Chapter 7
The thing about flying Air Angel is the landing. Sure, it's great to pop out of one place and reappear into another, but it's the landing that really makes or breaks the trip.
Sam realizes that landings officially suck when you've got a bullet lodged somewhere in your gut.
He gasps for air, ignoring the dark spots at the edge of his vision. Don't pass out, he mentally tells himself, don't you fucking do it. His mind is still racing with Cas's confirmation that Dean is alive.
Dean's fucking alive.
Hands gently lower him to the ground. He fights, but it's more like a newly born kitten rather than a well-trained hunter. He gives up, letting his arms fall to his sides. His vision blurs as he stares up at the ceiling. He swallows, fighting back the urge to give into blissful unconsciousness. A familiar table is to the right of him. War room. He's home.
He's so happy he could cry. Which, admittedly, is pretty embarrassing. But, it feels like it's been forever since he was last here.
Castiel fills his vision, asking him something. Sam doesn't care. Not like he can hear much due to his muffled hearing.
"Dean?" He asks, then when no one answers him, he demands, "Dean."
His vision is darkening even more now and he knows it won't be long before-
"Sammy!"
Sam perks up, knowing that voice. He sits up, which he finds out immediately is a bad idea when his eyes roll in his head and his body starts to fall backward. Just when he thinks that the floor's going to rush up to greet him, strong arms hold him upright.
Sam blinks, attempting to clear his vision. It finally clears and he's able to see Dean on his knees in front of him, holding him up by a hand on his head and the other on his shoulder. Sam still wobbles in the hold, but it's enough. For now.
Green eyes lock with his. Sam looks him over, as best he can with still slightly blurry eyesight, making sure Amara hadn't done any irreparable damage. Satisfied, he's looking back up when he notices a familiar, ugly ass piece of jewelry.
"Dean," Sam says, sounding a lot more pleading than intended but it does the trick. His upper body folds, his head landing on a soft, flannel-clad shoulder.
Sam feels more than sees, his brother's sigh. A hand rests on top of his head, "Sammy, you alright?"
Hell no, he's not alright. He's got a bullet in his freakin' gut.
Not to mention that he still feels the aftershocks of being fucking electrocuted.
So, no, he's not alright.
But you don't say that when your brother you thought was dead is suddenly alive. Again.
Sam says nothing, burrowing his head into his brother's shoulder in an attempt to not pass out or puke.
Voices speak above them, but Sam couldn't care less. He focuses on breathing in and out.
He feels more than hears when Dean starts speaking. Even half out of it, Sam can tell when his brother is majorly pissed off. Which, Sam knows from experience, is mostly worry and concern.
"Okay, okay," Dean says, in that way he does when he's trying to figure out what comes next, "We're going to lay you down, alright, Sammy? I gotta see what I'm workin' with here."
Surprisingly, Dean waits for Sam's response. Sam nods into his shoulder, unable to form words. Then, Sam's moving again and the pain in his gut makes it's presence known.
"Son of a- Sam? Sam?"
The pain dies down to a tolerable level, which means Sam knows he's no longer wanting to scream his guts out.
"'m okay," Sam says, breathing heavily. He opens his eyes, not realizing that he had shut them. Dean's hovering over him, paler than he was a few moments ago.
"Yeah, you're just fine," Dean says sarcastically, patting his cheek, "This is probably gonna hurt like a bitch."
"'m gonna pass out," Sam mumbles, eyes rolling in his head, "you're here, right?"
"Yeah, buddy. I'm here."
Dean called him buddy. Shit's bad, then.
Sam nods, consenting to his older brother looking at his wound. He shivers, still clad in the boxers and nothing else.
Then, Dean puts his hand on the wound and the shit hits the fan.
Someone's screaming bloody murder, Sam realizes.
Wait.
That's him.
"-touch it! I won't, okay! No more!" Someone's begging. Hands are on his face, "Please, please… Sam! Sammy!"
Sam swallows back another scream, but hey, it's an accomplishment considering the fact his entire body feels like it's on fire and he wishes for nothing but pleasant unconsciousness.
"Please," Sam hears himself say, looking at Dean as his vision goes in and out of focus, "please."
He can't say more than one word, but it apparently does the trick because Castiel is leaning forward, placing two fingers on his forehead and he's out.
"The hell was that?!" Dean exclaims, "No bullet wound I've ever known has caused that-"
"Anti-healing bullets do that," Timothy speaks up.
"Okay, great, but who in the hell are you?" Dean stands up, directly in front of his unconscious brother. His hands twitch to get the gun in the back of his jeans. "Or you? Cas, you know this isn't a shelter, right? We don't take in strays!"
"I…don't know who they are. Sam wouldn't leave them behind." Castiel responds, now looking over them with a careful eye.
"Well, let me introduce myself. I'm Timothy. This is my daughter, Maggie. I'm a Man of Letter's London Chapterhouse. Maggie is becoming a Woman of Letters," Timothy says, then adds, "Toni is my daughter-"
"Toni?" Dean looks from the older man to Castiel, who has an unreadable look on his face. "And just who in the hell is Toni?"
Timothy hesitates, before saying, "The woman who did this to your brother."
Dean immediately goes into overly protective mode, fists clenching at his sides, "You son of a-"
"Dean? What's going on?" Mary enters the room, scanning before locking eyes on her son in the floor. "Sam!"
She rushes to his side, brushing back the hair from his face. Even unconscious, he looks like he's in pain. It's hard to believe her baby boy grew up to be this man.
"It's spreading quickly," Timothy says, causing everyone to look at him. "I've never seen it spread this fast before."
Dean opens his mouth, two seconds away from shooting the man on principle alone when his mother beats him to it.
"What is? What's happening to him?"
"Toni shot him with an anti-healing bullet. Something that the institute came up with what, 10 years ago now, Dad?" Maggie says, looking to her father for confirmation. He nods and she continues, "the only way that wound will heal is if we stop the poison spreading throughout his body."
"How do we do that?" Mary asks because Dean is obviously is still processing, when they say nothing she angrily demands, "How?"
Maggie and Timothy shoot glances at each other.
"Just tell us!" Dean exclaims, "or I swear that I'll do something way worse than shooting the two of you."
"Don't," a weak voice from the floor says, "Dean, don't."
Dean immediately drops back to the floor, "Sammy?"
Sam swallows, eyes still closed, "Don't kill 'em. Helped me. Escape. Crazy bitch."
"They did, huh?" Dean chuckles, but it's not humorous, "I guess I won't shoot 'em now. Too much of a mess to clean up anyhow. Hey, what do you say we get you in your bedroom? More comfortable in there."
Sam nods, saying nothing. When they get him back to standing position, Sam immediately passes out, freaking out his brother and his mother.
He's drifting. He feels weightless. Pain-free.
Decades worth of memories flash in his mind.
Like that time when Dean taught him to drive in the parking lot of a Piggy Wiggly.
Dean giving him his first beer and laughing with him when he choked so hard that he almost spit it out.
Dad taking them to a baseball game. Mostly out of guilt for having been gone so long, but it didn't matter. For once, they were just kids with their dad, enjoying a game rather than a hunt.
Meeting Jess by her spilling coffee all over him. Her cute way of stumbling over words as she apologized profusely. Her blush when she asked if she could borrow his notes from their shared class.
Pranking Dean.
Laughing with Dean.
Hunting with Dean.
Dean.
Dean.
"DEAN."
His eyes suddenly open and he's hot, sweating, and anxious. His mind is a mess, but he knows one thing for certain: he has to find his brother. He needs to find his brother.
"Woah, easy there, tiger. Sam, you alright?" a familiar voice cuts through the haze. Rough hands gently push him back onto a soft surface. "Sam? We communicating here?"
"Gotta find Dean. Gotta save Dean." Sam mumbles, head rolling on the pillow.
"Shit, dude, you're burning up," Dean says, putting a hand on Sam's forehead, "I'm here, Sam. You don't have to find me. I"m right here."
Sam breathes heavily through the pain in his stomach. He's hurt. Why is he hurt? Wait, that doesn't matter.
"Dean?" Sam asks, hesitantly, eyes still clenched shut.
A hand cards through his hair.
"Yeah, it's me," a voice says softly, "you wanna open them eyes now or go back to dreamland?"
He swallows and fights back the desire to fade into unconsciousness again. It takes a herculean effort, but he manages. He half-expects to be in Hell and for this all to be one monumental joke. Strapped to a table, Lucifer leaning over him.
His eyes blink open to see a familiar ceiling fan at first. Then, he glances slightly to the right and his breath catches.
Dean's breathing and whole and alive. Looking nearly the same as the day he supposedly died.
"Dean," Sam says, voice wavering.
Dean gives him a smile, the same smile he did all those years ago when he came back from Hell, "Hey, Sammy."
That's all it takes. He doesn't care about the effort it takes, the pain in his gut or anything else. He throws himself at his unsuspecting brother, latching onto him.
Dean stumbles a little at the extra weight, but it's not that much because Sam's still so damn skinny. The older brother sighs and wraps his arms around his brother, holding him.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me." Dean jokes, but he holds onto him just as tight.
Sam says nothing, holding onto his brother desperately. Which, admittedly, is embarrassing as hell, but he doesn't care. Dean's not in the Empty. Dean's right here. With him. Sam sags in his arms, feeling sleep start to claim him again.
Dean laughs, jostling Sam, but it's worth it. Sam's eyes flutter close as Dean gently sets him back down on the bed. Sam forces his eyes open, afraid that if he looks away, for even a moment, this will be gone.
"Dean," is all Sam says as he moves his hand towards Dean on the bed, "Don't go."
Dean rolls his eyes, but catches his hand in his, "So, I guess I should cancel that hot date I had all set up, huh?"
Sam merely sighs, not even having the energy to summon a comeback to that. He just tightens his grip in Dean's hand.
"Alright, you big marshmallow," Dean says, both ignoring it when it sounds a little more choked than it was supposed to, "I ain't going anywhere."
"You said earlier something about anti-healing bullets. You mind elaborating on that?" Mary asks, curiously, attempting to hold back her anger at these strangers who clearly had something to do with Sam getting hurt.
"My daughter, Toni, shot Sam with an anti-healing bullet. We have to counteract the poison," Timothy supplies, looking around the library in astonishment. He touches one of the books and pulls it out, eyes wide, "surely they have something on them here. This collection really is magnificent."
Maggie rolls her eyes at her nerd of a father before saying, nervously, "Dad, what are we going to do? Toni's not just going to let this go. She's not going to let Sam go."
Timothy reluctantly puts the book away to look at his daughter.
"I suppose that's a relevant question." his eyebrows furrow in concentration, "first thing's first, we need to help Sam sort out this bullet mess."
Maggie nods, "And then?"
"Then we take down your psychotic sister," Mary supplies, going through the archives on the computer. Sam really did a badass job categorizing every single book in the bunker. The stunned silence causes her to look up, "What?"
"We're not going to take her down," Timothy says, looking at the woman as if she has grown two heads, "There's got to be another way. She can be managed-"
"Really? After all this you're still willing to-" Mary exclaims, angrily, before taking a deep breath and shaking her head, "Fine. We'll come up with something."
When Sam comes back around, this time, it's much more pleasant. Although he's still burning, his body raging with a fever that reminds him similarly of what he went through during the Trials, he feels a little bit more like himself now than he did before.
"You awake for real now, sleeping beauty?"
Sam looks up, watching as Dean enters the room with a tray of assorted things. Such as, a large bottle of Gatorade. And pain pills. And enough food to feed an army. Sam continues to watch as Dean puts it down on the desk.
"I find your knowledge of Disney princesses disturbing," Sam says, pushing himself up on his arms to sit up against the headboard. He winces, leaning his head back as he breathes through the pain. When it gets manageable, he opens his eyes.
"Scale of 1-10, how bad is it?" Dean asks, eyes crinkling at the edges with worry, "Don't bullshit me either."
Sam pauses, thinking as he takes a self-assessment. His bones still feel weary after all that electroshock therapy Toni was so generous about giving him.
"'s not that bad," Sam half grins, tiredly, "barely worse than a papercut."
Dean snorts, "Yeah, right. Here."
Sam takes the offered Gatorade bottle, weakly twisting the top open and lifting it. He swallows as much as he can before he gets a sickly feeling. Dean notices, he always notices. Sam caps the bottle, shakily and puts it on his nightstand. He sits up a little straighter, feeling himself pale.
"Oh no, you don't. You keep that down," Dean threatens, "Sam, I mean it. Don't-"
Sam swallows once, twice, three times.
"Son of a bitch." Dean exclaims, turning to the desk and grabbing the trash can that sits underneath it. He quickly moves to the bed, helping Sam sit on the edge of it and puts the trashcan in his lap.
"Oh, god," Sam mutters right before leaning over and emptying everything he ever ate out of his stomach. It goes on longer than it should. When he's done, he realizes he's shivering and someone's rubbing his back.
"You good?"
"You're good, I feel like shit." Sam's voice is hoarse, energy completely wiped.
He closes his eyes. The trashcan is removed from his lap and he's moved gently back so he's sitting against the headboard. A few seconds later a wet cloth is wiped across his face, getting the remains of the vomit off his face.
"You'll make someone a good housewife one day, Dean," Sam teases, weakly, but he needs to insert some bout of normalcy about this not so normal situation.
"Shut up," Dean says, fondly.
Sam opens his eyes as the cloth is moved away from his face. The bed moves when Dean stands up from the bed, putting the washcloth on the desk and sorting through something on the tray.
Something's different, Sam realizes. He starts with Dean's hair, but that's always been the same. He moves downward, checking his brother for any injuries.
"Dude, I'm fine," Dean says, turning around with two pills in his hand and a glass of water. He walks towards Sam and that's when he notices it.
He can't believe he didn't notice it before.
Hanging from his neck, as if it had never left, is the amulet. Sam feels his eyes start to sting with unshed tears and forces them back.
He looks up at his brother, taking note of Dean's soft expression. Dean holds out the water and the pills but says nothing.
Dean knows. He always knows.
Sam takes the pills, swallows the water. Dean puts it on the nightstand for him, but still hovers, afterward.
"What happened with Amara?" Sam asks, softly.
"Dude," Dean says, shaking his head, "I've got one hell of a story for you."
Dean launches into it, appearing a lot more energetic-more Dean-like- this time than the first time Sam had woken up.
"Mom?" Sam asks, sitting up straighter, eyes wide with wonder and shock, "She's-"
Dean nods, looking him over before frowning as Sam attempts to stand up, "Where are you going?"
Sam shoots him a look, where do you think I'm going, dumbass?
Dean sighs, because of course, Sam wants to see their mother.
"Why don't I just tell her to come in here?" Dean suggests, standing up, "It'll be quicker than me hauling your ass around the bunker."
Sam rolls his eyes but relents a lot quicker than Dean thought he would. Which immediately causes his big brother radar to go into overdrive.
"Fine," Sam says, leaning back, "but hurry up or I'm hauling my own ass around the bunker."
Dean gives him a laugh and walks out of the room.
"Mom?" Dean asks, wondering through the war room, then through the library where Timothy is geeking out over some book and Maggie is merely watching in amusement. "Have either of you seen-"
Mary walks around the corner from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron that Dean didn't even know they had, "How is he?"
"He wants to see you," Dean says, suddenly anxious about the two of the most important people in his life finally getting to reunite.
Mary's eyes light up and she grins, "Great. Okay. Great."
She runs a floury hand through her hair, seemingly anxious. Dean finds himself smiling, just watching her. She unties her apron and flings it in the direction of a library chair. She lets out a deep breath.
"Okay. Let's go."
"You stupid bitch," Adam growls, slapping the human in the face. Toni doesn't let out any noise. Not allowing herself to give into the pain. "Where would they go?"
Toni stays silent, her head spinning from the hits upon hits she's been taking.
He slaps her again.
"Answer me, bitch."
Toni lets out a shaky breath, voice trembling, "They…they would go…" She racks her brain, but comes up empty, "I don't know! I don't know where they'd go!"
She feels tears sting her eyes but pushes them back. She's useless. She doesn't deserve to cry.
Adam lets out a sigh, "Looks like you just need a little motivation."
Suddenly, he's disappeared and by the time Toni realizes where he's going, she's up the basement stairs and beginning to go up the ones that lead to the second floor.
"Ah, ah, looking for this?"
Toni turns around on the third step, heart sinking to her chest. Adam has her son by the throat, shaking him like a rag doll. Harrison's eyes are wide with shock and pain as he tries to take in air that's just not there.
"Let him go," Toni growls, tears finally falling from her eyes.
"Now, this can go one of two ways," Adam begins, "One: you don't tell me the other Men of Letters location in the city and I snap your little boy's neck. Or, my personal favorite, you grow some balls and save your son. So, what's it going to be? Your father and sister or your son?"
Toni's shaking with pent up fear and rage. It's a lethal combination in the right hands, but she's merely a scared mother wanting to do right by her family.
Harrison's eyes look a lot older than he is. He's pleading with her. Not to save him. To save his grandpa and aunt Maggie. He knows. He knows he doesn't have much time left. And that's something an eleven-year-old boy should never know.
Adam's hand moves a little tighter around Harrison's neck as he says, cruelly, "Time's running out."
"Let him go."
Adam doesn't turn around. He looks annoyed. Toni looks behind him, to the figure that just spoke.
"Did you hear me? I said let him go."
"Oh, I heard you alright," Adam says, rolling his eyes, "that annoying voice travels very well in here."
"Who the bloody hell-"
"Toni, if I were you, I'd shut my stupid whore mouth," the person says, "you're not exactly my bestie right now, but your boy is innocent. You hear me, Adam? He's an innocent."
Adam grumbles under his breath and drops the boy on the ground. He turns around, glaring at the intruder.
"Nice to see you too," the other person says, "now, where's Sam?"
"If I knew that, why the hell would I still be here?"
"Because you're a demon and you like to toy with humans." Said matter-of-factly.
"Well, well… look at you. The student has finally become the master."
Bright blue eyes shine angrily at him in the sunlight, "God, you're more egotistical now than you were when I first met you."
"Aw, thank you," Adam says, sweetly, "you really do know how to make a boy blush."
Then, all Hell breaks loose.
