The End Of Days

Chapter 11 ~ The Others

THEN:

Dean ..." The younger man looked in his direction, though it seemed like he was looking through him.

The hunter stopped in his tracks and turned around. „Yeah?"

Now that I'm dead and in heaven ...", Sam started hesitantly, not quite sure if he got it right just then with his head full of despair and determination … and darkness, „... I could really use a shave at some point."

The corners of Dean's lips twitched. Yeah, the kid wasn't stupid – he got it right. „Sure. First thing tomorrow morning, Sam."

A small smile formed on Sam's lips and let his eyes lighten up in joy for a moment.


NOW:

It had been a night like every other ever since in his life. A restless sleep, haunted dreams and darkness, no matter if his eyes were closed or open.

The world remained the same. Sam's world remained the same.

So Sam lay awake. He didn't know for how long he had been. Could've been minutes or even hours. High likely most of the night.

The air had become quite chilly and the stitches in his shoulder were itchy. So he scratched. - Then they started to burn. Probably he had scratched a little bit too much, so he tried to distract himself and closed his eyes. Tried to think of the colors trees used to have. Tried to remember what flowers looked like, what grass felt like ...

That was when he heard footfalls in the corridor in front of his room, and then the familiar creak of the door handle was heard.

Sam's eyes snapped open.

A gruff groan was heard, wich definitely came from the hunter, and then something hit the bed-end.

An exhale caught in his throat and his chest tightened.

Except the shuffling footfalls wasn't a lot to make out, even as he strained his ears.

"Hunter?", he asked huskily and insecure as his visitor wouldn't say a single word.

Another groan. "'Mornin'."

He blew out a breath and propped up on his elbows, looking around. And there he was ... gleaming silvery strands of energy, tangled together, moving like worms or snakes caught in a human shape.

"Me and Cas ... we've to head out." Dean sounded tired and pissed. "You'll stay with Kev. - He'll take care of you for a couple of days ..." He still sounded pissed.

Sam just nodded and rubbed with one of his hands over his face.

"Get up and I'm gonna get you shaved and help you gettin' cleaned up ... and stuff. - Before we're heading out."

Sam heard the bathroom-door being opened and a light switch being turned on. He then heard the shuffling of clothes. The young man sat up carefully and let his legs slip out of the bed, staying in a sitting position for quite some time, until the dizziness faded and his mind started to clear.

"You ready?" Dean's gruff voice was right beside him, and Sam's head snapped up, his pupils blown wide.

"I'd like to ... do that by myself ...", Sam spoke up huskily.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, because that worked out so good the past couple of times, did it?"

Sam frowned, his eyes fluttering shut. If the hunter wanted him to restart, why'd he mention what had happened before yesterday?

Dean instantly sensed the shift of emotions that made the air thick around the both of them. Maybe he should start to watch his mouth a bit more ... since it had been his idea of hitting the reset-button anyway. So he cleared his throat. "'Cause the last time I left you alone in here – without help – you fainted."

Sam's frown deepened as he looked back up at the form before him. "Passed out."

"What?" Dean rubbed over his face, trying to wipe the sleepiness away.

"Men don't faint. - Men pass out.", Sam said and sniffed tiredly.

The hunter chuckled amused. "Well – I don't want you to pass out on me again and carry your heavy ass back to bed. - Man, I tore myself some muscles the last time."

Sam sniffed and shook his head. - That'd be fun. Why did the hunter even bother to help him when he didn't want to?

But despite the last time Dean Winchester had helped him, this time he was way calmer. Sure he didn't talk a lot. But what he wouldn't say, he'd do with careful touches and brushes. So – except for the humiliated dignity – everything went down silent and somehow awkward between the both of them.

First Dean gave the toothbrush to Sam and watched him brushing his teeth. He then shaved Sam with his shaving kit. - The very same cut-throat razor Sam had used to slice his wrists open ...

Even while Dean checked the younger man's body out (and hell yes, he did, because he was just a man.), he kept his voice and touches casual and functional (with great afford).

Sam stood under the warm-water-spray, his eyes closed as he let it run over his face and hair, steadying himself with a hand on the cool tiles. He felt a cool brush of air against his side and face, when he heard the shower curtain being moved, so he wouldn't stand there exposed.

He appreciated the hunter's try to give him some dignity. Because showers ... showers were for him, just for him, to wash the sin away, to clear his mind. Just to get himself again.

"You done?", he heard the hunter's muffled voice through the sound of water hitting the tiles.

"Yeah ... I'm done.", he answered silently and took a step backwards, letting his right hand rest on the tiles on his side, covering his private parts with his left (as good as possible).

Again he felt the curtain being moved and a cool flush of air hit his heated up skin, letting him shiver. Then he heard the silent squeak of the regulator and the water stopped.

Dean well recognized instantly that the man looked a bit paler than before. He eyed him for another moment, his eyes narrowing at the dripping wet hair that clung to the man's cheeks and forehead.

He took another second to decide whether to ask him if he was okay or not. He called himself a chick for even thinking about asking him.

Dean had never cared about snappy remarks or insults ... or anything else verbal. Why would he start now?

Though ... he had to admit, that it was different since he had been a complete ass towards Sam before. Had seen and felt what Sam had, as if it had been himself back then (even when these feelings had subsided 48 hours later ... he could still REMEMBER what it had been like for him).

He couldn't put his cocky poker face back on (when it came to Sam).

So he didn't ask how Sam felt. Instead he helped him back into his clothes and back to the bed, where Sam slumped down, completely drained and spent as if he had spent a night on the strip.

Dean sat at the edge of the bed while Sam tried to will his racing heart to slow down.

So the hunter waited some more.

"Don't do any stupid things while I'm gone, okay? Kev wouldn't take it very well if he'd find you with a bullet in your head, or sliced wrists ... or whatever." He said after a long while.

Sam's attention snapped to the man, and he nodded. No ... he wouldn't. Honestly wouldn't. The hunter tried to help him – somehow ... in his own kind of way. Like the thing with the gun ...

For someone else it might've looked or sounded stupid. - But for Sam ... after he had realized what the hunter aimed at with that action ... something had shifted inside him. So Sam wanted to try. He didn't know exactly for who or why. But he had the feeling that he needed to.

That he owed this man to try, since he took such an effort in it.

So Sam would. He still could end his life later ... if it wouldn't work out any other way.

Further: He haven't had to get on his hands and knees for the things those men had given to him. He haven't had to pay.

On the other hand ... he had nothing to pay with (except himself). And maybe the guys weren't gay – at least they didn't sound like it. - Or however Sam could express that feeling he had deep down in his guts. Because actually men didn't need to sound gay to be gay. (Internally he was glad that no one was able to hear his thoughts ... because THESE could definitely get him into big troubles.)

"I won't."

Dean gave him a nod. AGAIN remembering himself that he wasn't able to see it. "Okay, kiddo. - I'll check in on you before we're heading out." He paused, pensively looking to the ground. "Just do as Kev says. - He's a good kid and cares a lot about others ..." ... contrary to me ...

Sam nodded again, his lips curling up a bit as he did so.

"You're not very content with yourself, hunter." Sam cocked his head to the side, blinking. "You may act like an ass sometimes ... but I'm sure there's a soft core somewhere deep down – buried – inside you."

"You tryin' to seduce me?" Dean chuckled nervously, blushing a little. Not that the Winchester in him would've ever admitted that he was even able to blush.

Sam shook his head. "No ... I'm not. - I just think ... I mean ... you're trying. And that's nice of you. - I've no clue what changed your mind about me ... but ... it feels nice when someone's talking normal with me, instead of treating me like the whore that I am."

Dean's face darkened. - Somehow he didn't like the sound of the word WHORE in reference of Sam anymore. Not after Cas had showed him. To be more explicit: It made him angry. - Even kind of furious the way Sam was talking about himself.

The man hadn't seen another chance to survive, to get his stomach full, So he had sold himself, with damn freaking fifteen years, for the first time.

Sure, Dean had heard about similar stories about kids on the streets ... but he actually had never FELT how it was to be forced into this. He hadn't taken a lot of concern about that topic in the past either. And Sam sure as hell hadn't looked like he'd been through THAT much, when he first had picked him up ... Hell ... most of the hookers he had got, had seemed to enjoy it.

But now? Had he been that blind?

"Well ... you ain't a hooker anymore.", was all that Dean said. Because he couldn't discuss this, couldn't talk about that right now. Hell – by the looks of it, the man didn't even know that Castiel had SHOWED him parts of his life.

"You'll check in before you leave?" Sam's voice was small, hesitant.

Dean smiled warmly. "Sure thing."

For a moment it looked like if their gazes met over the distance. - For a split second Dean thought he saw a silvery light gleaming up in the younger man's hazel-green orbs. - For a short moment Sam thought to see the silvery gleaming energy lighten up a little.

Dean made a mental note to ask Cas if the kid even knew that HE KNEW (of course he KNEW that Sam KNEW that he had been reading Castiel's notes. - But did Sam also knew that the angel had made Dean into a part of it? - Wasn't it something like mind-raping someone?).


Nope. Sam didn't know. Castiel hadn't asked for permission, nor had informed him that he'd show Dean anything. Castiel had been close to get his other yaw bruised.

But he actually didn't.

Somehow Dean wasn't that impulsive right then and the angel was glad about it. - Because this time he would've punched back.

Instead of ranting about what Castiel had done, Dean was pensive and deep in thoughts for the whole drive towards their destination. What made his angel-friend a bit uneasy and doubting for a moment that it had been a good idea to do what he had done. But just for a moment. Because generally he was convinced, that Dean had needed just that.

A little lesson of how he was acting. To hear and see himself ... nope, Castiel wasn't sorry at all.

It wasn't a big deal to summon a cross-roads-demon a couple of miles away from the bunker. Neither it was a big deal to trap it, cuff it and store it in the trunk for their thirty-minutes-drive towards the abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, where they used to exercise their interrogation-tactics on demons.

The only thing they had to do each time, was to clean the place from walkers without arousing too much attention. Gladly the half-rotten walking dead things weren't that fast anymore and for a proved hunter nothing big of a problem.

When the demon was chained to the chair in the middle of the giant room, when the doors were locked down, when they had sealed it with salt and devil's traps, they started to do what they had to.

Of course the first one wasn't much of any help. The bastard didn't know anything, except a name ... A name Dean had never heard before ...

Crowley.

Besides the whole demon-torturing and exorcising, he couldn't hinder himself to think about Sam. Every now and then the guy flashed up in his mind out of nowhere, leaving a warm feeling behind in his belly.

Not that Dean Winchester would ever admit that something LIKE THAT was even possible. He wasn't a guy who loved ... he had sex. That was a difference. - Hell, he didn't even ONCE (at least he told himself so) had fallen in love with anyone else. Except ... maybe once ...

The second demon was the same ... no informations, no hints ... nothing.

The Winchester started to get frustrated.

But the third one ... that one was the big deal. Sure they had to convince him ... but after thirteen hours of Dean Winchester's seasoned hands, the demon became pretty talkative. Forty years in hell in the hands of Alistair hadn't been that bad after all ...

So the demon told them about another demon. - Obviously, after Lucifer's disappearance they had fought for the upper hand downstairs. And a demon named Crowley was now some sort of KING to them. At least he reigned hell at the moment.

Things downstairs had always been a little unstable. Just like in heaven.

There was a tell-tale downstairs, that Crowley had a special creature captured. One that'd be able to find others like it. And that Crowley was sending out his demonic pit bulls to get them killed. Some were whispering that it was some kind of an angel-demon-breed.

Though Castiel seemed to doubt that. There was no way that something like THAT could possibly exist. No angel would ever unite with a demon. Yet never falling in love, nor bonding in ways like that.

The demon babbled shit about angels and demons, and that those THINGS ... had abilities, wich'd be able to destroy everything.

What seemed like a logic reason to the Winchester and Castiel why the king of hell wanted them gone ... for good. Though ... somehow the angel-demon-breed-thing didn't make sense.

So after the demon-bastard had begged to be killed, Dean sent him back to hell. Because that was what he deserved, didn't he?


Sam lay on the couch in the library, dozing along, a book resting on his stomach. - Not that he would've been able to see it ... or check out the pictures. Sam just loved the scent of old books and the feel of the pages ... Old habits.

After the first day, when the both were gone, Sam had left his room for the first time, since that event. Kevin had showed him Castiel's green house, where Sam spent a lot of time lately. The only area where he didn't see just darkness and the flooding-looking form of Kevin in the dark. There were colors. So many colors – and it felt like he was able to see again.

When he reached for one of the plants and touched it, it looked like his ghost and the one of the flower melted, like they were interacting. It felt like a tingle in his fingertips every time he touched them, like they were exchanging something on a higher level.

But the past three days he had been mostly waiting for Dean's and Castiel's return. Kevin seemed to get uneasier with every day. Even when Sam couldn't see him ... he could feel it. The way the prophet paced forth and back sometimes, the way he talked or NOT said a single word for hours.

AND Kevin wouldn't leave Sam out under his watch. - Even when he promised the kid that he wouldn't try something stupid – like Dean had warned him not to.

Sam had tried to help Kevin with some things ... like doing the laundry or chopping vegetables.

After four cut fingers, two burns on his hands and multiple bruises from stumbling over things, Kevin had damned him to spend his time on the couch, or on the bench in the kitchen. Had forbidden him to touch anything but himself, books or the small music-player until Dean and Cas would be back.

And Sam obeyed. - Because he had the feeling that he'd make things even worse if he tried to help. First it had been kind of fun, but now it was simply frustrating and embarrassing.

So while Sam was damned to do nothing but stare ahead, he did the second-best thing he could do: TALK. Though he and the young man just talked about trivia stuff. - Nothing that'd go too deep and rip open old wounds. At least Sam's.

Kevin on the other hand was a little more open. - When the fourth day was nearly over, Sam knew close to EVERYTHING about the prophet. Even how much he missed chinese food.

So Sam lay there ... dozing with a book resting on his stomach. Trying to relax his aching neck and back from his last fall (down the staircase towards the basement, since he had taken the wrong direction this morning).

Gladly he hadn't broken something. Just bruises and sore bones ... Sam just knew he needed to work out a pattern. - So he counted how many steps it took from point A to point B, tried to find points he'd be able to memorize with his fingers.

What didn't go as well and fast as Sam had wanted to ...


On the fifth day ...

Castiel and Dean were on their way back to the bunker ...

Instead of cursing and bitching at the walkers, demons and the virus, Dean Winchester was silent. Shifting uneasy in the driver's seat, as if he was itching and eager to get back to the bunker.

The hunter didn't even left a word when Castiel pulled a cigarette from the inside-pocket of his military-jacket and lighted it up.

Instantly a sweet smell (so unlike nicotine) filled the Impala.

Usually Dean was utter-concerned about the upholstery of the car ... but not so this time. He seemed to have bigger worries.

Not that ever something was able to question the love for his baby anyway ...

They still didn't know exactly what this all was about ... but now they knew who they could possibly ask to. Who'd know what was going on ... and what these "people" where exactly. If they truly were a breed resulting of an angel and demon ... THING, then someone had to know about it, right? Someone must've heard about that, right? They just had to ask the right questions to the right person.

And Castiel damn well knew who he could ask ... someone who knew about close to every kinky little secret that got to do with heaven AND hell ... BALTHAZAR.


Dean pushed the door open and stayed there, letting Castiel in. They made their way down the stairs and through the empty main-hall. Both men looking utterly exhausted ... and dirty.

They let their duffels on the table with the map and went streight into the kitchen, from where they heard the clattering of crockery.

As they entered, they spotted Kevin at the stove and a well-laid table to their right.

The young man spun around, a spoon in his hand and stared at the both of them for a moment, before his lips curled up into a relieved smile.

"Took you long enough ..." He sniffed and turned back to the cupboards to get two more plates. ... of course he had ben saying: Welcome back, Glad to see you both alive.

Dean slumped down on the bench and Castiel right beside him. "Yeah, good to be back." The hunter looked around, his eyes narrowing. "Sam's in his room?"

Kevin glanced back at him and hurried up to stir in the pot on the stove. "Library."

Dean nodded to himself, suppressing the urge to jump up and go right there to check on him. "Guess things gone good?"

Kevin pulled the pot the side and nodded with a sigh. "Well – He didn't try to kill himself, if you mean that."

Castiel watched his hunter-friend closely, frowning, his eyes narrowing. Something was up ... he just didn't know what exactly.

"That's a good thing." Castiel grabbed one of the dinner rolls and ripped off a bite, stuffing it into his mouth with a low moan, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Yeah ... just ... - I tried to clean up and store most of our things away that could get in HIS way. - At least in the library. But ..." Kevin turned around, facing the both of them. "... we need to figure something out, so that he can orientate better. - He's tripping over things all the time."

Castiel snorted amused.

Dean glared at his angel-friend, saying: That's not as funny as it sounds.

"You just have to imagine how that looks like ...", the angel chuckled and looked amused. "That big guy ..."

Dean still glared at him, annoyed. "You honestly should cut back your weed-consumption, Cas."

Castiel fell silent, chewing on the roll blissfully. "Never gonna happen.", he gave back with his mouth full of bread.

"I'm gonna get Sam.", and with that the hunter was back on his feet and on the way into the library. When he spotted the sleeping form on the couch, he slowed down and continued his walk more slow and careful, so not to make too much noise.

The restlessness deep inside him eased instantly and some of the tension fell away from him, as he watched the younger man, fast asleep. His gaze was glued to Sam, taking in the slow rise and fall of his ribcage, the slightly flushed cheeks and long lashes. The way his hands rested above the book on his stomach ... the patched up tips of his fingers ... three on the left and two on the right hand.

Again a warm feeling spread out in his belly, as a gentle smile formed on the hunter's lips. When he stood beside the couch, he crouched down and laid a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Dinner's ready.", the hunter whispered, resisting the urge to lay his hand on the man's cheek. He cast his look down for a moment and bit down on his lower lip. "Sam. - Dinner's ready ..."

A disapproving moan came from the younger man and the hunter chuckled. "C'mon. - Dinner's ready." ... for the third time, and all Sam did, was nudging the hand from his shoulder.

"Kiddo. - Wakey, wakey.", he sing-sang, as he nudged the man's thigh back.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a deep breath, staring ahead for a moment too long. As if he was seeing something above him.

Dean glanced at the ceiling and back at Sam. "Hey there, kiddo." he smiled, his hand finding its way back to Sam's shoulder.

Sam blinked and yawned, groaning as he rubbed over his face. "You're back?" ... He would've never admitted, that he was kind of waiting for Castiel's and Dean's return.

"We found out what we need to know ... so yeah." Dean's face darkened as he reminded himself that he actually had a job to work on, instead of trying to understand the growing affection towards a blind hooker.

"So ... you have a lead?" Sam probed himself up on his elbows, his hair ruffled, big green hazel-eyes blinking lazily.

"Kind of ..." He sighed and rose. "So ... dinner?"

Sam sank back. "Thanks – No."

The hunter frowned. "You sure?" ... he wouldn't push the guy.

Sam nodded.

"So ... you're staying here?" Sam could hear the uncertainty in Dean's voice.

"If it's okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah ... of course it is." ... No, he so was not, but he could badly made him come with, did he?


So Sam stayed in the library, while Kevin, Dean and Cas had dinner in the kitchen. They talked about the past couple of days. Kevin told them how they came around. Dean and Castiel filled the prophet in on what they had learned from the demon.

When they were done, Kevin cleaned up the dishes, while Dean and Castiel took showers and dressed in fresh clothes.

Later they met up in the library, where Sam was sitting on the couch, watching Kevin building up a film-projector on the table. Somehow Sam seemed lost ... his face blank – so were his eyes. As if no one was home right now.

Dean slumped down beside the younger man on the couch, petting his knee.

That's all that was needed to let Sam spring back to attention. "Yeah?"

"Nothin'." The hunter leaned back, laying one arm across the backrest behind Sam, throwing his sock-covered feet on the couch-table. "What were you thinking about?"

"Bones ...", he answered silently, a ghost of a smile flashing over his face.

Dean remembered the golden retriever from Sam's memories. A happy memory ...

Castiel sat down in the recliner that stood at the upper end of the small table. Kevin switched the projector on and slumped down on the chair beside the table where the projector stood on.

An old black and white movie started to play. - The only kind of films they actually had in the bunker.

As the film carried on, Sam's eyelids grew heavier again, until they fluttered shut. It wasn't like he haven't got enough sleep before ... it was just part of the darkness, that left him relentlessly with old memories ... And something that was clawing in the back of his mind, ever since the angel had been in his head.

It didn't make a lot of difference between being awake or actually sleeping anyway. So he gave into the land of dreams whenever they came knocking on his door.

Sam started to drift to his right side the deeper his sleep got.

Dean – who actually sat on the man's right side – inched away, giving Sam more space AND avoiding being too close to him. But even the couch had another end and after some time there wasn't enough space anymore to get away.

When Sam's head came to a rest on the hunter's shoulder, Dean froze. When Sam nestled against it, the hunter grew more uncomfortable. And some time during the last quarter of the movie, the younger man's head cane to a rest in Dean's lap, arm's slung around his thigh as if it was a pillow.

Dean blew out a frustrated groan, trying to shift a little, so the man's head wouldn't brush against the zipper of his jeans every time Sam moved slightly to get more and more comfortable.

When the closing credits ran down the screen, Dean had finally learned to deal with the fact that he was trapped under the gigantor's head and arm, who was snoring peacefully.

Of course the Winchester hadn't spent as much attention to the movie ever since the awkward position the both of them were in. Hell, he had been fighting the growing erection with pictures of bloody murders and undead corpses.

It partially had worked though.

He also caught himself brushing dark locks of hair out of Sam's face. Had caught himself, stroking the man's soft hair, or resting his hand on the man's shoulder or flank. - SURE each time, he withdrew as soon as he noticed anyway. So there was no reason to freak out, right?

It wasn't like the guy was growing on him. - It was just the lack of sexual activity lately and the fact, that he KNEW how Sam looked like ... without all that clothes on. The fact that Sam had been a hooker and knew how to do it right ... His thoughts trailed off further ... until the lights came back on.


Castiel stared at his hunter-friend intensively, his eyebrows furrowed, strained creases all over his face, his eyes narrowing as Dean snapped out of his daydreaming.

The angel might was stoned ... but he sure as hell wasn't stupid.

His gaze landed on Sam and the hunter's hand on the man's head, then he looked back up at his friend – curiously.

Yes, Dean Winchester was acting kind of weird lately. Not just that he had been a total dick at the beginning, when he came back with the victim. Even the fact that he had taken the man with him to the bunker had been strange. Usually he dumped victim's at Robert Singer's Salvage.

And then ... Dean had acted like an ass towards the guy. He at least held distance between himself and others. - But not with Sam. Not with this one.

And then? Now? Now he acted all over different again. - He actually was kind of NICE towards the man.

No, the angel didn't understand humanity completely. But he even less understood the Winchester-Men.

... to be continued


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Yes? No? Bullshit? Get it over with?

NEXT ON: Chapter 12 ~ The Nephilim

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