himself in her and he feels so small… Jesus.

"Mom," he grunts, face still buried in the fabric of her nightie. He sounds… shattered. And Mary realises at that point that Dean is not all right, although she doesn't know what's wrong with him. She places a hand on his back and rubs it slowly. His clothes are loose for him — like he lost a lot of weight in a short while.

She rests her chin on his shoulder, remembering how Dean used to hug her like this as a child when he was hurt or upset or scared. But she can't kiss it and make it all better like she used to, and she wishes she could as she tightens her grip on him.

"Oh, honey," Mary murmurs, bracing the back of his head with her palm. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" What's hurting you so badly? How can I make it better? Can I take your pain for you?

"Mom," he repeats, his voice barely a whisper, and Mary cannot see John because he is standing behind her, but she can see Sam and Cas, and they look nothing short of devastated at the scene.

"Dean," Mary calls gently, stroking his hair, and turning around so she can press her lips to his temple. John walks around from behind her and she meets his eyes, hoping he'll tell her what's wrong, but he shrugs. She realises that he doesn't know either.

She strokes Dean's head again and turns to Sam, whose eyes seem slightly wet as he watches her and Dean. Sam sways a little. Beside him, Cas notices and grasps Sam's forearm to steady him. Mary realises then that her other son is hurting too, and her heart breaks a little more.

She places her hands on Dean's shoulder, gently pushing him, so he straightens and wipes surreptitiously at his eyes. He turns away, and Sam, after waiting for a moment, walks ahead and almost falls into Mary's arms.

He starts sniffling the moment she holds him, shaky exhales escaping him as he melts into her grasp. He must be well over six feet tall, but he's folded himself so much, she can pretend he doesn't feel much different from the baby she used to cuddle. Her heart warms as Sam fiddles with the neck of her nightie. He always used to do that as a six-month-old when she'd cradle him and talk softly to him, tell him how much he was loved. And, although she still doesn't know what that vision or flashback of her boys from before was, she wonders how she didn't recognise her boys when she saw them at first, because this is most definitely Sam and Dean, despite all fucked-up crap that's going on here.

Mary brushes Sam's hair back. It's soft to touch — just the same as when he was a baby, and she can almost smell the baby powder and hear his giggles from when she tickled his belly. She pats his wide back slowly and when he pulls away, she touches his cheek and brushes away the wetness with the pad of her thumb, while offering him a shaky smile.

"Hey, baby." She pauses and lets out a light laugh. "You're tall!"

And Sam chuckles — a wide, open chuckle with all his pearly whites flashing as he rubs at his eyes. "Yeah, yeah… Dean, uh…" he stops, obviously on the verge of talking about Dean's opinion about his height. Mary cups his face and pulls him closer, before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He leans into her touch, shutting his eyes and bringing up a large hand to enclose her wrist gently.

Mary pats his face when he swallows, and she notices the pallor of his skin. She remembers how neither of them seem able to stand for too long without support. They're hurt. But how?

She can't help herself from asking Sam the stupid question, though. "You all right?"

He shakes his head. "No. But…" he glances at Dean, "I think… we will be. Eventually."

Mary notices how he isn't talking about just himself. The memory of her sons holding each other up a few minutes ago pops back up and she glances at them as they stand separately now, both leaning against the wall, with Cas standing between them.

She wonders what happened in the thirty-three years that she missed. And, oh, why did she miss thirty-three years in the first place?

She looks at her husband. "Can you tell me what happened? Why am I in the future?"

He licks his lip. "You aren't in the future."

"Then…?"

John sighs, and gestures to the couch. "You should sit, Mary, this is a long story."

~o~

Mary is still cold and very wet, but she doesn't give a damn once she's settled on the lumpy sofa in the house. Her sons sit next to her, one on each side, and they are silent as mice while John starts narrating the truth, all three of her men staring at her unabashedly, as though she hung the moon.

Mary listens numbly as she's told about how she died that night, on November the second, and how her boys grew up without her. When John begins to explain the supernatural to Mary, she has to stop him there.

"I know," she says quietly. "I'm a hunter too, John. Or, well, I used to be," she corrects herself. "My whole family hunted." She pauses. "Dean didn't tell you?"

John is speechless for a moment, but he composes himself, shakes his head slowly and turns to Dean. "You knew about this? When?"

Dean clears his throat. "I found out later on… after you'd died." He meets eyes with Mary briefly, before looking back at John. "Mom just wanted a normal life, Dad." He sounds defensive as he says it. But that's not what catches Mary's attention first.

"You died?"

She remembers holding John up when he'd died, his neck broken, and her heart beats fast at that. He died. Oh God, he died again.

"Yeah," says John. "There's a shaman. He brought us — you and me, back to life."

"Deal?" Mary asks quietly.

"No," Dean replies. "He needs Dad's blood. And I guess you're just…"

"An incentive," John finishes.

Okay. She needs time to process this.

She swallows. "How long, John?" she asks, without meeting eyes with anyone. She feels awful. Her boys have been alone. They've been alone all this time. Until today. And when she'd seen Dean as an adult the last time… he was not even thirty. Late twenties, probably. And Dean just said that he got to know about Mary after John died. Which means that John's been gone for a while too.

"Ten years," Sam says quietly, and Mary's heart sinks to her stomach.

No wonder there was no 'I' and just a 'we' in what Sam had said before. Her boys had pretty much just had each other for a while now. But they've done well, and from the way they were offering each other support, they obviously trust each other. And Mary can't stop herself from taking alternate glances at them, because, oh, her little men, how they've grown.

Dean is an adult replica of what he was. He was a beautiful child, and she'd always known he'd grow up to be a heartbreaker. And he sits beside her, all bright green eyes and long eyelashes and freckles, and she wonders how many hearts he's actually broken already. His hair's darker than before, though.

And Sam. Sam has John's dimples, for the love of God, and he's so tall. And his hair — she never thought Sammy would turn out to be one of those people who'd grow out his hair. His eyes are slanting and just lovely; and he looks so earnest, openly handsome, and oh, oh, her gorgeous little baby…

She remembers Dean's troublemaking and Sam's gurgling and she remembers how she'd wanted to watch them grow up and talk to them about their first crushes and girlfriends and go to their graduations and send them to college…

She'd missed all of it.

"You didn't get married?" Mary asks softly. "What did you do? Just hunted?"

"Pretty much," Dean explains. "We… we had to take out some pretty big fish… there's always something… we just couldn't…" but he looks up, and Mary traces his gaze to Cas, who is standing silently in the corner. There is something about the way Dean's looking at him, that's telling.

"Cas," Dean calls out to him, reaching out a hand.

The strange man obeys, and when he comes forward, Mary is a little surprised to see Dean fumble to take Cas's hand, hesitate, and then lock little fingers with him.

He turns to Mary. "His full name is Castiel. He's…" Dean's been so pale all this while, and Mary smiles when she spots the sudden flushing of Dean's face.

Dean clears his throat. "He's my boyfriend. And…" he shrugs, "he's pretty much the one who's helped keep me and Sam alive all these years."

So that's who's taking care of her boys.

Mary smiles wider at Dean, and turns to Castiel before holding out her hand. "It's nice to meet you. Thanks for being there for them."

Castiel releases his finger from Dean's grip and takes hers. "I feel the same way. And your sons are the brightest souls I have set my eyes upon. I have never seen two people so loving, forgiving and willing to do what they do for each other, or sacrificing what they give up for the good. It's been an honour to fight alongside them." And Mary's chest inflates with pride. Because, of course her boys are the best.

"So, uh…" Mary doesn't know what to say. This came sooner than she'd expected. She never thought she'd die and wake up thirty-three years later to do the boyfriend thing. And well — she had thought there'd be girlfriends, to be honest, but she's never been narrow-minded.

"He's…" Dean clears his throat. "He's an angel, Mom. And—" he pauses, chortling. "I'm talking about the real thing. Halo and wings and shit."

Mary tries to brush away the absurd image of her son romancing a winged creature, while Castiel speaks up. "I don't have my wings anymore." When Mary looks at Castiel again, he and Dean are tangling little fingers.

Mary now wonders where Sam's girlfriend is. Or does he have a boyfriend too?

John's been sitting quiet all this while, and Mary notices that he looks mildly disapproving about something. Mary doesn't know John as a hunter, and he's changed, but she used to know him very well, and she would bet everything on him not trusting Castiel. Probably because he's not human, but it could be something else. It's not the gay thing, though. Her boys obviously trust Cas, so Mary is not about to question this when she has no clue about what's transpired all these years. And if she's here to stay, she's going to talk to John about it too.

Mary lets out an involuntary shiver. Beside her, Dean moves immediately. "You must be cold," he says, eyes widening as he realises that his mother had been in a damp nightie all this time.

She smiles at him. "A little. It's just…"

"You can have one of my t-shirts," Sam says before she can complete her sentence. "And my sweats. They'll be kinda… big, but we'll get you some stuff in the morning before we take off for the hunt."

"Or you could have my stuff," Dean says, before Mary can reply to him. "I'm not as big as Sasquatch over there."

Sam gives Dean a dark glance, and Mary can see it brewing. She sighs. Sibling rivalry, at their age? She thinks, and she imagines what they must have been like as boys.

"Why doesn't one of you let me borrow a tee?" she acquiesces. "The other one can get me sweats. Okay?"

Both of them scramble to their feet at once and both of them lose their balance. They look like a pair of gigantic idiots, and Mary's adoration and concern reach new levels. Castiel, like a true friend, comes forward and lends an arm to each, but Dean pushes him away and limps to the other side of the living room, while Sam leans heavily on him for a moment before walking away.

They return with their clothes and Mary excuses herself for a while so she can change in the dingy bathroom. Sam's t-shirt is huge, but comfortable, and Mary has to pull in the drawstrings of Dean's pyjamas really tight to get them to not slip down. She has to roll up the bottoms substantially as well, along with the sleeves of the t-shirt, which she tucks into the pyjamas. She uses one of the towels that her sons give her to dry her hair as much as she can, and then pulls it up in a loose bun. Once she's done, she leans against the cracked sink and checks her reflection out in the grimy mirror.

There are too many things that Mary has missed about her family. And, oh, there's a long way to go from here.

~o~

Sam

The throbbing in Sam's head is increasing steadily. It's mostly at its nadir for now — but that's how Sam's migraines are. Crests and troughs. The pain is like a tsunami — either all there and completely awful, or simmering about and still awful. Gah, he really hates migraines. But then again, he doesn't reckon there are people who particularly enjoy getting migraines.

Sam knows that he should probably just go and take that Dramamine, but the possibility of missing even a moment with his mother is unacceptable to him. He doesn't know how Gan's magic works — if his parents are going to cease to exist again once then kill the shaman — and he just wants to know his mother as much as he can, while he can.

He remembers Dean telling him how she used to be — nurturing, caring, intuitive, and Sam finds that each one of those words is perfect for his mother. She's all that. And so much more. Sam doesn't think he can live with himself if she's just here temporarily, and has to go again.

His head pulsates some more. He has a moment to recognise the impending tsunami of agony and he isn't prepared for it when the wave crashes against him. Bricks fall on his brain and he grunts, leaning forwards with his head in his hands. He swallows convulsively. No puking, no puking. He hears Mary open the bathroom door and sits back up, the movement only causing more agony. Stop throwing stones at my brain, you fucker.

"Ugh." The sound is involuntary, and it draws Dean's attention.

"Dude," he says to Sam, "just get some sleep already."

Sam shakes his head, and his father notices that. "Your mother isn't going anywhere for now, son," he says, and Sam is quite astonished at the gentle tone. "Like Dean says, you should get some rest."

"No," Sam mumbles, just as Mary comes back and sits down between them, looking small in their clothes. Sam inches slightly closer to her, blinking against blinding pain. And then a whole building seems to fall on his head and Sam grits his teeth as every fibre in his body screams bloody murder — ka-boom, CRASH, and shit, shit, shitshitshit fuck fuuuuck, he's going to die.

"Uuuuhhh," he moans, unable to let out any of the expletives in his head because his mouth is barely coordinating with the rest of him.

"Sam?"

Dean is too loud. Too fucking loud.

And then there's an ice-pick. Someone puts the tip against his parietal lobe again. On the other side. The pain shifts.

"Sammy?"

Sam clutches his head in his hand, and that's the wrong move, because the ice-pick goes further inside.

"What's happening? Is he having a vision?"

"No, Dad, it's a migraine, okay? A regular, fucking migraine."

"He gets visions?" Mary is talking in a soft voice already.

A pause. "No, Mom. Not anymore. I'll explain."

Dean and Mom talk in low voices, but the sound still jars against Sam's head. His dad, though, is just awful, asking half-assed questions that Dean shushes away. Sam thinks he hears himself whimper. How embarrassing.

A moment later, there's a hand in Sam's, small and soft.

"Just breathe, Sam."

Sam takes in a breath. The ice-pick eases, hangs in there loosely, before beginning to swirl about brain matter with its pointy end. Bile rises up Sam's throat.

No. Go down. Go the fuck down. Won't puke. Won't puke, won't puke.

"Is he going to be sick?"

"No, he's not." There's movement. A strong hand is on Sam's shoulder.

Dean.

"Sam, we'll get you to the room, okay? You just gotta lay down some."

No, no, I wanna talk to Mom.

"Sammy, you hearin' me?"

Sam nods his head as well as he can without moving it much. Two pairs of hands immediately hold onto him and raise him from the sofa. "No," he gasps, finally able to get a word out. The ice-pick twists around, wrapping brain mass around itself, and Sam hisses.

"Sam," Dean says warningly, although his voice is low.

"M-Mom…" Sam trails off, weakly pushing all the hands off him.

"Sam, don't be an idiot. You know how bad this shit gets if you don't rest."

Dean's hands are pulling at Sam again and he bats at them irately. "Wanna talk… t'Mom, okay?" Sam mumbles, opening his eyes and squinting up at his brother, his mouth feeling like a loose part of his face as he strings words together through the pain. God, this sucks. "St'p… bossing me 'round," he continues, "you're… always doin' tha'."

Dean is kneeling before him, and Sam sees a dark look pass his face as he sits back on his haunches. Dean tries to get back up, fails, and Castiel is there, but Dean shrugs him away and decides to stay where he is.

"Sure," he says, eyebrows going up, his gaze fixed on Sam. "I'm bossing you around. That what you call it when I try to take care of you, now? Oh, no, don't answer that," he scoffs, "why am I even surprised?"

The ice-pick goes on to poke and prod behind Sam's eyes, but he opens them anyway. "Don't," he says to Dean. They've reached a temporary truce. And, right now… not in front of Mom.

"Don't what?" Dean asks him. "I'm stating a fact here." Sam catches their mother looking at them, concerned, while behind Dean, John looks exasperated. "Anyway," Dean continues, "if I'd had that migraine, you'd have let me stew in it, right? Same circumstances, you wouldn't do the same thing?"

Why is Dean twisting Sam's words about? And after everything Sam did to save him, after everything he's doing to help Dean… doesn't Dean get that Sam was just hurt when he said all that shit? And they are on a respite. At least, a shaky one. Why is Dean intent on ripping it apart again?

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, "I know what you're thinkin'. You saved my fucking life." His eyes are narrow. "Sure you did, Sam. Probably because you thought Abaddon was more important to stop — and maybe I just lived and you were lucky… or unlucky. I don't know. But you know what?" And Sam can feel a chill run down his spine when he sees Dean's expression. "It wouldn't have mattered much to you if I'd just died, so stop the drama."

That is too much for Sam to take. Ignoring the ice-pick that threatens to pop both his eyes out, he glares right at Dean. "You have a problem if I save your life, and you have a problem if I don't. So, Dean, why don't you just clarify everything here, so I don't keep disappointing you?"

"Boys—"

It's John's voice, and Sam remembers the tone from the thousand silly fights that he and Dean had in their childhood. His mother looks shocked, and is too much out of the loop to say anything. Sam suspects she's still trying to figure out how close he and Dean have stayed.

Dean ignores their father. "Fine," he says. "I'll clarify." He pauses. "Just get the fuck out of here."

"What?" It's Mary this time. "Dean, honey—" her hand rests on Dean's shoulder, but he puts his large hand on it and interrupts her.

"You don't want to be a part of this family anyway, Sam," he says. "You don't want to be my brother. So if you were sticking around pitying me or somethin'… you can leave now. I've got other people in my life too." And Dean actually moves back, making way for Sam to get up and leave.

Sam's heart is beating in sync with his head. Dean hadn't raised his voice until now, and Sam knows he doesn't mean what he said. Because if he really wanted to hurt Sam, he'd have yelled it all out and Sam is pretty sure he's going to die if his head hurts any more.

Sam knows that Dean will apologise, and that Sam can just let it go — because he doesn't want this shitty fight to go on anymore. But he's not going to let his brother have that kind of relief.

He watches Dean through a curtain of red. Lightning sparks illuminate the room some more, and Sam's eye feels like its short-circuiting. And despite knowing that he probably can't make a really grand, dramatic exit the way he wants, Sam pushes Dean back and gets to his feet.

Dean lands on his ass, yelps, and the room shifts around Sam as he stumbles. His vision doubles dramatically.

"Sam!"

Castiel grips his forearm before he can face-plant and everything is a blur of colours, frantic voices, and two Castiels, until Sam finally regains his bearings.

"Sam," John says, and his father is standing next to him, as Mary helps Dean to his feet. Sam pushes John away, frees himself from Cas, and heads to the room.

"Where are you going?" Mary's voice follows him, and Sam feels guilty.

"Where Dean asked me to," he mumbles, and he hopes that if no one heard that, at least Dean did.

"Well, I ain't stopping him," Dean says, and Sam hobbles away, heart feeling heavy, when there are footsteps from behind him, and his shoulders are gripped by hands again.

"Oh, good, Cas," Dean's voice says again, sounding further away. "Take his side, why don't you?"

"Come on," Cas mutters in Sam's ear. "Just get some rest. I'll talk to Dean."

"He… want's…"

"You're unwell," Castiel says, stating the obvious, "and Dean is overwhelmed. You know more than anyone, Sam, that what he says isn't to be taken seriously."

Yes, Sam knows, and he doesn't tell Castiel how he reacted that way on purpose. When they reach the room with the sleeping bags, Sam almost collapses onto it, clutching his head in both hands and trying to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. And he hears Castiel sit next to him, his silence saying everything that he won't say, namely that they're both idiots and they need to sort this crap out.

~o~

Dean

Dean watches Sam and Cas stagger away, and tries to quell his guilt. Did Sam mean that? Is he leaving for real?

Dean's only consolation right now is that Sam is too sick to move too much. So he probably won't leave now, although, knowing Sam, he is very capable of it once he's feeling better. He's a drama queen that way. Dean's little brother always waits until the last minute to explode and gives Dean a few heart attacks while doing so.

Bitch.

Dean shudders at the word. They ruined it for him.

"You're such a pretty little bitch, Winchester…"

No. He fights the memory away. Not now, not in front of Mom.

Speaking of…

Dean's mother is looking at him with a startled expression. Dean meets her eyes, and the guilt goes up a notch. He sits back on the couch and grunts, his hips protesting the movement after Sam's push. The rough landing had caused pain to flare up in Dean's legs and hips. Dean hasn't told Cas about their soreness during the healing sessions. Dean doesn't want him to know. He doesn't want Sam to know either. He doesn't want anyone to know how maimed he is. How impure. How dirty. Unclean. Damaged goods.

Cas deserves so much better: someone who won't cringe every time they're touched; someone who doesn't get those fucking panic attacks and nightmares; someone who doesn't flinch and who isn't uncomfortable in his own skin; and definitely someone better. A much, much better person that Dean, who won't hurt sick little brothers for the heck of it.

"Dean, you should apologise," Mary says softly.

He turns to her again. But what does she know? She's only seen one side of it. She wasn't there when Sam ran away to Flagstaff. When he left for Stanford. When he drank Ruby's blood and lied about it. When his heaven didn't consist of any memories of his family. When he never looked for Dean while Dean was in Purgatory. When he said that he and Dean weren't brothers anymore.

Dean's throat is clogged, and he feels the weight of all those memories as they come rushing back to him. His mother's hand is on his cheek, thumb rubbing away at wetness Dean didn't realise was there in the first place.

"Baby," she says, "I don't know what happened. But he's your brother, and you should talk to him."

Dean sniffs. "Yeah," he says, his voice hoarse. "I will. And I will apologise too, Mom." He pauses, blinking at his mother. "But I will do it when he does it first."

He gently frees himself from his mother's grip. He is hurting all over and he needs to lie down. He needs to think, too.

So he stands up shakily and starts walking away, feeling his parents' eyes on him as guilt overwhelms his senses again.


A/N: Reviews would be really cool, lovelies. :) We've literally had sleepless nights and resulting bad mornings from this story.

Also. Details about the new story I'll be posting, starting Monday. It's gen, and it's brotherly and it's for the SPN Reverse Big Bang.

Self Pimpage:

Title: To Suffer and Be Strong

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Violence, addiction, swearing, mentions of child abuse

Characters: Sam, Dean

Summary:

Into the abyss we fall slow

There's no floor and we soar, we soar

A run-of-the-mill job turns out to be much more complicated when Sam and Dean find themselves in a fight that is more than just physical to them.