Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way!
Summary: Sam and Rowena make a deal to "save" Dean, and Dean ends up paying the price. Hurt!Dean and Protective!Sammy. SPOILER ALERTS for episodes S10E17-S10E19.
A/N: PLEASE BE ADVISED! This chapter and the next deal with some potential trigger issues including non-graphic non-con touching between an adult and a minor so proceed with caution! Thank you!
Sam winced as Cas stormed out of the room, the angel's anger pulsating off of him in waves. He considered following to make sure his friend was okay, but his current priority was his brother. He'd check on Cas later.
The younger Winchester wordlessly made his way over to the only table in the sparsely furnished room so he could relinquish the bags of goods that were weighing him down.
He started rifling through his purchases, giving Dean enough privacy and time to wipe away the tears on his face with a corner of the blanket.
That was a sight Sam would never get used to.
After everything Dean had survived over the years, seeing him cry was a jarring reminder that the man was only human; a fact Sam tended to lose sight of more often than not.
He desperately wanted to ask his brother if he was okay, but he already knew what the ingrained response would be. Instead, he tried, "So, did you two clear the air?"
"Yeah," Dean muttered hollowly, his quiet tone far from convincing. "Everything's fine, Sammy."
Dean could practically hear Sam's "bullshit meter" going off from across the room, so he quickly cleared his throat and steered the conversation into safer waters.
"You sure made good time. What'd you do, speed the whole way?"
The slight accusation in Dean's voice made Sam huff out a laugh. "The car's fine, Dean, if that's what you're asking. Not a scratch on her."
"Better not be or I'll kick your ass."
This time Sam actually snorted, latching onto the bait like a lifeline. "You and what army?" He gathered up Dean's lunch and made his way towards the cot. "Better start bulking up now if you want to stand a chance."
Dean raised his eyebrows mockingly at Sam. "Was that a challenge, little brother?"
Sam dropped the bag of burgers and fries into Dean's lap. "Nope. Just a friendly observation. No offense, but I think the little old lady I helped across the street at the mini mart could take you right now."
Dean chuckled, the warmth in the sound finally thawing some of the ice in the room as only Dean could do, then he shook his head. "In your dreams, bitch."
He looked down at the fast food that was quickly warming his thighs and tentatively cracked the top of the bag open. The smile fell from his lips as the scent of fried potatoes and processed meat immediately assaulted his senses.
He swallowed convulsively a few times, clenching his jaw and attempting to steady his queasy stomach, which somehow still managed to growl obnoxiously regardless of its aversion to the fast food aroma; evidence that he had passed hunger days ago and proceeded to starvation levels.
Nevertheless, the nausea won out. "I can't, dude. I just…" He crumpled the steam-moistened bag back up again and held it out to his brother, pressing his other fist to his mouth as a preventative measure.
"Too soon for the greasy stuff?" Sam asked knowingly, retrieving the bag from Dean's lax grip at his brother's minute nod. "But you've gotta eat something, Dean. Want me to heat up some soup?"
"Not right now," Dean rasped out through a closed throat.
He shivered as his body fought against him, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders even though he could feel sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip.
To say he felt like total crap was a blatant understatement. There was no sense pretending otherwise anymore.
Dean dropped his gaze to his lap, looking completely dejected. No doubt he was reprimanding himself for letting his little brother down.
Sam sighed and squeezed Dean's shoulder gently. "Alright, man. Later then."
He knew if he put his foot down and demanded that Dean eat something, Dean would force himself to obey the order. It was a knee-jerk reaction that had been instilled in his brother at an early age thanks to their military upbringing.
Anything to make Sam or Dad happy, even if the result left Dean battered and broken.
It made Sam sick, but sometimes it was a necessary evil. Dean wasn't great at taking care of himself, so there had been plenty of occasions in their past where Sam or Dad had been forced to step in and lay down the law.
But Sam couldn't do that to his brother right now. The man looked miserable enough already.
Instead, he went back to his purchases and traded the food out for a bottle of Gatorade. Dean hated the stuff, but if he wasn't going to eat, he had to at least replace some of the electrolytes he had lost between the sweating and the vomiting earlier.
This option was non-negotiable.
Sam returned to his brother's side to find Dean's attention still focused determinedly on his lap. He held the bottle out where Dean could see it, gently pressing the bottom of it against his brother's chest to shake him out of his stupor.
"Here. Try this for now."
Dean didn't take the drink. In fact, he didn't move at all.
Frowning, Sam crouched down a bit to try and see his brother's face. Dean was sweating profusely now, his wide eyes locked on the lime-green drink, his breathing shallow and erratic.
"Dean? Hey, you gonna throw up?" Sam checked, but again, there was no response. Slowly reaching out so as not to startle his brother, Sam carefully raised Dean's chin. "Look at me, man."
When Dean's gaze reluctantly met Sam's, it was clear from the unadulterated fear in his eyes that he wasn't seeing his little brother.
Instead, he found himself staring into a face that had haunted his dreams for decades and the air instantly caught in his lungs.
The man smiled down at him, pressing the neon colored Gatorade bottle against Dean's chest until he took it.
"Drink up, Deano! You look dead on your feet."
"No no no no no… Please, not this…" Dean whimpered so softly, Sam almost didn't hear him.
The younger Winchester leaned forward, balancing himself with a hand on Dean's knee. "Dean? What's goin' on?"
Sam watched as all the blood drained from his brother's face, leaving him white as a sheet, a choked noise of protest escaping his throat and immediately putting Sam on edge.
"Talk to me, man. Is it the cure? What are you seeing?"
Dean's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, his gaze staring right through Sam.
"Can you hear me, Dean?" Sam tried again, but still nothing. He might as well have been on another planet.
Dean could feel the warmth of the man's hand emanating through his jeans where it rested heavily on his knee.
"Anyone ever tell you how much you look like your mother, Deano?"
Dean's pupils were blown so wide they were more black than green, and he was struggling to draw breath.
The older Winchester was clearly caught in the midst of a panic attack.
Sam cupped the back of his brother's neck, giving him a harsh shake. "Dean!"
Dean jolted as if he'd been electrocuted, instinctually latching onto Sam's forearm with the intent of breaking free, but then recognition slowly dawned in his eyes as his gaze focused on his brother.
"Hey, you with me?"
Sam didn't dare move until he got verbal confirmation that the older man was in control again. Cuffed or not, Dean was a dangerous man when under threat.
Dean blinked rapidly to clear his vision, his bone-crushing grip still locked around Sam's wrist as his mind struggled to catch up. "…Sammy?"
The fear and confusion coloring his voice proved to Sam that all of his brother's mental walls were currently down. Sam's frown deepened and he knew he had to tread carefully or risk doing more harm than good.
"Yeah, man. It's just me. You alright?"
Dean's gaze darted around the room, confirming that no one else was there before he let out a shuddering breath and released his death-grip on Sam.
"Sammy, listen to me. You can't let… Ah!" Dean brought his bound hands up to press against his throbbing temples.
"Come on, Dean… Stay with me! Can't let what?" Sam demanded, placing his own hands over his brother's to help cradle his head.
But Dean's body went rigid again with a barely audible gasp, his eyes glazing over as he was thrust once more into the past.
Dean watched nervously as the man reached behind himself and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, fishing out a few twenties, which he then handed to Dean with a warm smile. "Here you go, buddy. This should tide you boys over for a while…"
Dean, who was sitting tensely on the very edge of the man's ratty couch, knee bouncing up and down with anxiety, raised a hand and humbly accepted the offering.
"Thanks for helpin' us out, Randy. I uh… I didn't wanna impose but the money Dad left ran out two weeks ago and I… I'm gettin' kinda desperate here."
He dropped his gaze to the money in his hand. Something about the man's too wide of a smile always made it hard to maintain eye contact for long. "Dad was supposed to be back by now."
Randy chuckled kindly, turning away and heading into the neighboring kitchen.
"John does tend to run on his own schedule, doesn't he? But don't you worry, kid. I've got you boys covered till he rolls back in. Least I can do, considering your old man saved my hide more times than I care to admit!"
Randy reappeared seconds later with a beer in one hand and a bottle of lime-green Gatorade in the other. He pressed the Gatorade against Dean's chest, knowing the boy would automatically take it.
"Here. Drink up, Deano! You look dead on your feet. When was the last time you ate a real meal?"
"I dunno. A while, I guess," Dean answered honestly and Randy tutted, then took a pull from his beer, his eyes raking slowly over Dean's lithe body, making the boy shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
Dean suddenly found the plastic bottle's nutrition label to be quite fascinating.
He had only recently hit puberty and was self-conscious enough without people staring so intently at him.
Did he really look that bad? Sure, he had lost some weight lately since he had been giving most of his food to Sammy ever since their money ran out.
And, okay, maybe he hadn't slept in about a week either, too worried about his father to get his mind to shut down properly, but still…
Randy watched the pink flush of embarrassment color Dean's cheeks, then reached out and ruffled the pre-teen's hair fondly.
"Don't worry, little man. We'll get you back up to fightin' weight in no time. But if you ask me, the way John leaves you behind to raise your baby bro is nothin' short of child abuse."
Dean jerked away at that and started to stand. "Thanks again for the loan, Randy, but I really should be gettin' back to Sammy."
The man scoffed, his close proximity giving Dean no room to maneuver or straighten up. A little pressure on his shoulder was all it took to return the boy's half-starved body to his seat on the edge of the couch.
"Relax, kid! What's the rush?"
Dean tensed up, feeling caged, but then Randy took a step back and seated himself on the coffee table across from him.
"Sammy's asleep, ain't he?" the man continued, before swallowing another mouthful of beer. "How much trouble could he possibly get into?"
Dean's eyes darted towards the door reflexively as he mumbled, "You'd be surprised."
The man laughed light-heartedly. "Little brothers can be pesky, huh?"
Dean shrugged, his knee bouncing out of control again as adrenaline coursed through his body. "Sammy's not so bad. He doesn't like being left alone though, so…"
Dean's words cut off as the man's hand suddenly landed on his knee, instantly stilling it. The boy swallowed hard, nearly choking on his own saliva in the process.
He chanced a wary glance up, his gaze locking with the man's who was still smiling at him in a way that made his skin crawl.
"What?" he asked, feeling more unsure of himself than ever.
The man considered him for a moment before responding. "Nothin'. Just… Been a few years since I've seen you boys. It's crazy but… Anyone ever tell you how much you look like your mom?"
Sam could feel tremors coursing through his brother's frozen body. His muscles were coiled so tightly, it was a miracle he hadn't snapped in half yet.
"Dean, listen to me… You've gotta fight this! It's not real!"
Even without Dean's confirmation, Sam had no doubts that the second trial was responsible for tormenting his brother.
They weren't ready for this.
Dean needed more time to recover from the first round. Hell, Sam needed more time. Why couldn't they ever catch a break? Winchester luck at its best…
Dean cleared his throat, chalking the man's ramblings up to one too many beers before his arrival. "I've got a long walk ahead of me, Randy, so as much fun as it's been catching up with you, I really gotta hit the road."
"Look, I'll make you a deal, kiddo," Randy stated before pointing down to the Gatorade in Dean's hands. "You finish that whole bottle so I know you've at least got somethin' in your system, and I'll get you a cab back to your motel so you don't have to hoof it with all the leftovers I'm gonna pack up for you and Sammy. Fair enough?"
Dean bit his lip in consideration, dropping his eyes back to the neon drink in his hands. Dad had the car so Dean had to walk six and a half miles just to get here.
It was getting cold outside now that the sun had set, and he wasn't particularly looking forward to dragging bags of food with him the whole way back.
"So… Just this?" he asked cautiously while holding up the bottle, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Randy nodded. "Just that, and you're free to go. Your dad would kill me if he found out I let you walk out of here with an empty stomach."
The request seemed innocent enough, and Dean was feeling rather dehydrated from his walk to the man's house, so with a drawn out sigh of capitulation, he twisted the cap off and took a tentative swig.
The juice was sour and immediately roiled his otherwise empty stomach but he ignored it, putting all his concentration into emptying the bottle so he could get back to Sammy.
Randy watched him carefully as Dean's throat worked to swallow the bitter concoction.
After a few gulps, Dean grimaced in disgust and made to lower the bottle in surrender, but Randy's free hand reached up and tilted the bottom of the drink higher, forcing Dean to gulp faster or wear it.
"You can do better than that, kiddo!"
Dean tried to protest, then ended up choking on the liquid. Seemingly oblivious to the boy's plight, Randy didn't relent. "That's good, Deano. Just a little more…"
Dean had no choice but to fight past the urge to gag in favor of frantically swallowing, attempting to clear his passageways long enough to draw a breath.
When the bottle was more than half empty, Dean yanked his head away, no longer caring that the result would be ice-cold juice all down his front.
He spluttered and gasped for air, shooting pissed off daggers at Randy as he wiped at his mouth and coughed wetly into his elbow.
Randy simply released his hold on the bottle, slid over onto the couch next to Dean, and patted his back to help clear his lungs. His other hand squeezed Dean's knee affectionately. "Atta boy."
Sam frowned in confusion as his brother slowly twisted the cap off of the Gatorade bottle and raised the juice to his dried lips. There was no emotion in his eyes and his movements were nothing short of robotic.
"Dean?" Sam prompted again, then waved a hand in front of his brother's face. Still no sign Dean was aware of Sam's presence. It was almost like he was hypnotized, completely oblivious to his own actions.
"Hey!" Sam yelled, trying to startle his brother awake again, but Dean was too immersed this time to respond. He needed something stronger. Searching the room, Sam's gaze landed on the bags of ice Cas had brought in earlier.
Please let this work…
He grabbed a handful of loose cubes, pulled the front of Dean's blanket open, and pressed the frozen crystals against his brother's overheated chest.
Sam could feel Dean's heart pounding wildly beneath his palm.
"Snap out of it, Dean!"
The older man suddenly blinked, then immediately spewed his mouthful of Gatorade out. Sam jumped back a step to avoid wearing it, accidentally dropping the chunks of ice into his brother's lap but Dean didn't seem to care about that.
His eyes were alight with blazing fires of fury and Sam barely had enough time to duck out of the way as Dean threw the rest of the bottle across the room with all his strength.
The plastic exploded against the cement wall, sending lime-green goo everywhere.
"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, shocked by his brother's unexpectedly hostile reaction. "What are you…?!"
"Stay the hell away from me, you twisted sonofabitch!" Dean shouted back, then he stood up, the ice clattering to the floor as the blanket fell from his shoulders, and started yanking desperately against his restraints, swearing at them when they refused to give.
"Damn it, come on!"
"Whoa! Take it easy!" Sam yelped, rushing forward again to try and stop his brother from hurting himself.
He wrapped his body around Dean's back, corralling him against the cot to loosen the tension against the cuffs. In response, Dean snapped his head back into Sam's nose.
Sam stumbled back a few steps in surprise, trying to stem the blood that was flowing freely from his nose. It didn't feel broken, thankfully, but it was definitely going to give him raccoon eyes for a while.
Blinking back the automatic tears that were welling in his eyes, Sam surged forward again. "Dean, stop it! You're safe, okay?! Look at me, man!"
Dean turned his head and locked furious eyes with him.
"Let me go, you bastard!" he growled so fiercely, Sam was actually afraid. Not of the curse this time, but of his brother. "I swear ta God I'm gonna kill you…"
"Dean, it's me…" he tried, raising his hands openly in a placating manner. "It's Sam. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Dean's vision was starting to swim in and out of focus, his limbs and eyelids getting heavier by the second as the room spun around him.
"Sammy? Sammy… Please…" he whispered, his struggle with the cuffs failing miserably as his sight slowly dimmed around the edges.
Dean was suddenly feeling lightheaded and his eyes were having trouble focusing, but he was pretty sure he felt Randy's hand sliding higher up his thigh.
Dean surged to his feet, blinking heavily as his head swam. "I don' feel so good…" he mumbled, stumbling as he tried to walk towards the exit. "Somethin's wrong. I gotta… S'mmy. Shouldn't've left him 'lone…"
The room tilted dangerously and Dean's hand shot out to grip onto anything he could reach to steady himself, which resulted in him dropping the Gatorade bottle, drenching his new sneakers in a cold wave of neon juice.
Dad's gonna kill me…
"Whoa, easy there, Tiger!"
Randy was suddenly standing right next to Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him toward a stained mattress in the other room. "You're lookin' a little tired, kiddo. Why don't you lie down and rest for a sec till you get your bearings?"
The man dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed, then disappeared into the kitchen again. Dean's eyelids were getting heavier by the second. Maybe a quick nap wasn't such a bad idea…
But his instincts were screaming at him that something was very wrong. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get back to Sammy.
Dean forced himself to stand up again, and that's when he blacked out, his head connecting with the metal bed frame on the way down.
Sam watched in horror as Dean's eyes suddenly rolled up into the back of his head and his body went limp. If it hadn't been for Sam's fast reflexes, Dean would've hit the floor or found himself hanging by his chained wrists.
Even more worrisome was the gash that suddenly opened up over Dean's right eyebrow for no reason, spilling blood down the side of his face.
"Dean?! Dean!"
TBC
Wow, this chapter was way longer than I intended! Haha Please review!
