"Over here, over here," Sam said breathlessly as they hauled Cas into a cave, directing Dean over to a makeshift bed of dirt, leaves, bough branches against a rocky wall. Dean didn't take in much else of the cave except the sunken hole where a fire burned, directing Sam to lay Castiel on his side while he draped his injured wing down the length of his body.

The seizure had been short, but Castiel had fallen unconsciousness immediately afterward, and he was only getting worse too: his skin clammy to the touch, heart rate weak and erratic. He was going into shock from hypothermia, blood loss, his broken bones or all three, and the blood oozing from the bullet wound in his wing didn't seem to want to stop, no matter how much pressure Dean put on it. It was taking every part of Dean not to start panicking — Cas, don't die, don't fucking die, he wanted to yell, Cas, you can't die because of me — just managing to shove it all down as far as it would go and hoping the lid stayed on tight.

If he had a chance at saving Cas's life, he had to focus. Dean sucked in the deepest breath he could and, after letting it out, he did exactly that.

Stop bleeding, protect wounds, immobilize fractures, treat shock, he chanted to himself over and over to the tune of Kashmir. "We need to warm him up," he told Sam quickly, who looked up him, saltwater dripping from his hair. "Get him out of his wet clothes. Get him dry, Sammy."

"Right," Sam said, grabbing a bowie knife that was strapped to his leg. He slid it into the slit of the trenchcoat for Castiel's wings and then sliced it one fell swoop, doing the same to the other side. In less than a minute, he was able to peel the coat off, bundling it up and tossing it aside before going for the angel's tattered trousers. While he did that, Dean looked over Cas's injuries, trying to assess everything that was wrong.

With the Castiel's body already a canvas to every injury he had suffered, Dean didn't think it could get any worse. But the world was out to prove him wrong: Besides his head injury and broken wing, Castiel's side and back were flamed a bright red against his pale skin. While Sam covered Cas's legs with a plastic tarp and some bough, Dean shifted so he could lean down and settle his ear against Castiel's side. He listened intently as he pressed gently against skin and bone with his free hand, faintly hearing a crunching noise that made him curse several times under his breath.

That meant Castiel's ribs were either cracked or broken — from Dick throwing him around or the fall off a cliff, Dean didn't know. There was nothing he could do about it though — something like that needed x-rays and a hospital — and he just had to hope that Castiel wasn't bleeding internally or worse. (Knowing his luck, however…)

What he could do was tend to Castiel's wing, and he returned to studying it. He ran his hand along feathers, thin muscles and bones to get a feel how it worked, looking over the damage too. It seemed the bullet was a through and through, but it, and possibly the fall, had left only destruction in its wake: both bones in the wing broken, ripped apart tissue and, Dean was beginning to suspect, some damaged veins along the way. It still hadn't stopped bleeding too, and Dean tried to guess how long it had been going at it. He had no idea on how long they had been in the water, though. Five minutes? he wondered. Ten? Longer?

He swallowed, feeling another rise of panic before he could stop it. (What if they had been in the water a lot longer? Too long? What if he couldn't stop the bleeding? What if he could really do nothing for Castiel? What if—) But he slammed it down again, forcing himself to focus: He had to stop the bleeding and get the bones splinted, and for that, he needed medical supplies… Or whatever he could use as medical supplies. Dean cursed at himself again for losing the kit, before he turned to Sam. "I need something that I can use as bandages. Anything you got, Sammy. Clean water too."

Sam pushed his wet hair out of his face, eyes flickering from side-to-side in thought before he brightened. "Hang on," he said, pushing to his feet and darting off around the bend of rocky wall. He returned quickly with old, frayed shirts in hand, along with a log that was carved out and filled with water. He set down the supplies in front of Dean, keeping one shirt in hand to dry Castiel off. Dean took another shirt, tearing it into pieces before pushing one to Castiel's wound.

It seemed to take forever until the wound finally stopped bleeding but it, Dean breathing a sigh of relief before he started to clean and dress it. Splinting the wing was the next step, Sam helping support the limb while Dean slid the broken bones back into place. He used a few branches that Sam had collected as firewood for the splint, tying them to the wing with strips of cloth. Then it was time to build a sling, Sam giving over a dress shirt, which Dean recognized as one of the last things his brother had been seen wearing. They cupped the wing inside it, Sam tying the sleeves together at Castiel's neck, while Dean used his belt to the secure it around his waist.

After that, he cleaned the wound on Cas's head, dabbing away the blood there and placing a strip of cloth over it. Then, with Sam's help, they lay Castiel back on the make-shift bed, his brother covering him up with what clothes he had left, before they both draped the rest of the plastic tarp over him. It was part of a hunting blind, Dean realized, as he helped Sam pile leaves, moss and spare bough on top of it. All the buildup would help keep Castiel warm, Sam stroking the fire back up as well.

The flames started to warm his chilled skin, Dean wiping his hands soaked in dirt, salt and blood onto his wet shirt. Sam settled beside him again, looking over Castiel before he murmured a question Dean didn't want him to ask.

"Is... Is he going to be okay?"

Dean did his best not to visibly flinch or cringe, or get overwhelmed by another wave of panic. But that was a near thing: If Castiel hadn't been half-starved, if he hadn't been living on the island, if he hadn't been shot, if he hadn't hit his head, if he hadn't had a seizure, if he hadn't slipped into unconsciousness, if any chance of proper medical care wasn't hours away... Dean might have been able to answer that question. But all he knew was that Cas needed an actual doctor in a hospital, not care from a failed combat medic with MacGyver-style medical supplies. Without them...

Dean swallowed, feeling the world spin a little as he stared at Castiel. He couldn't finish that thought (he really could not) and shoved it back down again, Kashmir playing louder in his ears. It helped drown out thoughts of What if Cas never wakes up? What if he dies? — which was good, because he really couldn't think about that either.

Instead of answering Sam's question, he muttered, "You should get out of your wet clothes."

Sam started, and then look down at himself. His clothes clung to his body, showing how thin he had become, all sinewy muscle and sunburnt skin. "Right, right," he muttered, pushing to his feet again. "I should still have some clothes left. I'll grab some for you too."

With that, he walked off again, stripping off his shirt as he went. Dean heard him shuffling things around, and desperate for a distraction, he found himself looking around the cave, taking it all in. It had been the ghost's cave, according to Cas, but as a place where a deadly predator once lurked, it wasn't what Dean had pictured. Now it was clearly a place where Sam lived: supplies, weapons, tools and food stacked here and there. Dean was in a small pocket of the cave, off from the main area, clearly Sam's sleeping area if the makeshift bed was any indication. The fire pit and wooden reflector Sam had built in the pocket trapped heat inside and kept the small area warm and toasty. Dean could feel the heat even sopping wet as he still was, which he was happy for. If he could feel the heat, then Castiel was staying warm under his makeshift blanket.

There was a shotgun tucked under the bough near Cas's head, Dean recognizing it as one of the demon's. It wasn't Sam's only weapon in the cave — in the main area, where his brother had dug out a pit to place a fire in, Dean could make out a spear and stone axe. It seemed to be Sam's cooking area, a large rock slab half over the fire, mushrooms on a stick placed onto of it, along with another log that was similar to the one Sam had given him that had been full of water. Next to it, Sam had set up A-frame posts, and from a bar in the middle hung the carcass of a seagull, blood dripping into a log placed underneath it. It wasn't his only food either: the rocks were draped with seaweed, and there was a large pile of pinecones in another scrap of plastic tarp.

It looked like Sam was working on several bait traps too, the main one a wickerwork trap, meant for catching fish. They were set near the two entrances of the cave, where there were also two massive pile of logs stacked at each one. Dean frowned at that, wondering what the stacks were for: if they were for firewood, why were there two of them?

It was a question for another time, Dean's eyes then drawn to the third entrance in the cave. Unlike the other cave entrances — one which led out to the ocean; the other to forest (or Dean guessed anyway) — the path sloped downward and disappeared into darkness. Where it went, Dean couldn't even guess.

That mystery aside, Dean had to marvel at Sam's setup. They both had had extensive survival training since they were kids, but it seemed Sam had learned a lot more than Dean ever remembered. He had food, weapons, shelter, supplies... and that made Dean smile a little. That was his baby brother, wasn't it? If anyone could have survived this island, it was Sam.

He turned back when Sam returned and, despite being underweight, his brother looked remarkably healthy. He didn't seem to have any wounds or scars from what Dean could tell either, just red, blistery sunburned skin on his necks and shoulders. In his loose shirt and the military fatigues he had put on, Dean was reminded of a teenage Sam, all long limbs and still growing into his height... Sans the ponytail and thick beard he was now sporting though.

Sam was smiling too, and Dean almost couldn't tear his eyes from it. "Here, these should fit you," his brother said, and Dean looked down at a folded up jacket and pair of pants, boots resting on top of the pile. But his eyes were back on Sam when he let out a weak laugh and grinned. "Ignore the holes. And the blood stains."

Dean had once thought he would never Sam see smile and laughing again, and he couldn't stop the way his throat filled up or his eyes from pricking with tears. God, he had forgotten what his smile and laugh looked and sounded like; forgotten how it always made Sam look so young and carefree. He couldn't look away, drinking it in, a happy mantra of Sammy filling up his thoughts.

He barely managed to choke back tears, only to frown when Sam's grin slowly faded. His expression grew worried as he glanced over Dean twice. "Do you… need help?" he asked.

Dean grew confused, while Sam made the tiniest gesture toward his hands. When Dean looked at them, he saw that they were shaking, badly. But it wasn't just his hands: He realized his entire body was trembling, his teeth chattering too. Right, I jumped off a cliff into freezing water, he thought idly, but surprisingly, he was less alarmed by that reminder than he probably should have been. He felt like he was full of vampire venom again: disconnected from his body; disconnected from everything that had just happened to him. The world spun a little again, as he swallowed and thought, That can't be good.

But maybe it was better than the alternative, Dean feeling the slow build of panic bubble up again. And with it came the memory of sharp teeth and the rattling hiss, and the sight of Cas's eyes right before he fell off the cliff...

Nope, he thought as he slammed that feeling back down and forced himself to focus again. No matter how much he couldn't feel his body, he too needed to get out of his wet clothes and warm up. Except his hands were useless when he tried to remove his clothing, the ache of his ribs and pain in his arm coming back full force the moment he tried. He hissed in pain, and that made Sam shuffle over, Dean growing embarrassed when his brother had to help peel off various layers. His wet jeans were almost impossible to get out of, his knee so swollen that Dean had to bite back a cry when Sam finally had to yank them off. Putting on clothes was just as hard too, though the state of them made Dean lift an eyebrow when he looked at jacket and noticed the three long gashes in the back of it. Sam certainly wasn't kidding about the holes…

"Where did you get these?" he asked, and Sam let out another weak laugh.

"A lot of it was already here actually, but I've scavenged some too. They're clean, I swear."

Dean decided he didn't want to know, going for the pants first and ignoring the series of holes in one leg that were too similar to bite marks. While he was tugged them on, leaning back a little to get them up his hips, he looked over when Sam let out a hiss. His brother's eyes traveled from his knee to the bullet graze on his arm (still bleeding, Dean realized) to the dark violet bruises on his chest and side. There was also his bandaged wrists and neck, both sipping wet. "Dean," he whispered, shaking his head, eyes growing large. "Dean, you look awful."

Dean hated the look of worry in Sam's eyes, quickly covering himself up. "M-Me?" he cracked, as he tugged on the jacket, zipping it up. It was a size too big on him and the sleeves fell past his wrists; Dean rolled up the cuffs while he forced a grin for his brother. "Y-You look like Sasquatch, Sammy. Look at your goddamn beard."

That made Sam glance up at him, and then, to Dean's alarm, tears filled his eyes. He reached out, his hand hovering over Dean's shoulder, as if he was afraid to touch him. "Dean?" he croaked, shaking his head again. "It really is you, isn't it? This isn't some weird dream I'm having?"

Dean's heart leapt at that, the "no, Sammy," barely out of his mouth when his brother clamped onto him, a whimper leaving his mouth. Dean's gasp got caught in his throat, his arms around Sam too before he realized it. Everything else faded: the sounds of the fire popping and crackling, the howl of the wind and ocean from outside, his own pounding heart in his ears. It was nothing but Samuel, Sam, Sammy, his baby brother, alive, and Dean clung to him, squeezing his eyes shut.

Since the moment he found out that Sam could still be alive, Dean hadn't let himself think about this — finding Sam and holding him again — afraid to hope too much even then. But now, after six months of agony, anguish, mourning and witnessing the horrors of this island, Dean sank into the embrace, let himself take comfort in it. Sam was alive, Sammy was alive, and he never wanted to let go of his brother ever again.

But Sam pulled away far too soon, hands trembling as he grasped Dean's shoulders tightly. "Dean, Dean, I can't believe it. I can't believe you're here. What are you doing here?" he babbled, and that was the moment Dean's world shattered again. Sam didn't give him a chance to respond, his eyes flicking over to Castiel and back. "I heard the gunshots. I saw the angel get shot and fall, and you jumping after him. Dean, you jumped off a cliff. I saw you jump off a cliff."

"Yeah," Dean whispered. Sam frowned questioningly. "T-The monster, he was coming after us. He was… He was hunting us."

Sam's face fell, horror filling his eyes. "Roman?" he repeated, his grip tightening on Dean, sending waves of pain through his injured arm. "Dean, did he abduct you too? Jess? Joan? Mary? Are they here on the island? Did he bring them here?!"

"Usually threatening to kill a man's wife and children if he doesn't back off is enough for him to stop, not assume it's a bluff," the monster said in the back of Dean's mind, and it made him shiver violently and remember sharp teeth again.

"N-No," he whispered, as all he could manage were whispers now. He was shaking again, he realized. "T-They're in California."

"California?" Sam murmured, his eyes flickering back and forth in confusion before he looked at Dean. Slowly, his face went from confused to cold, and Dean tensed at the look. "Dean," his brother said stiffly then, eyes narrowing. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

I came here to avenge you, Dean couldn't say, but that was only one of many things he couldn't say. I couldn't watch Jess cry anymore, was one, and, I couldn't listen to the twins ask where you were anymore, was another. But the real reason — that Sam had disappeared and it had nearly killed him — he could never say to Sam, though knowing his brother, he already knew. And he did, despair filled Sam's eyes as he began to shake his head again, Dean cringing.

"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered, even though it wasn't. It would never be okay, and Dean cringed again when he saw the despair in Sam's eyes disappear. Dean braced himself for the pain that was going to hurt worse than anything on this island.

"Goddamnit, Dean!" Sam yelled as he surged to his feet, dragging his hands through his hair. He took several steps away, and then whirled back to Dean, shoulders heaving as he jerked a finger at him. "You're not supposed to be here! You're not supposed to be on this island! You weren't supposed to find to out about this place either! You promised!"

If it had been the day before, Dean would have protested that, would have yelled right back. Don't give me that bullshit, Sammy. You left us with no clue about what happened to you, and you wouldn't let me find out. You shouldn't have done this alone! You should have told me you were in trouble!

He would have let his anger out, his selfishness too. If I had known, I would have never made that promise! You should have never made me make that promise!

But now, after everything, he could only agree. "I know, Sammy," he whispered as he glanced at Castiel, but there was no comfort to be found looking at him. All he could see was Castiel helpless, hopeless look as the monster had strode toward them, jaws wide.

I want to live for you, Castiel had told him, and now here he was, dying…

"Then why are you here?!" Sam cried, and Dean flinched, watching his brother drag his hands through his hair again. "Dean, I made you promise not to, and I left you every sign that I did not want you to, either! You had to know the danger! You had to know I would have never asked you something like that unless it was important! You know that, Dean!"

Dean felt his heart clench again — he had been too caught up in his own pain and grief to see the danger Sam was warning him about, hadn't he? He struggled to his feet, desperately wanting to comfort his brother, the warring grief and anger on Sam's face causing Dean pain too. "S-Sammy, I didn't know he threatened Jess and the kids. I didn't know anything. The police, they couldn't tell us anything, if you were dead or not—"

"I was supposed to die!" Sam snapped back hoarsely, fists clenching at his sides. "I figured out what Roman was doing! I was going to expose him! Do you think Roman was happy that I was going to do that?! Do you think he took it lightly?!"

Sam's nostril's flared, his shaking fists just a hint of how much anger he was holding back. "Roman threatened to kill all of you unless I gave myself and my research up. And that meant you couldn't investigate either, which is why I destroyed my notes; hid my trail so you would know not to follow it! I made you promise not to look either, Dean. I made you promise to look out for our family! You promised, Dean!"

"I didn't know!" Dean yelled back, which made Sam start shaking his head again. Dean cringed, but he needed his brother to see where he was coming from. "You don't understand, Sam. The police! They found evidence that made it look like you ran away. They stopped searching for you. They thought you were a criminal, or that you were hiding something! They—"

He stopped himself then, wondering if he should reveal the rest: That they made Jess think Sam abandoned her and the girls... And how Dean had basically confirmed that for her when he had told her of Sam's promise. But he was also running out of time: Sam's face was starting to contort in anger again, shoulders rising in a way that meant he was restraining himself from hitting Dean. "That's why I came here!" Dean blurted out quickly, without really thinking. "I figured out what the monster was doing, and I came here to kill him! That way, the whole world would have found out what he was doing, and Jess and the twins would have known you died a hero!"

Sam seemed to pause at that, his eyes narrowing again, jaw tightening. Then he took a deep breath, and ground out, "If you were going to kill Roman, then what are you doing here, Dean?"

"He caught me," Dean admitted, and then cringed when Sam threw his arms in the air, turning away again. "But I escaped! One of the demons, they told me what happens here, and I knew, I-I knew if they put you on this island, that you were alive, that you would have survived! I knew I had to find you, I had to—"

Save you. The words caught in his throat and there was no way Dean could say them. Sam heard them though; Dean saw it flash in his eyes, and his brother's face went carefully blank. Dean tensed, knowing whatever Sam said next, it was going to fucking hurt.

He did not disappoint.

"Well, congratulations, Dean," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Instead of saving me, you got my family killed instead."

There wasn't enough mental armor in the world for that, and the world spun again. No, no, no, Dean thought, but then he had to imagine it, and it alone would give him nightmares for life. (The twins nothing more than skeletons; Dick's jaws swinging open before he launched forward to devour Jess as she screamed.)

"Sammy, Sammy, no," he pleaded, reaching for his brother, but Sam moved out of the way. "I've only been here two days. Jess, the girls, they're in California with your in-laws, there's no way he's gotten to them yet. I shot him too! I shot Dick in the shoulder — he has to be badly injured! And Bobby's coming! Tonight! He'll get us off this island! We'll get off, and we'll stop him. He'll never get to Jess and the twins. Sammy, you have to believe me—"

His words didn't seem to get through to his brother — and finally made him snap. Dean paused when Sam whirled around on him, eyes livid and teeth bared. That was the only warning Dean had; he was on the ground the next moment, ribs seizing up in pain as he wheezed out a gasp.

"You got my family killed, Dean!" Sam screamed at him before he stormed off, disappearing down the pathway that led into darkness. Dean, meanwhile, couldn't move, the pain in his jaw and ribs the only thing keeping him from losing it completely as Sam's words repeated themselves over and over in his head.

You got your family killed, Dean.

It had friends, too.

You got Cas killed, Dean.

You got everyone on this island killed, Dean.

"No," he whispered, tasting bile in his mouth. He could still save everyone. He could still get everyone off the island. He could still get everyone home. He had to — for the love of everything holy, he had to.

He staggered to his feet, knee giving out on him twice before he finally made it. He moved over to where Sam had gone, but at the entrance of the inner cave, he paused. It was pitch black down the pathway, Dean unable to see a thing. His skin prickled when he felt the cold air drifting up from inside.

"Sam?" he called weakly, but was answered only by his echo. Dean frowned, wondering where he could have gone, but there was only one way to find out.

He backtracked to grab a stick from the fire for a makeshift torch and, after a worried glance at Castiel, he descended into darkness.