Warnings: Strong language, explicit sexual content
Summary: Dean and Cas reconcile and renew the strength of their bond. Dean goes on an unusual adventure with Charlie.
A/N: Hey everyone! Hi to people that have just found this fic! Whoo, I finally managed to write a shorter chapter. It's still pretty long, but not a monster like the last one. I hope you enjoy this chapter even though it's a little scattered. I definitely have plans for this fic and I'm going to continue with it in spite of how long it seems to take me to write each chapter. This time I was definitely distracted by SPN 8. Geez, it was so Destiel I started to wonder why I bother writing fic at all, haha. No, but I'm definitely going to keep writing this. Thanks for reading! All the favs, follows, and reviews do motivate me to keep pluggin' on! :)
I totally get distracted by looking up 1930s/40s stuff too whenever I write for this fic. If you're curious, look up "Frankenstein (1931) Trailer" on YouTube. It's relevant to this chapter in a small way and will make you laugh.
Dean had barely slept since having his dream of Lisa. Saturday night, he had seen the remnants of his valued hex bag on the floor of his cell and a tremor of superstitious dread had overcome his body as events became clear. His bizarre dream of Lisa had occurred in tandem with the destruction of the bag of herbs. Not even the cynical soldier had been able to reason that the situation had been pure coincidence. Dean had reaffirmed in his mind that it wasn't magic, it was medicine, but he also knew that without the hex bag, he was likely to relapse into long nights of anxiety and discomfort. So, when Dean had invited Cas to sleep with him on the day of rest, he had done so as a man that had slept only two fitful hours the previous night.
Dead to the world, Dean gathered Cas near as if the other man was a living amulet that would guard him during his most vulnerable moment. To Dean, all dreams were synonymous with nightmares. He never dreamt of being a hero, only of being a victim, a murderer, or both. His most pleasant dream in years had been his most recent dream of the Lisa that refused to stab him, and even that dream had caused him to wake feeling unnerved. With Castiel flush on top of his body, Dean didn't dream at all.
The heat of Cas' body kept him warmer than any blanket. Cas was a soothing, welcoming weight. As Dean slept, he felt the rise and fall of Cas' chest and his slow, gentle breaths. They were so calmly nestled together that a quiet happiness softened the lines of their faces. They slept together for hours. Inevitably, someone found them.
"Well, well, well, fellas…" Gabriel wore a Cheshire Cat grin as he halted his stroll full stop to gaze at Cas and Dean's tender embrace. Dean was lying on his back with his arm snug around Cas and Cas was cozy against him, pulling Dean into his body in his slumber. Castiel's cheek was pressed firmly to Dean's chest.
Charlie, who had been trailing Gabe and flipping through a comic, smashed into the other male. "W-What! Why'd you stop?"
"Shhh! Shhh, shush! You'll wake the husbands," Gabriel hissed and gestured enthusiastically to their friends. Soon, Charlie was gawking along with Gabriel.
"They're going to catch a lot of attention if they keep doing things like that," Charlie worried out loud as he leaned against the bars of Castiel's cell and continued to watch the two men sleep. Gabriel was very familiar with the nature of Charlie's fears and he brushed them away with a hushed scoff.
"This isn't the outside. Nobody cares. They're not the only ones having sex for fun around here." They both knew it was more than 'fun' with Dean and Cas, but that didn't need to be said. Gabriel went on, "And nothing could catch more attention than Cas fucking Dean in plain sight."
"Did you see it?" Charlie asked curiously. He knew as well as anyone that it had happened, but he hadn't caught them at it.
"Only me and half the guys." Gabriel smirked and rubbed Charlie's vibrant head of red. "Where the hell were you? It was a good show. If you'd told me you wanted a seat I could've saved you one."
After spending so many slow months around Gabriel, Charlie had become almost an expert at picking the scoundrel's brain. "You didn't. Please tell me you did not organize a peep show of our friends fucking."
"I made a killing."
"You're a pig," Charlie breathed in disgust. Charlie's cell was on the third floor above the second floor that held Dean and Cas. He had been too busy toying with his gadgets to pay much mind to the occasional soft human noises that had fallen on his ears the night of Dean's birthday.
"Part-time pimp," Gabriel corrected. The king of entertainment of the pen would have been neglecting his duties if he hadn't created a spectacle of the very hot, genuine sex he'd helped guide to fruition.
As Gabriel had tortured Cas with the hopes of obtaining lube to test his limits and to relegate his own work to Cas while taking all the credit for it, Gabriel had been inspired. What had been building within Castiel had been something worth more than cigarettes and dollars. Anticipation. Hope. Sexual frustration. By dangling the carrot of penetrative sex in front of his friend for so long, Gabe had guaranteed an exhibition worth seeing – the release of all of Cas' tension. All Gabriel had needed was the perfect vantage point, measured by its secretiveness. The desire Cas had for Dean, harbored discreetly, was lightening in a bottle, begging to be sold to the highest bidder. More than a few inmates had fantasies about either Dean or Cas, so it had been a natural scheme. Dean might have been off the menu, but careful peeks were fair game. "All I do is make dreams come true," Gabriel professed proudly. "Anyhow, what they don't know, can't hurt 'em."
Charlie eyed Gabriel with an unhappy look. "If I tell them, I know one person that's going to be hurt."
"You wouldn't dare!" Gabriel huffed and then panicked when Dean and Cas stirred ever so slightly. Gabe pulled Charlie close to his body and shushed him. Whispering to his ear, he said, "Just look at them. So innocent. If you say something, it'll tear them apart."
Gabriel had a point. Dean would probably die of shame. He would definitely close himself off a lot more. Perhaps Castiel would as well. "Just don't do it again," Charlie growled quietly. "It's degrading. They're our friends."
"Scout's honor." Gabe released Charlie to make a tiny salute, and the slender, pale redhead leaned his face into the cell bars. If Gabriel had done such a thing to his beloved 'little brother' there was no telling what he may have done to Charlie without his knowledge.
"I wish I had a camera," Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the sleeping pair like they were a work of art. At that precise moment, he saw his favorite guard approaching from around the corner through his peripheral vision. "Oh, goody! Uriel!" Gabriel cheered in a loud whisper and beckoned the guard over with an energetic wave. "You got a camera, buddy? I wanna get a snapshot of this."
Uriel turned to look inside Castiel's cell where Gabriel was gesturing with his thumb and he flinched noticeably at the sight of the infamous Castiel innocently curled up into the soldier's resting form. They looked as sweet as soul mates. Again, Gabriel pleaded, "C'mon! I know we've got one. I want a keepsake to send Sammy. And an extra copy for me."
Gabriel wagged his eyebrows. Uriel groaned and refused to stay to observe them any longer, grumbling about 'these homos' as he left. Gabriel called out after him, "At least let us borrow a pen! I wanna draw on their faces!"
"Shh! You're going to wake them." Charlie pulled on Gabriel's sleeve. "We should just go."
"All I need is a pen," Gabriel complained. Playing pranks in prison was more difficult than doing them on the outside because of the lack of resources. It was frustrating, but Gabriel was determined to do something to embarrass Dean and Cas. He entered the cell against Charlie's urgings and stood over the couple. Think, Gabriel, think. There has to be something in this cell you can stick somewhere it doesn't belong. He glanced over at the toilet paper and brought his hands together in thoughtful, conspiring gesture. When he looked back at the bed, a single, fierce blue eye had pried open to stare him down, completely alarming him. "Putain, C-Cas!" Gabriel cursed. "You're awake!"
"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked in an even, distrustful tone.
"Nothing. I'm just standing here. Honest to God. This is a good standing spot." All of Gabriel's hopes of harassing the pair were destroyed when Dean also awoke. The veteran yawned a long, pleased yawn and smiled from the heat Castiel's body lent to him. His fingers were edging towards Castiel's hair when he caught a glimpse of Gabriel. A spasm of shock to overtook Dean and he crashed out of Castiel's bed suddenly.
"Whoa! What happened? I don't remember anything!" Dean lied, gaping at Gabriel from his position on the floor. Dean checked his body to make sure he was fully clothed and had not been victimized by Gabriel in some way. Relieved to find everything normal, he fixed an angry gaze at the intruder. "What the hell are you up to, Gabe?"
"Damn it." Without bothering to explain himself further, Gabriel stalked out of the cell and whined to Charlie. "I'm bored now."
A very confused Dean watched Gabriel and Charlie stalk away down the hallway. Dean made a quiet remark to Cas after they left. "For a second, I thought that was a nightmare."
"What, Dean?"
"Gabriel's face," Dean answered groggily, hoping he would never see that man's visage upon waking again.
After waking up feeling so wholly refreshed from their nap together, Dean had come to recognize that Castiel had a spectacular healing touch that calmed his spirit. He felt it in small increments everyday in the mutual ease they shared, but Dean noticed it more strongly after having experienced two disturbed nights in a row. Dean desired more of the sensation he got from being restfully intertwined with Cas. He also wanted Castiel to know that he was adored no matter how horrid and dark his past had been.
'Strange' had been a word Dean had first associated with Cas upon initially speaking to him and now he knew why better than ever. Cas had bouts of terrifying violence, and yet he was also gorgeous and soothing to Dean's body and mind. Castiel was one of a kind, and he easily captivated Dean. The Winchester wanted to learn everything there was to know about him and he thought showing love after such a significant confession from Cas would be the best way to ensure that Castiel felt safe with him in future.
Sunday night had been a beautiful blur of makeup sex. Dean had been apologetic through his kisses and grateful in every caress. He wanted to make Cas forget about their fight and about all the unpleasant things Cas had relived by telling a story from his past. Under such careful attention, Cas forgave Dean for angering him and for making him remember how cruel he was capable of being. Their apologies and words of forgiveness were never spoken, but they were evident within their soft moans and imprinted into flushed skin. The adoration colored with notes of forgiveness continued the following day in the library.
Dean couldn't keep his mind off of Cas. Cas had spoken more about himself on that Sunday than ever before. His emotions had been raw and engrossing. Dean surmised that Hector had been drawn to Castiel's strength and stony viciousness, much like he had upon being defended by Cas for the first time. The thought that he could have anything in common with Hector worried Dean because he wanted to be nothing like the masochistic, self-destructive ghost of Castiel's past. Dean wanted to be extraordinary and special to Cas in a way that the other man appreciated.
"Dean, you have to stop. I'm – we'll never get anything done if you don't. Someone will catch us," Cas said to Dean in between yet another loving kiss. He knew Dean was being especially affectionate because of their fight and the story he'd told the day before, but it felt too good to have so much of Dean's attention for Cas to be distraught by it.
"Baby, just one more. This is all that's keeping me warm," Dean breathed, pushing Cas more firmly into the stocked bookshelf behind him. Following a deep, dizzying kiss, his mouth soon found Cas' neck and the other man shuddered with desire.
"Have a smoke if you're cold," Cas suggested, noting that Dean wasn't sticking to 'one more' kiss at all.
Dean's fingers stroked a pert nipple through Cas' shirt. He let his lips roam over Cas' collarbone and he purred, "You're better than smokes. Warmer."
"Yes, but – "
"I certainly hope no one is fornicating in this library," announced the peeved, professorial voice of Death. "I'd like to return a book without having to wash my eyes."
Death walked over to the front desk and slammed a book of poetry down on the counter. In the back of the library, Cas eased away from Dean. Dean had taken to wearing the standard issued prisoner's cap due to the cold because any additional piece of clothing, no matter how small, ameliorated the effects of the winter chill. When Dean grinned with part of his face concealed by his cap, Cas was astounded by his handsomeness. "That fucker," Dean complained. "Go on, find out what he wants now."
Castiel was so disciplined in hiding his emotions that he was able to join Death without being too obvious about what he had been doing. Death devoured books on poetry and Castiel had a few new recommendations for him after processing his return. The relationship shared by Castiel and Death was a curious one. When they were together, they exuded similar vibes of eerie coolness. They had respect for each other, but no fondness.
One of the highlights of Death's week was finding new poetry to read, so he tolerated the obsession shared between the two librarians. He tolerated Castiel's occasional lovestruck absentmindedness and he tolerated being sometimes drawn into Dean's musings about Cas. Death was disappointed, but not surprised, that Dean had ignored his warning about getting too close to Cas.
All in all, the day passed with typical traffic. Dean was more careful about restraining himself around Castiel until the hour when they were setting up to leave for the day. Inmates were still in the library when Dean approached Cas behind the large, angular front desk to slip in between the older male and the counter. He grabbed Castiel's hand and pressed a neatly folded square of paper into his palm. Cas pulled back and carefully unfolded the paper, inwardly hearing the message messily scrawled upon it in Dean's voice.
You want to fuck me against the wall during rec time?
Dean watched, expectant, but Castiel had been stricken mute. In case anything was lost on Cas, Dean gave him a glimpse of the tube of lubricant he had in his pocket. From the way Cas' hands began to sweat and shake, the paper he was holding might have been mistaken for a scorching piece of coal. Castiel had received many propositions in his life, but this one was different because it was from Dean, who was so near, wearing a smug, satisfied expression. Cas didn't think any other man could be so effortlessly forward and seductive. "Well?" Dean asked.
The paper fluttered out of Cas' clumsy fingers and mocked him by landing in between Dean's shoes. Cas swallowed, unsure if he should answer Dean or pick up the paper first. When he made a move to bend down, Dean grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Is that a yes, sweetheart?" Dean cooed.
"Of course. That's – uh, yes." Castiel's expression was priceless. Such a question didn't have to be asked twice.
Rec time couldn't come quickly enough. Charlie would have to find another man to spot him during his weight training in the yard because Dean was involved in another athletic activity in the library storage room. In the first time since Dean's birthday, Cas enthusiastically fingered Dean, using the precious lubricant he'd broken his back to procure. He tried to gauge the perfect amount that would be comfortable for Dean while allowing them to save as much of it as possible. Dean, still stunned by the new sensations, was sensitive in his hands. Cas' fingers delved inside Dean with ownership, but his possessiveness was kind. His gentle, eager caresses that demanded to give Dean pleasure were accompanied by deep, loving kisses.
The Winchester pulled on Castiel's shirt, and all but begged for Cas to fill him. Castiel hoisted Dean up with impressive strength and pushed within him to satisfy Dean's craving for him. As before, Dean's tightness was marvelous.
"Don't hold back," Dean moaned as he clutched onto Cas. Castiel didn't. When it came to fighting and sex, Cas did not know his own strength. From his standing position, Cas bruised Dean's back with the force of his fervent thrusts. Being fucked into the wall with reckless abandon was exactly what Dean had wanted. He cried out in pleasure and urged Castiel on. Their hot breaths filled the room and Dean came without having his dick stroked. "Fuck," Dean moaned, "Fuck."
Castiel continued to pin Dean to the wall, maintaining his stamina well after Dean found release. Even following a night of intense carnal love, Cas was still ravenous for Dean. Wrapped tightly around Cas, Dean spoke the name of his lover in quiet praise and left desperate kisses on his lips and face. At last, Cas spilled his seed into Dean's depths and muttered something softly into his skin. Lips and the careful drag of teeth on Dean's unmarred shoulder followed his unheard words.
"What?" Dean mumbled.
"I love…" Castiel trembled, hot and emotional. No, no, no. Don't! "…making you come."
The power behind Castiel's words prompted Dean to bring their mouths together for a heated kiss. "I love it when you make me come, babe," Dean muttered in reply. He was unable to carry on sentences without kissing Cas in between words. "I fucking love it. You inside me…"
Listening to Dean's breathy words and feeling them against his mouth, Castiel knew he was in trouble. He settled down on the floor with Dean to hold him and kiss him all over. Holding Dean in his arms and feeling the rapid beats of Dean's heart with his lips made Castiel feel euphoric. Being with Dean was living in paradise.
The blue-eyed man was so afraid that one day he would slip. One day he would feel compelled to tell Dean exactly how he felt against his better judgment. Cas kept his mouth and tongue occupied to prevent those words from falling upon Dean's ears. They remained enveloped together on the floor for an extended period of time and yet they did not become fatigued. Finally, Cas rolled on top of Dean on the floor and growled with renewed energy, "I want you again."
In the showers the next morning, pink burn marks from where Cas had pushed his naked body into the wall and the floor of the storage room were visible on Dean's back. Forbidden to touch him or even look at him, Ruby still dared to take note of those marks. He found it unfair that Cas would brand Dean with all the evidence of how much he enjoyed Dean's body like he was flaunting the nature of their relationship to everyone. It made it more difficult not to look at Dean, but Ruby fought his urges out of fear. He couldn't have Dean yet.
Dean was sore and oblivious to the notion that his scuffed appearance was drawing attention and had meaning to the other men. He thought his guard was secured well enough not to betray how close he was to Cas and not to betray weakness. Since the showers could sometimes be a dangerous place, maintaining a certain appearance in them was important, so Dean continued to avoid showering anywhere near Castiel. Instead, he usually placed himself by Charlie to silently protect the redhead and keep his distance from the temptation of Cas and any unsavory characters. Charlie may have been older than Dean, but he was a civilian and still very boyish and vulnerable in Dean's eyes. Charlie appreciated the gesture.
The showers would always be defined by a sense of precariousness just like the library would always continue to be a sanctuary. The library was Castiel's domain and had become so central to Dean's new life that it felt like more of a home than anything else in the prison. A younger Dean would have never imagined that a library could be so important.
Within the Winchester family, it was an understatement to say that money had been scarce. School had been a rare luxury and work had often been so physically demanding that Dean had never had as many opportunities to read as he had in prison. He had always been too preoccupied to ever linger in libraries for long. Cas, treasured as a lover and best friend, was also the kind of professor he'd never had, guiding Dean to the tomes he had always wanted to read. Dean liked stories of adventure, heroism, justice, and the kinds of monsters that lived within men or could be hunted by men. Long ago, Dean had finished all the best Westerns they had available and had asked Cas to help him find all the best monster books.
"You're reading that again."
Dean glanced up from his copy of Dracula to face Charlie, who was staring down at him with consternation. Along with The Ox-Bow Incident, The Hobbit, and Frankenstein, Dracula was among Dean's favorite books. He could breeze through it because it was so dark and exhilarating. "Yup," Dean answered the other male simply.
"Why do you like books about monsters so much?" Charlie asked. Castiel had never asked Dean such a question, assuming his love of monster books aligned with his love of action and suspense. Charlie, on the other hand, found his tastes bizarre. After having earned enough of Dean's trust to hear the true story of his crime, Charlie couldn't understand why Dean would be drawn to monsters when he suspected a monster may have been involved in the murder of Lisa. When Dean had shared his story with Charlie months ago, Charlie had revealed the story leading to his crime.
Charlie had grown up as the only child of well-to-do, hardworking parents. He had always been good with mechanics and numbers, but he pursued mathematics over anything mechanical to work in the financial sector. He had been deemed a 'boy genius' so promising that he'd been hired to work at banks at an unheard of young age.
When he was anxious, Charlie stole. The crash of the stock market and the aftermath made him so paranoid and uneasy that he compulsively stole from every bank that had ever hired him. Both of his parents had become unemployed and he felt a responsibility to provide for them. Charlie had been lucky enough to be among the brightest of all the bankers, so he had almost always kept jobs even after others had lost everything. In the end, it hadn't mattered how much he had stolen because his parents had become victims of the mayhem and poverty around them. Charlie never explained exactly what had happened to his parents, but only said that after their deaths, he became all the more interested in the art of stealing through creative numbers and other stealthy, non-violent avenues. He was a kleptomaniac. Charlie had admitted to being a fraud and embezzler to Dean and Cas, but he had completely denied having taken a part in the massive scheme for which he was serving time. The last employer he had worked for had been the one to damn him.
That employer, Richard Roman, was slick, handsome, and charming in a perpetually confident manner. He smiled often and asked everyone to call him 'Dick' in a gesture of familiarity and friendliness, but he was as duplicitous as Charles Ponzi. While others lived in squalor, Dick became one of the new millionaires of the times. He had doted on Charlie, claiming that he had a 'special spark' that would someday take him to the top. Time and time again, Charlie had been asked to do things that were horrendously immoral, but not illegal. For years, Dick had put Charlie on various special projects and had appeared to put his confidence in the young man. In a moment of indiscretion caused by too much brandy, Dick had admitted that he loved the Great Depression and that he never wanted things to change. In fact, he had promised their prosperous times were only just beginning. After that moment, Charlie had decided to boldly steal every penny he could dare to steal from Dick. He had never been caught on those offenses.
Dean held a disdain for bankers but he had enjoyed Charlie's story because much of the money Charlie had stolen from Dick was still concealed safely on the outside like a buried treasure from a pirate novel. What wasn't hidden had been anonymously donated to all the families whose homes had been foreclosed and were now owned by Dick. Dean had liked the Robin Hood-like flair of that part of Charlie's story so he had decided not to lose complete respect for Charlie even though he had been a banker.
Charlie had been promoted and pampered for years even as he stole from the company until the day the Feds began to breathe down Dick's neck. Having decided he wouldn't spend a second in prison, Dick had thrown Charlie under the bus. He had pinned his corporate crimes on his subordinate in a spectacular, elaborate performance that had included the total character assassination of Charlie. Cas and Dean had never seen Charlie angry quite like he had been the day he had explained the way Dick had framed him.
After what had happened to Charlie, Charlie couldn't hear the name Dick Roman without wanting to crush the nearest inanimate object in sight. He thought Dean reading monster books was the equivalent of him having to read a column praising the entrepreneurship of Dick Roman. Yet, as much as Dean despised when Cas or anyone else spoke about demons, Dean would still read books about monsters, including demons and the Devil.
"What'd you mean?" Dean responded to Charlie, "Everyone likes monster books."
"Gabriel doesn't," Charlie said.
"Pfft, Gabe! Gabe doesn't count." Dean folded his book in the middle of one of Professor Van Helsing's engrossing speeches. "That guy isn't interested in anything but being the next Frank Sinatra. And being an annoying little shit."
"He wants to be Van Helsing," Castiel cut in, drawing the attention of the two other men. "That's why he likes monster books." Cas figured that Dean dreamed of being the 'man with the plan.' He thought Dean wanted to be the hero that was strong enough to face the unimaginable. From where he was lying, Dean covered his face with the book, wondering if Cas had been spying from over his shoulder.
"Shut up, Cas. That's not it," Dean mumbled, embarrassed. He sat up on the table and directed his attention to Charlie. "I don't know why I like them. Maybe it's because Dad used to tell us scary stories all the time. Crazy old man…"
"His favorite story was just so… Jesus, for telling us this story, Dad was a monster, let me tell you. When we were little, he loved to tell us the story of the lady that drowned kids," Dean said. "He would always tell us that if we didn't listen to him, she would come and get us. She would kidnap us because she liked to punish misbehavin' kids. Dad said if we ever separated from each other, we were as good as drowned."
"La Llorona," Castiel mused, shaking his head as he remembered that Gabriel had been told the same stories. Gabriel had hated those stories because he had always been the most misbehaving of all of his siblings. Persuaded that he would be the first one drowned, as a young child, Gabriel had avoided all swimming pools for a long while, until his older brother Lucien had maliciously thrown him into one in the dead of night. Perhaps that was why Gabriel loathed monster stories.
"What? I don't know, yeah, I guess so," Dean remarked, "I can't remember what he called her, I just remember that Sammy would damn near pee his pants. He thought it was all real. I think he still does."
Living out of the car and squatting in abandoned shelters always increased Sam's anxiety. Dean had always been there for Sam, promising that he wouldn't let anything get him. "Maybe I like 'em because they make me think of Sammy." Dean grinned. "The first movie we ever saw was Frankenstein. Even though he's a big baby, he loved it."
"After the war, I hope Sam comes to visit," Charlie sighed. The more he heard about Sam, the more disappointed he was that he had never met him.
"Well, he wouldn't come to see you!" Dean nudged Charlie with his toe. Eager to change the subject, he said, "Hey… speaking of ghosts, have you seen the haunted closet?"
"The what?" Charlie adjusted his glasses. "No… What haunted closet?"
"Cas! You never took Charlie?" Dean exclaimed and Castiel shook his head. The Winchester leaned onto his knees to address his bespectacled friend. "You're a man of science, ain't ya?"
"Well, not really – "
Excited, Dean went on, "You've got savvy. You're a practical man. You don't believe in things unless you seem 'em, right?"
"Um, sure."
"Then come with me!" Dean set his book down and hopped off the table.
"Wait, are you serious? Are you talking about a real ghost here?" Charlie asked. "You of all people, believing in ghosts?"
"I didn't say that. It's just a rumor that it's haunted. I ain't about to judge it one way or another until a man of science confirms it. Here's the deal: I shove you in this closet, you investigate, and you tell me just how haunted it is… or isn't."
"You're really serious. You really want to shove me into a haunted closet?" Charlie chuckled. He had been shoved into closets before under unhappier conditions, but Dean doing the same thing didn't bother him. There was intrigue surrounding his proposition and Charlie was bored. He beamed. "I'm in!"
"Cas, you wanna come with?"
"No, thanks." Castiel was very amused by how eager the other two had become, but he thought he was too biased to accompany them on their so-called scientific endeavor. He knew the closet to be haunted without needing concrete evidence.
"Suit yourself," Dean said. "Watch Dracula for me while we're out."
"I'll guard it with my life," Castiel smiled.
Dean winked. "You're a good man."
"You're a better man."
At the sight of Dean's goofy expression, Charlie stomped his foot impatiently. "C'mon, Dean. You can make passes at each other when we get back. I'm growin' old here!"
"I wasn't – " Dean babbled, but was dragged away by Charlie before he could complete his sentence. The last thing he saw leaving the library was a sweet expression on Castiel's face that made him giddy. Dean forced himself to regain focus on the mission at hand. He remembered the way to the haunted closet perfectly because it had made such an impression on him the first time Castiel had shown it to him. On their way to the closet, Dean recounted the tale of the tragic dead inmate and Charlie listened with rapt attention. The innocent wonder in Charlie's eyes reminded Dean of Sam in the best way possible. This was exactly the kind of thing he used to do with Sam.
They reached the door promptly and Dean opened it. "Alright, Charlie. If you can last more than five minutes, we'll know the story's bunk. Cas says nobody's ever lasted more than five minutes. Hop to it, kiddo!"
"Wait, why do I have to go in there alone?" Charlie stared into the cluttered closet.
"You're the scientist. If I go in there, I'll just influence you. You've gotta be all ears. Make your own decision about the closet and let me know. I have to keep time too," Dean said and pointed to the clock on the wall nearby. "It's fine. I don't think there's anything special about the closet at all, and I'll be out here the whole time in case something…"
"Something what? What happened when you went in there?"
"Don't worry about it," Dean pushed Charlie into the closet and closed the door. Immediately, the redhead felt unnerved. The small space was as dark as the inside of a cocoon - darker than he thought was possible. Charlie reached up blindly for the chain to the closet's light bulb. He pulled once and no light came on. He pulled again.
"Dean, the light doesn't work."
"Yep! It's the wiring. It's got bad wiring."
"Bad wiring…" Charlie whined. It's just a closet, just like Dean says. Charlie took a deep breath and wandered into the pitch-dark space. He didn't get far before tripping on something and causing a load of small, unknown assorted items to fall on top of him.
"You okay, Charlie?"
"Yeah, I just tripped. It smells in here," Charlie coughed. For the next few seconds, Charlie tried to find steady footing. He didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary and yet he felt it become harder and harder to breathe. "It's really stuffy in here."
"That's old closets for ya," Dean said, tapping his foot. He was keeping his eye on the clock. Almost a minute had passed.
A broom smacked into Charlie's back hard and the man let out a yelp. Ever since he had entered the confined area, he'd felt like every object in the closet was out to get him. "Damn it!"
"Four minutes to go. Nothing evil yet, huh?"
"I don't like it in here," Charlie moaned. He felt something, like a breath, tickle the back of his neck and he froze. The hairs on his arms stood up and his glasses fogged inexplicably. It can't be. I'm the only one in here. Very slowly and very carefully, Charlie reached behind himself as if he could catch the phantom off guard. In a tone almost below whisper he said, "Is somebody there?"
Perhaps this was an elaborate prank that Dean had planned because Charlie felt a presence. A metallic object rolled off a shelf and onto the floor without Charlie touching a thing. Rats. It has to be rats. Charlie inwardly told himself to calm down. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt. In his state of blindness, he felt a touch on his midsection and cried out in alarm. "Dean! What did you do?! There's something in here!"
Frowning, Dean approached the door. "I didn't do anything. What do you mean something? Like an animal?"
"It touched me! I felt something… S-Something… like… like a finger…" Charlie panted and stumbled to the door. "Open the door!"
"C'mon, you've only got two and half minutes left! You can do it."
"Okay, okay," Charlie knit his brows together. This time, the metal screech of a shelf being moved startled him out of all reason. "No, no, nope! Dean, open the door!"
"But, you're so close."
Charlie reached for the doorknob and found it to be as cold as ice. What the hell? Frozen or not, he was getting out of that closet. He jiggled the chilled doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. "Dean!"
"It's not locked…" Dean huffed and tried to help Charlie in his escape. He pulled on the door as hard as possible, but it wouldn't open. On Dean's side of the door, he felt a powerful shock, like he'd grazed his fingers against a severed electrical wire. "Fuck!"
"What happened?" Charlie cried, still unable to open it from the inside. "Dean, it's stuck!"
"Damn this fucking closet!" The Winchester griped. "Okay, stand back, Charlie. I'm gonna kick it in."
"Hey, wait a minute!" Charlie could hear Dean preparing to do some damage on the door, so he jumped back into one of the shelves, cutting his arm on something unseen. His other hand became stuck in a bucket. He felt the breath on his neck more distinctly and swore he even heard it. It was an angry, human sigh. The entire closet hummed in agony, but, in the next moment, light was upon him. Dean was looking down at him with concern. He grabbed Charlie's wounded arm and hauled him out of the closet.
"Damn it! Forty seconds away!" Dean hissed as he looked at the clock once Charlie was in the clear. He hadn't needed to kick down the door. It had become unstuck on its own. Charlie had no words. Now that he was out of the closet, he felt free. He felt himself take a huge breath of relief. Charlie was not easily scared, but he was trembling. "Charlie?"
"Something's in there, Dean," Charlie huffed and inched away from the door even more.
"Did you see it? Was it mice?" Dean asked, still skeptical.
Charlie shook his head, sure that Dean would make fun of him if he told him he'd felt a man breathing on him. He'd felt a cold breath upon him twice. Dean took in the sight of his friend. He noticed his frazzled appearance and the cut on his arm, but he also saw him clutching onto something made of cloth. "What the hell's in your hand?"
Charlie hadn't noticed he was holding onto anything until Dean mentioned it. He lifted the object between them, revealing it to be an old prisoner's cap, much like the one Dean wore. As Charlie turned it over in his hands, their eyes were drawn to a dark brown stain on the side of the hat. "Is that?"
"Blood," Dean confirmed.
By the time they returned to the library, they found Gabriel in Dean's favorite spot, chatting up Castiel. The way Charlie and Dean charged into the room made them turn with interest. Dean threw the old hat on the table. Without having to explain a thing, the others understood.
The hat sat on the table like a living memory. It was dusty, dirty, and injected with the history of a man long gone. The bloody stain was so old that it looked blacker than it did red. Pieces of the hat had been eaten away by whatever other critters lived in the closet. The four men surrounded the hat, marveling at its mere existence.
"I thought you made that all up," Gabriel said to Cas. In the absence of Dean and Charlie, Castiel had filled him in on their planned exploit. Cas was silent. Upon seeing the wound on Charlie's arm, Gabriel gasped and pulled Charlie near. He spit into his handkerchief to clean his cut and chastised Dean for putting Charlie in danger.
"You're just getting it dirtier," Charlie groaned. "It's not even that bad. I just fell on something."
"No," Castiel corrected Charlie. "It made you fall on something."
"Oh, for cryin' out loud. You're scaring the kid." Dean glared at Castiel. He went on to summarize their experience with the closet and Charlie joined in with enthusiasm. Charlie wouldn't say it was a ghost, but he maintained that there was something in the closet that did not belong there.
"Whatever was in there, it was something...not natural," Charlie insisted.
Gabriel took up cursing at Dean and praying in various tongues because he didn't like the sound of anything he'd heard. The thought of being trapped in any closet, haunted or not, made him particularly perturbed. The Devil was real, Gabe said, and flirting with him was no light matter. It was best not to approach anything that was even remotely likely to be connected to the mysterious dark powers of the universe. Dean argued back. "Settle down, Gabe! Nothing bad happened. Charlie's a natural!"
"A natural at what?" Gabriel snapped.
"I don't know. Hunting! Er, ghosts. Ghost hunting," Dean replied, fully aware of how silly such a thing sounded. "He found the hat on his first try. He did good."
"Well, what do we do with it now?" Gabriel countered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Without missing a beat, Dean answered, "I say we burn it."
"Why?" Charlie and Gabe asked simultaneously and Dean shrugged.
He hadn't really reasoned it through, but he invented something after the fact. "Well…if it's attached to some kind of ghost or somethin', we should get rid of it. Really rid of it."
Castiel leaned over the table. He hadn't been sure of the hat's existence at all, but now that he was looking at it, he agreed with Dean. "The hat could be the source of the disturbance. A source of evil. Fire does purify."
"Yeah, sure, Cas. But also, I just want to burn something," Dean grinned wide. He'd already retrieved his lighter and was flipping the top open and closed in anticipation.
"Hm, fair enough," Gabriel remarked. "All in favor of burning the ghost hat, say 'aye.'"
"Aye!" The vote was unanimous.
They took the hat out behind the library and Dean did the honors of setting it aflame. To the surprise of all of the men, the hat burned blue for a brilliant instant. It must have been covered in cleaning chemicals, they reasoned.
…and now she's dead, all because of me.
That was how Sam's latest letter ended. Sam had not signed it with his love or his name, although the letter had begun with 'Dear Dean' as his letters always did. The final line he had written was so important to Sam that he felt nothing should come after it.
After dealing with the strange ghost hat, Dean had believed the dead would be behind him for a while. But, later that day, Dean had found a letter from Sam on his bed, detailing the story of the specter that would now be haunting his brother. The letter had been written with messy, scrawled writing uncharacteristic of Dean's little brother. The sheets of paper Dean held in his hands were dirty and had recently been damp. Dean was gripping the final page tightly and a lone tear plopped down on the paper.
Dean had known this letter would be different because of the way it had been hastily addressed and written, but he had not expected to be so emotionally shattered by its contents. The correspondence contained the story of how the war had found a way to hurt Sam in an entirely new way. It was the story of the death of a woman. Not any woman, but a woman rare enough to be counted among the few of Sam's lovers.
Sam thought of himself as fiercely loyal to Jess. When she had begun to write him again, he had responded with excitement, love, and gratitude. The existence of his hometown sweetheart only made his tragic experience overseas all the more heartbreaking.
Sam wrote of a woman that had been brave, beautiful, and kind. She had stood outside of her house, baring a face of fortitude when she saw Sam and his fellow soldiers march into town. Refusing to hide again, she had been ready to die with honor because she was tired of the war. She was tired of being pushed around and scared. The day Sam had come into town had not been the first day soldiers had visited her home. Last time, they had taken everything she had.
Her name had been Madison Verdier. Her village had been shot up, burned, and bombed so many times that not a single structure was completely intact. She had been a lone woman, living in a graveyard of a civilization. Upon noticing that the soldiers approaching were Allies, she had changed her mood completely. Madison had offered the men places to stay and had cooked for them of her own volition. Her supplies had been meager, but she had been generous in the hopes that they would finish the fight that had dragged her spirit through the mud.
Sam had taken an overwhelming liking to her instantly. Her smooth, olive complexion, her large brown eyes, and her dark curls had been so stunning she had terrified him. Madison had won Sam over irrevocably without trying when she had shown him – only him – the garden she protected. Tomatoes, she had said, were her favorite. The garden had been demolished before, she had told Sam, but she would replant it every time. She had piled rubble around it to protect it and she would look at it like it was the most perfect thing in the whole of the universe. Madison had allowed Sam to eat an entire tomato by himself and rationed the rest among the other men.
Sam hadn't been able to understand how a secretary had been able to survive longer than anyone within a thirty-mile radius. She had been filthy and alone, but not pitiful. When the other soldiers had shown interest in her, she laid a bold claim on Sam. Sam hadn't argued because he had understood that she trusted him, but he also had not mentioned Jess when she ushered him over to the place where she slept. He had not intended to sleep with her, but it had happened. For the first time since losing the company of his brother and closest friends, Sam had a truly personal reason to fight. He would have done anything for Madison because she deserved more than a few hidden vegetables among a city of ruins. She should have had many clean dresses instead of a single tattered one. She should have been able to go to bed at night without worrying about who might be watching or waiting to attack. She should have had a bed instead of a handful of sheets riddled with holes.
Sam thought he should have left her alone. If he had left her in her deserted town she could have lived, but he had promised to take her with him to protect her. He had intended to take her to a safer town with more people and supplies. Madison had wanted more than that. She had smiled and asked to be taken to America with Sam, but they didn't last a week together.
Before they reached the next safe town, they had fallen under attack. Sam had left Madison in a place where she would be sheltered from the bullets, but it was the explosion of a mortar that had sealed her face. Madison had died in a grotesque, undignified way, crushed by the stone building Sam had believed would shield her from enemy fire.
By the time Sam had reached her, all the life in her had been extinguished. He had remained by her side sobbing harder than he had cried for any other person among the long list of people he had already lost until he was forcibly removed. Then, Sam had refused to leave the city until he had dug her a proper grave. By the time he had finished digging, the soldiers decided to camp nearby. That was when Sam had sat down to write to Dean, his hands still caked in the dirt of Madison's fresh grave.
Dean felt his brother's pain from thousands of miles away. He carried it with him to breakfast the following day, to the library, and to the yard. He sat with his usual crew, trying to play a hand of poker without thinking of a flattened, beautiful French woman, but he couldn't.
"So, I went by the closet out of curiosity this morning…" Charlie said as he reorganized his poker hand. "And the light was on! There was somebody already in there, fixin' it up. Can you believe that? Dean, you said the light in there doesn't work."
Dean wasn't paying attention at all. He wasn't even properly guarding his cards. Castiel could see his entire hand.
"Dean?" Charlie asked. Gabriel made a sound of worry mixed with surprise when he caught sight of the awful hand Dean had been building. Dean was usually a much better player than that.
"Sam," Dean answered, unable to quite summarize everything he'd read and everything he was thinking and feeling on the subject.
"Oh! Did Sammy write?" Gabriel inquired, noticing that Dean didn't scold him for using his nickname for his brother.
"Yeah." Dean moved his cards around, thinking he shouldn't say anything further.
"Is he alright?" Castiel asked.
"No. When is Sammy ever 'alright'?" Dean threw his hand of cards down, giving up on the game. Everyone waited for Dean to elaborate. "He found a girl. A beautiful, wonderful French girl."
"But that's a good thing." Gabriel narrowed his eyes in confusion and then suddenly gasped, "But what about Jessica?" Gabriel was smitten with how smitten Sam and Jess were with each other. He had supported Sam from afar and even given him advice on the matter. Gabe was invested in the relationship between Sam and Jess.
"Well, there's hope for them yet," Dean said in a level tone. "The other girl got crushed to death from a mortar explosion."
Nobody said a word. After a few seconds of awkwardness, Dean got up and left the yard. Charlie was too disturbed to do anything other than stare at the dirt, but Gabriel exhaled a breath of horror. Quickly, he eyed Castiel because he thought that, ultimately, Dean was Cas' responsibility. Of course, Castiel hurried after Dean before he could get too far. He found Dean walking through the main complex. He didn't stop walking even when he realized Cas was by his side.
"Dean, where are you going?"
"I need to write to Sam."
"Dean, please. Wait," Cas begged. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and the other man finally faced him. "I'm sorry."
"I should be there," Dean fumed. He was doing everything to try to not let the situation overwhelm him, but he erupted into a tirade. "He sat down to write to me after digging her grave! He has nobody over there. No one. It's not supposed to be like this! It is my job to look after Sammy."
Dean could not handle being unable to protect his brother, whether it was to take care of Sam's physical or emotional state. He tried to explain the severe implications of Madison's death. "Sammy doesn't just sleep with girls, Cas. He falls in love with them."
Castiel didn't know what to say or if he should say anything at all. Dean was anxious and heartbroken on behalf of Sam. Dean was thinking of all the many things that were wrong with what had happened and what was wrong with the world. He had the furious, hopeless look in his eyes that Cas remembered having seen often when Dean had first arrived to the prison.
"We're cursed. Don't you think?" Dean rubbed the inside of his eye. Speaking feverishly now, he continued, "Dad lost mom. I lost Lisa. And now Sam. I never wanted Sam to know what it feels like. He shouldn't know. But he's like all of us. Dad never told us much about Grandpa, but he never said anything about a Grandma. She probably died just like the rest. Why do women die so easy? So bloody?"
Mom had bled to death doing something natural to a woman – giving birth. Lisa had faded into a pool of her own blood in the kitchen where she had never done anything but good things. Dean only knew Madison from a letter, but he had adored her for the few lines of pencil she had been allowed life. She had bled to death from the inside, like Mom.