"If you're in a pinch, you can just use a sapling," Dean says as he knots the stake to a willowy branch. Sam, kneeling beside him on the dirt, watches him intently. "If you got the time though, build the entire trap. It's a simple one, but it doesn't matter what you're hunting: You can it take down with a pig spear trap."
"Anything?" Sam asks, his shaggy hair falling into his one eye when he looks up at him. Half of his face is wrapped up in bloody bandages, and Dean frowns, confused. When did that happen? "Not just pigs?"
There's something sad in the way his brother asks that, but Dean can't put his finger on why. Sam is looking at him so earnestly though, so after a moment, he brushes off the oddity and continues the lesson. "Yeah, despite the name, this baby can be used on anything," he goes on, tying another knot. "Makes it pretty dangerous though. You want to be careful that you don't accidentally set it off after you're done setting it up."
"That's why should mark your traps in a way that you or someone else can see them," Sam says, and Dean glances back at him. His brother looks so old then; his beard, flecked with silver, makes him look like their father. "Right, Dean?"
Dean hesitates. This is so weird, but he can't figure out why. "Yeah," he replies, and then gives Sam the branch when he reaches for it. His brother holds it in his hands, looking down at it; Dean frowns when he sees tears build up in Sam's one eye. It scares him a little; confuses him too.
"Sammy?"
"I built traps all over the forest, but I built them for the wrong people," Sam whispers, and then looks up at him. The tears slip free, and his brother shakes his head, lips trembling. "How could I do that, Dean? Why didn't I use them on the one person I should have?"
What? Dean thinks, before he hears a strange sound. It's weird, loud whistling sound in the air that he can't figure it out, and it grows louder and louder and louder. The wind rocks the trees with it, and for the first time, he notices how dark it is. He looks around the forest, and then up at trees towering higher than any tree he's ever seen. If it wasn't for the moon in the sky, he'd think they were in a pit or something.
The sound is only growing louder and Dean tries to figure out what it is. It sounds like... a gunshot?
Now Sam's yelling at him, grabbing him. Dean looks back and sees how wide his brother's eyes are. "God, Dean," he babbles, frantic, "I didn't want any of you to die for this, I didn't want any of you to die for—"
That's when everything goes white.
"Dean, Dean!"
He was lying on the ground, he knew that much, staring out at the boat in the harbor. Then Sam was leaning into view, tears streaming down his face from his good eye. He looked desperate, frantic; Dean wondered why. "Dean, hold on, hold on!"
He turned away, Dean's eyes instinctively following him. Sam started doing something to his leg, but Dean couldn't feel what it was, watching his brother pull off his jacket and go for his shirt. Then he noticed the blood on the rocks, and how it all seemed to coming from the bloody pulp of muscle and bone that was… something.
Is that my knee? Dean thought, before darkness started crawling into his vision. The last thing he saw was Sam looking at him, his good eye going wide.
"Dean, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—"
He's lying in a forest full of corpses and bones.
There's a dead werewolf at his side, blank silver eyes staring up at the moon. The remains of a djinn are on his other side; bodies of demons and hellhounds circling him. There are bones from every species scattered around — werewolves and vampires and humans and angels — skulls gathered in piles almost as tall as the trees. Their empty eyes stared down at him, black as pits, whispering to him.
You can't save anyone, Dean, they say. You're just meat.
There's something amongst the bones too; he can sense it there, watching him. It stays just out of sight though, and as hard as he tries to look at it, he can't. All he can see are glimpses of its massive snake-like body, catch flashes of its sharp, white teeth. It slides around the bones, over the bodies, leaving them smeared black. Its hisses are loud; it's whispering to him too.
There's no such things as monsters, Dean.
He realizes he can't feel his heartbeat. He can't feel anything really, except a cold that leaves him chilled to his bones. Is he dead? he wonders. Or was he always this? Nothing but meat and bones...
"Dean!"
There's an angel there then, crouching over him, haloed by moonlight. He glows, like there's light trapped under his skin; his great black wings curling around them both. The angel's bright blue eyes are wet, and he reaches over to cup his face in both hands, warmth seeping into cold, cold skin.
He knows the angel, would know him anywhere. Cas, he thinks, remembering warm smiles and warm eyes, saving a boy who desperately wanted to be saved...
"Dean, Dean," Cas says through gritted teeth, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Don't forget, Dean! Don't forget!"
Forget? he wonders, before everything comes back to him.
Sam turning to him, the fight completely gone from them. Promise me, Dean.
Jess, her sad smile, the way she touched his cheek. Take care of yourself, Dean.
Andrea, the other vampires, watching him. Don't be afraid.
Cas, whispering against Dean's lips. I want to live for you.
Then there's pain. Pain like nothing he's ever felt before. He can't escape it, can't push it away. It just grows and grows and grows, starting at his knee and going from there. It tears at flesh, devours it, like fire. His body's nothing more than meat for its hunger. It's eating him alive.
Cas grasps his face again, but he can barely feel it, can barely hear him, can barely see. There's just the pain, and he feels a scream ripping up his throat. "Don't forget, Dean!" the angel sobs. "Don't forget!"
Then Cas is gone, and it's only the creature then, finally in view. It's massive, serpent-like body spans the length of the entire graveyard. It has no eyes, no face, just a mouth full of sharp teeth that spread in a familiar grin.
I'd love to hunt you, Dean, it says.
Don't be afraid, another voice whispers at him, but he can't help it. Not when he can't move. Not when he can't scream.
All he can do is watch as the monster and all its white teeth comes in mouth-first.
Voices. Dean could hear voices.
Blood pressure is 90/60. He's stabilizing.
Bleeding's starting to stop looks like. That knee's a goner though.
We'll bandage it and splint it. It's all we can do.
There were other voices talking, but Dean had difficulty making out the words, and he didn't have the energy to either. His head felt so heavy, like he had been woken up before he was ready, and all he wanted was to fall right back to sleep. He couldn't even open his eyes, that was how tired he was. Damn, he couldn't ever remember being as exhausted as he was now...
But before he could drift off, he felt something tighten their grip on him (and he suddenly was acutely aware that he had a body), and then he heard Sam's voice.
"Fuck you."
His brother's voice was guttural, like it had been stripped raw, and it hid none of his emotions. Sam was angry, but he was also terrified.
Sammy? Dean thought worriedly, when he heard someone chuckle. It was a dark sound, and made Dean think of sharp, white teeth.
"All those little talks we had, Sam, and only a few times did you mention your brother," it drawled. Dean knew that voice, but from where? "Why is that, I wonder?"
"Stay the fuck away from my brother," Sam hissed, and Dean felt pressure on his arms again, reminding him again: Oh right, body. It was the strangest sensation; he could feel his body there, but at the same time, he couldn't, like he was only connected to it by a few strings. It reminded him of vampire venom, minus the hallucinations… Though maybe he had spoken too soon. He was starting to feel something then, the beginning of a throbbing ache that slowly grew stronger. And stronger. And stronger, before it started to hurt and hurt bad, and he couldn't get away from it—
"He's coming to, sir."
Sam gasped, and whispered his name at that. The other person had a grin in his voice as he purred, "Of course he is."
Dean didn't know what was happening, why the ache kept growing, moving up his body and leaving stabs of pain as it went. He tried to push it back, but that didn't work; he tried turning or twisting to get away from it, but his body wouldn't move. And then it got worse, pain becoming white-hot, and drowning all of his other senses. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, his body wouldn't move — God, what was going on? What was happening to him?!
As the pain began to take over, his mind flashed back, remembering—
He's lying in a forest of corpses, and an angel is leaning over him, cupping his cheeks. "Don't forget, Dean," he sobs. "Don't forget!"
God, how could he? It was everywhere, like fire.
"I didn't want any of you to die for this, Dean!" Sam is yelling at him, before the world goes white.
Dean could hear Sam calling his name again, but he couldn't answer. All he could do was feel the pain and remember.
A man aiming a rifle at him… No, not a man, a monster. The monster.
Then his knee is exploding, and everything goes black.
God, he had been shot. He had been shot.
His body jerked at the memory, and the pain that came with that made him see white again. A scream ripped up his throat; he was vaguely aware of Sam calling his name as his entire body thrashed to escape the agony. He twisted, arched his back, tried yelling for help. It was like fire — he was being burned alive—
Somebody grabbed his arms and pinned him down then; Dean became aware of a faint slide of something in the crook of his elbow. Then relief, sweet relief, coursing through his body like cooling liquid, drowning out the flames as it went. Dean gasped for air when it reached his lungs, sucking in mouthful after mouthful, his heart going off like a jackhammer. The cooling feeling traveled on; whatever it was — some sort of pain medication? he wondered, when his brain worked again — hitting his legs next.
It could only do so much there — Dean realizing that was where it was coming from — the medication dampening down the pain enough that it wasn't crippling. By the time it was finally manageable, he was exhausted again, soaked in sweat and stomach lurching uncomfortably. He was woozy too, but was finally able to open his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks when he did.
The world was one big blur that slowly came into focus. The first person he saw was Sam, his brother cradling him against his bare chest as his own tears streamed from his good eye. "It's okay, Dean, it's okay," he whispered as Dean swallowed around his raw throat, tasting blood and bile at the back of it. Sam whispered another it's okay as he brushed Dean's sweaty hair from his forehead, his other arm trembling even as he held him tight. He was upset, but Dean didn't know why... in fact, he wasn't even sure where he was or what had happened. He could hear waves, smell the ocean; he remembered a voice too, yelling at him to… Not forget?
"Sammy?" he croaked out, hoping his brother would understand all that he was asking. That only made Sam's breath hitch though, a fresh wave of tears filling his good eye.
"It's okay, Dean," he whispered.
There was some sort of warning in Sam's voice, but Dean couldn't really think of why that was. He felt a new pressure on his arm, and his eyes slowly looked over. It was a demon, withdrawing a syringe from his vein; Dean frowned slowly confusion as she leaned back, revealing the other demon who was down by a pair of legs. That one was working with the most extensive medical kit Dean had ever seen, and he might have even been impressed by if he was thinking clearly. For now, all he could do was wonder who the demon was treating on the ground, their one leg streaked with blood. The source seemed to be all coming from the person's knee, wrapped up in dark-red bandages, a tourniquet on their upper thigh. Even as groggy as he was, Dean's medical mind assessed what he was looking at, and had to sum it up in two words: Not good.
It took far too long to realize he was looking at his own leg.
"Dean, Dean," Sam whispered as Dean felt his breathing speed up, heart starting to go off again. It made the fog in his head slowly clear up, and he started seeing all the things he missed before. Like the two tourniquets on his thigh for one: one haphazardly made out a shirt that too high up his leg, the other a professional one in the right place. He couldn't think too much on that — wasn't Sammy missing his shirt though? — his attention drawn over when the demon started unwrapping the bandages from his knee. It was too surreal; he almost couldn't process what he was looking at: Not the pool of blood it was lying in, and definitely not the giant hole where his kneecap used to be.
The world spun again, his vision going out of focus, Sam's it's okay doing nothing for him. Dean felt an inexplicable urge to reach over and touch his knee, wondering if he was just imagining the cavity that was in it. The muscle reduced to pulp, the shattered bone, the blood everywhere — it couldn't be real right? Maybe he was hallucinating it? (He had hallucinated stranger things.) He had to see, to feel for himself, but the wave of dizziness and pain that came when he tried to sit up had Sam tightening his grip on him to keep him down. "It's okay, Dean," his brother stressed again.
"My knee, Sammy," he protested, and his brother sucked in air through his teeth, voice shaky when he replied.
"I-I know, Dean. I know."
He ended up just staring at it as the demons cleaned it up, brain still just trying to understand. It couldn't be gone, he kept thinking. It couldn't be. His knee had been through a lot as it was, a staple of pain and discomfort from the moment it had been injured. He had known even then it would never be the same again, but he had pushed it anyway: up and down hills and mountains, miles and miles over rough terrain, forcing it to run when he could barely walk. He hadn't cared what condition it would be left in, as all that mattered was finding Sam. But it couldn't just be gone now.
God, his knee had been shot, he realized then. And it had nearly killed him too — they had had to put a tourniquet on his leg so he didn't bleed out. There was no saving his knee now, no patchwork they could do to keep it in one piece until it healed — not with shattered bones and muscles and a broken artery. It was gone.
And it was all because of one person who was standing in front of them, Dean tensing when he suddenly noticed him. Slowly, he looked up at Dick Roman, the monster in his hunting outfit from earlier — boots, long coat, tie and all — large rifle in his hands. There was no sign that he had taken a bullet to his shoulder just that very morning; he looked the same as he always did, an amused smirk on his lips, his eyes making Dean want to freeze up and hide. Whatever was on Dean's face — shock or fear or both — made the monster's smirk grow, a hint of white teeth revealed when he did. "Good of you to join us, Dean," he drawled then, dark eyes narrowing in amusement. "How's the knee?"
It didn't seem possible for his heart to go any faster, Dean looking around and realizing the situation they were in, how it was not good. The last thing he remembered before he had been shot was Sam and Bobby successfully pinning the demons down while he made a run for the crevice, but the tables had turned since then. There were two demons working on his knee, which Dean didn't understand why — why keep him alive when he had been as good as dead? — while the other three demons had their rifles trained on them. Sam was cradling him, while Bobby stood close by, hands up in the air in surrender. He was looking worriedly between Dean and the demons, though his gaze was drawn over to the dark shape that was circling the group of them. It red eyes gleamed in the lights from the boat, still out in the harbor, the hellhound letting out a snarl when it passed Bobby.
There was someone apart from the group, being watched by one of the demons, and Dean's breath caught in his throat when he recognized him. It was Cas, half slumped against the rocks, his non-injured wing helping keep him upright. In the light from the boat, Dean could see the sling he had made out of Sam's old shirt for Cas's broken wing was wet and smeared with dirt, like he had been moving through mud and water. And maybe he had been — his feathers were clearly wet, making Dean wonder if he had been in the raft, and had crawled his way through surf and over rocks to see what was wrong. And that meant he had seen Dean: The tears in Cas's eyes certainly said so, the fear in them only matched in the he looked over at the monster.
And there was damn good reason to be scared, with Dick there... But what was far more scary was that he hadn't done anything yet. He hadn't flat-out killed them, he hadn't torn them to pieces, he wasn't eating them. Instead, he had clearly ordered his demons to save Dean (and why? Why had he done that?), and he was just standing there, watching them with an amused smirk. It only grew too, like he knew what Dean was thinking or was simply entertained by him trying to wrap his head around what was going on. What was he doing? Dean wondered. They were defenseless, they didn't stand a chance. What was he waiting for?
"I'm pleased as punch that you could join us, Dean," Dick said then, as if they had been talking the entire time. Dean felt Sam tense up, grip tightening on Dean; when he glanced over, his brother was glaring up the monster, jaw tight. "Your brother and I were right in the middle of an important business meeting, and clearly, as an interested third-party, you'll want to have your say, I'm sure."
Dean frowned, confused — what? — but Dick didn't seem to notice or care. "I presume you know the details of the original contract between Sam and I, don't you?" he continued, smirk growing a little when Sam growled through his gritted teeth. "If anyone else happened to find out about my little operation here after your brother turned himself in, you, your sister-in-law and nieces would die?"
Dean really didn't need a reminder of that; he winced while Sam grew even more tense.
"The agreement was rendered null and void when you came here, Dean," Dick went on, looking from Sam down to him. "But considering you broke the contract unwittingly, I'm open to a renegotiation of the original terms of the deal."
What? Dean thought, while Sam let out another hiss.
"No," he spat, eyes narrowing dangerously at Dick. His voice was still hoarse, but there was no hiding how his anger was barely masking his fear. He held onto Dean so tight, Dean's ribs protested and it made the ache from his knee flare up. "No more deals. No more agreements. If you're going to kill us, just kill us."
Dick grinned, all teeth. "Now Sam. That is not how we communicate from a place of yes," he said, and then cocked his head, looking Sam up and down. "Or do you have no interest in seeing your wife and children again?"
Sam stiffened. Dean grew confused again — wait, what was Dick going on about? — watching as Dick's gaze lifted up and out toward the ocean. He was looking at the boat, Dean realized, Dick's smirk fading a little. Then, it was back in full force as he turned back to them.
"Here's my offer," he said, eyes fixing to Dean's "Full immunity for Sam's wife and children. I'll even let your brother and the others leave the island. Consider that a bonus, Dean. A reward for all your hard work."
What? Dean thought again. Had he just said he'd would kill Jess and the girls? That he'd let them go?
For a moment, Dean wondered if the pain was making him hallucinate, or he had fallen asleep and was dreaming again. But even the demons were glancing over at Dick, pausing from bandaging and splinting his knee, so maybe he had heard that right. But that didn't help him understand it any, and Sam's utterly blank expression wasn't giving him anything to go on. What was going on?
It was Bobby who ended up voicing the questions that Dean had.
"You'll just let us go?" he muttered gruffly, and Dick glanced over at him. Bobby's brow was furrowed from under his hat, hands still in the air. "Just like that."
"There will be some conditions, of course," Dick replied, grin all teeth again. "I'll be sending you with a personal escort. They'll be there to ensure you reach your final destination, and stress the importance of not talking."
Dean's head spun a little again, and not just from the pain anymore. He just couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he glanced at his brother, Sam sharing his reaction. Bobby wasn't having it though, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You're willing to bet your entire reputation on the off-chance we happen to keep our mouths shut?"
That made Dick chuckle, a dark sound. "Come now, Bob, who would believe you? You, the known alcoholic? Sam, the disgraced ex-district attorney? A mentally ill angel? A family of vampirs? Who would believe they were trapped on this island, evidence of which my people has been meticulously destroying since Dean arrived? Sam's evidence was destroyed long ago as well, so the only story you'd tell is of a creature from angelic legend hunted and preyed on them for years."
Bobby frowned — and right, Dean hadn't exactly had time to tell him Dick wasn't exactly human — and Dick shrugged slightly, his smirk returning. "And think of the alternative, Bob. For one, your adopted son's wife and children dead. And there is that pretty little sherriff friend of yours in South Dakota; it'd be a shame if something happened to her…"
That wasn't a casual threat, but Dean still didn't understand why they were even having this conversation — that they were fucking bargaining when Dick could just kill them. He couldn't seriously believe no one would believe them, could he? Dean wondered. One had to only look at them, and they would see the horrors they had been through. And when all of them had the same story to tell…?
What the hell game was Dick playing? Was this some sort of trick? Dean frowned again, watching as Dick looked over to the boat again, as if checking it was still there. And that was what made everything click for Dean, realizing then what the monster was trying to do.
He was trying to get on the boat
Sam and him exchanged glances, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. Dick — though Dean figured he'd send his demons in — didn't have any way of getting on the boat and it was too far away to be reached by bullets, Dean had ensured that. The monster had to know the vampires were already on it too, and that had had to put Dick in a tight spot. The demons couldn't just take the raft and go for it: Dean knew Andrea would just sail away if she saw anyone but them coming. Same if Dick just killed them (which he could so easily do); the matriarch would leave then too. They would tell the world what happened, and Dick could pretend all he wanted that no one would believe them: People would.
But if the demons had them as hostages, the vampires would be less likely to leave them behind, giving Dick's people a way on...
Dean's heart pounded again. All this bullshit about letting them go, and no one believing them — that was Dick playing cards, trying to seize control of the situation again. But what he was doing was so obvious… Had the boat arriving really thrown him off his game that much? No, he thought. That couldn't be his only plan — he had had to have another trick up his sleeve that would ensure they wouldn't just call his bluff. He had promised immunity to Jess and the girls for a reason… To make them compliant until they got on the boat, maybe? Ensure the moment they were on the boat, they didn't throw the demons right off?
Sam was clearly thinking along the same lines, and Dean could see he was calculating. (If it was just them against the demons on the boat, they could subdue them, couldn't they? Sam, Bobby and Andrea working together to pull it off? The demons wouldn't stand a chance, would they?)
It was a gamble, but one they could fucking win. "And what's this going to cost us exactly?" Sam asked then, and Dean frowned. Wait, what other cost would there be…? The monster smirked, and then his eyes slid back down to Dean.
Dean felt his breath catch in his throat.
The monster wanted him.
Sam went absolutely still — like that was the last thing he had expected — while Dean's heart started pounding again. It made perfect sense though: Why else would have Dick kept him alive? Hell, why had he shot Dean in the knee when he could have so easily shot him in the head? (And sure, he had almost killed him by shooting out his knee, but he had had the demons there to treat them right away it seemed like.) Dick had wanted leverage to keep Sam and Bobby compliant until he could put a new plan into motion… And was going to ensure they remained compliant too.
But that wasn't just it, was it? Dean found himself looking into Dick's dark eyes, remembering something from his dreams. Something lurking in the graveyard, a monster whose entire head was only a mouthful of teeth.
I'd love to hunt you, Dean.
Dean's heart thudded. Before, that would have terrified him: The thought of being hunted down and eaten alive. (Being just meat.) Worse, being hunted down and eaten alive by the monster. But he had learned not to be afraid since then; Knew it was important so he could be who he needed to be. And who had he thought he needed to be?
Someone who could do anything… Including someone who could and would gladly die if it meant getting everyone home and safe.
"I'll do it," he whispered.
Dick's eyes narrowed as he grinned, while Sam's entire body jerked as he looked down at him. "What?" he cried, and Dean swallowed, avoiding looking at his brother. Bobby too, the old man gaping at him. Sam squeezed "Dean, no. No, no, no, no. This is a trick, Dean, this is a trick."
Dean already knew that, though. He wasn't exactly one hundred percent with this plan: The thought of sending Sam, Bobby and Cas with demons, who would try to kill them once they were on the boat. But the alternative was far worse: And that was watching the monster tear them from limb to limb. He didn't want that; hell, Dick didn't want that.
What they both wanted was their people on the boat, albeit for completely different reasons. And Dean knew if anyone stood a chance of stopping the demons before they tried to kill them, it would be Sam and the others. And they could stop them, unlike the monster...
What that all meant for him, though, staying here with Dick? He decided not to think about it.
That didn't mean Dean couldn't have his own terms, right? (Not that he had much of an actual hand to play in all this. He couldn't even move.) "On one condition, though," he told Dick, who narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "You don't have your demons kill them. They're just escorts, like you said."
"No, Dean, no—" Sam hissed while Dick chuckled. That he was calling him out on it didn't seem to bother the Dick any. If anything, it just seemed to please him.
"I admire your gumption, Dean. We'll see how that works out for you," he drawled, amused. That wasn't exactly a "yes," but he looked up at Sam then, his smirk fading a little for a sneer. "But our arrangement is off if your brother tries to fight back or attempts to rescue you, Dean. Do you understand that, Sam? Your wife, your children: Their lives are forfeit if you do."
Insurance, Dean thought. Dick knew there was a chance his demons would fail then, and he was gaming it in his favor… And if Sam succeeded, was Dean the consolation prize then?
Sam didn't appear to hear it. He was shaking so hard, Dean thought he might come apart at the seams; before he could stop him, his brother burst. "No. No!" he shouted as he leaned forward, tears falling from his eyes. He looked up at the monster, desperation making his voice guttural. "Take me instead. I'm the one you really want! I'm the one who let this all happen; exposed you in the first place! Take me. Let Dean go. Please."
The plea echoed along the beach, all of Sam's heart in it. It fell on unsympathetic ears, however; it only made the monster's lip lift in disgust as he looked him up and down. "You're cute, Sam, trying to pull that now. But as I like to say: Cute don't quite hack it." Sam's face fell, and Dick sneered. "You had your chance to kill me, and you didn't take it — you had the spark, and you let it go out. I only want the best, and you are not it."
That Dean fell into that category wasn't exactly comforting, but there was a calm settling over him. He didn't know what Dick had planned for him, and he really didn't care — but he needed Sam to not lose focus.
That was easier said than done: His brother was already breaking down, starting to cry again. By the time Dean turned to him, Sam's face was a mess of tears, and he was shaking his head before Dean could even open his mouth.
"No, Dean, you can't ask me to do this," he pleaded, grip tightening around him. "You can't ask me to leave you behind. You can't."
Dean had to though, even though he knew it would kill his brother. He had to reassure him the best he could, the only way he knew how to. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispered, and with some effort, managed to lift up and touch his brother's wrist. "It's okay."
"No, Dean, I can't just leave you."
"I'll be fine," Dean reassured, lie that it was. "You have to do this, Sam. You have to. This is the only way..."
You'll survive, he couldn't say, not with Dick listening in, and the demons watching. And they were watching, black eyes difficult to read — and maybe Dean was hallucinating a little again, because they almost looked sad. "You have to do this, Sam, for Jess and the girls. You need to get back to them.
"But you'll die." Sam cried, wet hazel eyes meeting his. And in them, Dean saw all of his brother's fears and guilt. I didn't want any of you to die for this, he had told Dean once, and the thought alone had nearly made Sam fall apart. There was no avoiding it, though; all he could do was lessen the blow.
"Then let me die knowing you're safe, Sammy," he whispered.
His brother instantly went still, eyes going wide. He looked like he was eight years old again and the world was falling apart around him. Dean swallowed painfully at the reminder, but forced a smile for his brother. "You can do this, Sammy. You can do anything. Remember what I said earlier? You have to fight. And you do that by getting everyone home, okay?"
Sam let out a whimpering sound, a fresh wave of tears filling his eyes. But it seemed to be working; Dean could see it in Sam's expression that maybe he had gotten through to his brother a little. And maybe it was enough to help Sam leave him behind without utterly destroying him, to take Bobby and Cas and—
He trailed off mid-thought.
... Cas.
Dean's eyes drifted over without thinking, looking at the angel. And Cas was staring right back at him, the horror on his face saying he knew exactly what Dean had agreed to.
"We're going home."
"We are."
Dean had already said his goodbyes to Cas before this, but that had been before the boat had arrived. After that, they had kissed, and it had been a promise within a promise: That they had each other, that things were going to be okay, that they could do anything together… Even leave this island.
I want to live for you.
Dean swallowed painfully, watching the tears slip down Cas's cheeks. A familiar feeling was coming back to him, the worry he had felt about how Cas had chosen to live for him until he learned how to do it on his own… And how his guilt could consume him if Dean didn't make it. Dean had wanted him to live for something else so that wouldn't happen; That was why he had begged Cas to just live. And Cas had agreed to it… Though he had been half asleep at the time and passed out right afterward. Did he remember saying he would?
It scared Dean that he might not.
Judging by the look of utter devastation on Cas's face, he hadn't.
"Sammy," Dean whispered then, suddenly needing to do... something. He hadn't thought about it before, but now all he could think about was Cas alone, his guilt keeping him from his family, of him turning back into what he had been before. (Just an emotionless shell of an angel.) Dean couldn't let that happen, he couldn't, and there was only person who could ensure that. He needed Sam to look after Cas, to make sure he was okay... but he didn't know how to put that into words for his brother. How could he sum everything up that he needed his brother to do — and not just for Cas, but altogether—
The words came to Dean then, just a whisper in the back of his mind.
Promise me, Dean.
His heart thudded in his chest, and he found himself gripping Sam's arm. His eyes slowly traveled up to his brother's, Sam looking from Cas down to him, growing confused and worried by whatever look was on his face.
He knew the words he wanted though. "Promise me, Sammy," he whispered, and Sam's breath hitched.
If anything happens to me, promise me you'll look out for him.
When Sam had first said those words to him, Dean hadn't known what to make of them; hadn't understood why his brother would ask him that. (And God, he understood now. God, how he understood.) They had double meaning: His brother was giving him something to live for, and that was to take care of Jess and the girls; to not look for him if anything did happen to him. That aspect of that promise — even though Dean had ended up breaking it — had left him paralyzed after Sam disappeared. He had inadvertently done what Sam wanted, in the end…
He could see the same thing happening to Sam: Starting with the look of realization that crossed his brother's eyes as he realized what Dean was making him promise to do. And it left his brother paralyzed, just like he had been, staring down at him that he didn't even notice when Dick directed his demons to take him out of his brother's arms. He barely noticed the demon who approached Sam to get him to his feet, but Dean did. Her dark eyes met Dean's as she bent down to grab Sam's arm, Dean freezing when he recognized her. Her neck was heavily bandaged from where Andrea nearly had torn her neck out, skin an unhealthy pale shade. Her eyes were still the same though, one word fill their depths: Meat. You can't stop him, she had said once about the monster, No one can.
As she grabbed his arm (and Dean was left utterly confused by the look in her eyes), Sam didn't react, just staring at Dean.
Cas, however, had the complete opposite reaction.
He screamed his rage out, and the demon who had grabbed him almost dropped him. And with good reason: Dean watched as Cas's pupils slitted and every feather he had bristled. His non-injured wing flared out, and he started to rise to his feet, eyes on Dean and Dean only. All his righteous grief radiated off, giving him the strength to stagger forward toward him, arm reaching out—
He never saw the blow to the back of his head.
It wasn't enough to knock him out, but the fall hurt Cas, and took most of the fight out of him. Dean watched as he curled around himself, eyes squeezing shut in pain as he trembled violently. But that didn't stop him for long, as he uncurled himself, and his free hand, now shaking, reached out toward him again. "Dean, no," he whispered, wing flapping weakly. His eyes were red from tears, anguish making his voice raw. "No, Dean, no."
Just live, Dean thought at him as the demon gathered him up, the other half-dragging Sam toward the boat, with Bobby being pushed along with the butt of a rifle. Cas's wail of grief echoed across the beach, and Dean had to squeeze his eyes shut to contain everything inside of him.
Just live.
"Don't forget, Dean," the angel whispers to him. "Don't forget."