Chapter One
Heyyyy! Yeah, a quick update for a change! I wrote most of this today, should probably have learned for my exam next week, but I was too excited to get more of this out! Yall are lucky I'm a chronic procrastinator...
And it's only 1:30 am, early for my standards xD
Anyway, I hope this chapter will answer at least some of the questions our prologue left open...prepare for pain, I guess. Hope you enjoy it tho ahhahaha.
I would love to hear your thoughts!
~oOo~oOo~oOo~
That was how Sam found him.
The door opened slowly, a tentative hand pushing it to reveal just a crack that made light flow into the room, cutting through Dean's darkness.
"Oh, Dean..."
He was only half-aware of Sam entering, kneeling down beside him where he was crouched against a wall. He couldn't be sure how much time had passed since he'd curled up here, but if the aching in his legs and back had anything to say about it, it might have been a while. The warmth of a large hand carefully coming to rest on his shoulder was what shook Dean finally out of his trance, his eyes that had been staring at the same spot on the floor for too long finally ripped away, his stiff neck turning to look into the wide, worried eyes of his brother.
"Sam." He sounded weak and sore but he ignored it, his head filled with one thought and one thought only.
"Cas." (Fuck his voice for cracking on the name, his name.) "Is he-"
"He's still passed out", Sam replied calmly, knowing exactly what Dean was asking. "I inspected the...damage", he said cautiously, "but...I didn't want to touch him too much. Had to clean some of the wounds. I don't think he was even aware of my presence. Dean...what happened?"
Sam had been hesitant to ask but couldn't bring himself to hold back. From what he'd seen (and heard...) it wasn't too hard for him to string the truth together, but the mere thought was too horrible to let it settle, not until he'd gotten confirmation. The way Dean's whole face darkened impossibly more at his question had his stomach tied in a knot, expecting the worst, praying he wasn't right, feeble as that hope was.
"I happened."
Dean had averted his gaze, face turned back towards the floor, eyes squeezed shut.
"Lucifer." His hands clenched by his sides, nails reopening some of the scratches they'd already dug earlier, but he barely felt it. "He- I dunno how he- y-yesterday, when I was...I was fueling Baby and I- I don't remember how he got in, Sam, I don't-"
"Okay." Sam placed a gentle hand on his brother's arm, torn between the sickness in his stomach and relief that the cause of this whole mess was gone. "But he's gone now, right?", he asked, just to be sure.
"Yeah." Dean breathed out at that, but it was barely a second before his features tensed again, brow furrowed and jaw tight. "Guess he got what he came for."
"Do you know what this is about?"
Dean laughed darkly, a painful sound, hollow and bitter.
"Does he need a reason?"
Maybe not. But then, Lucifer didn't do random. There was a plan behind his actions, a purpose...and if it was just to drive a wedge between them, destroying them from within because they had crossed him one time too many.
Why this, though? Why have him- And Cas... (Dean might actually have had an idea about that too, but he would beware of telling Sam. That was his burden to bear, his shame, his fault, his-)
"He...he carved something into his back", Sam suddenly said, ripping Dean out of his thoughts.
"What?"
"Cas' back. Some sort of sigil." Sam drew his brows together, probably recalling the picture before his inner eye. "I've never seen it before but looks like it's messing with his grace."
Messing with his grace? What did that- No.
"Does that mean-" Dean broke off, tried to calm his suddenly far too rapid breathing, failed miserably. "Sammy, does that mean he's not healing?"
Sam pressed his lips together, an apologetic look in his eyes that was enough to make all air leave Dean's lungs in a rush.
No. Please no, no, no...don't make him suffer for longer, please-
"Not faster than we would, from what I could tell", Sam confirmed his fear, and Dean had to close his eyes for a second.
This can't be happening. It's too much, too cruel, he didn't deserve- not him, not-
"Fuck!"
Anger flashed through his body, hot and white, surging through his veins and forcing him to his feet.
"Oh, that sonofa- I'm gonna kill him. DO YOU HEAR ME?" The words echoed from the plain walls of the bunker, screamed into nothingness, sense- and heartless like the one they were addressing, mocking him with their futility. "I'M GONNA FIND YOU. AND THEN I'M GONNA MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS. FOR ALL OF THIS! FOR MAKING ME- making me..."
He trailed off, panting, eyes wide and desperate. His arms had started shaking violently by his side and he felt like he couldn't breathe. A hand drove through his hair as he tried to close his mind against the images that fought to flood his senses, scattered pieces that fit together to one horrible, torn picture.
Making me...
Oh, the things he'd made him do, the things Dean's mind hadn't stopped his own hands from doing...
"Sam." The anger that had given his voice strength was blown away, leaving it shaky and pleading. "Sammy, he- he made me, he...and I couldn't, I- I did this, Sammy, I-"
There were sobs clawing their way out of his throat, sudden and forceful, the hand he clasped over his mouth doing next to nothing to stifle them.
"Oh, God."
He wasn't sure if he collapsed first and Sam caught him or maybe the arms had already closed around him before he fell apart, who knew. He just kept clinging to the solid frame of his brother holding him up, hands fisted in the blue and green flannel in a desperate grip. And for a while, the only sound in the room was his muffled sobs, half-swallowed by Sam's shoulder, and the soothing words mumbled against his ear.
"I know. It's alright. It's all gonna be alright", he heard the reassuring whisper, knew it was all lies. Nothing was alright. The sobs refused to subside and he was too tired to stop them.
Sam was the relentless rock to Dean's overpowering waves, steady and comforting, keeping him on his feet until the flood slowly retreated, the hands that had been placed on his back slowly gripping his shoulders to guide him backwards. For a second Dean felt the urge to give his still unsteady legs some rest, sit down on a chair or the bed perhaps, but a glance around the room reminded him that all the furniture had fallen victim to his earlier surge of rage. So he simply wiped his embarrassingly damp cheeks, willing his legs to obey and hold him up, finally gathering the courage to meet his brother's eyes again. His expression was unreadable, and Dean was just expecting him to comment on the uncharacteristic meltdown he'd just witnessed, a sarcastic retort about chick-flick moment ready on his tongue-
"You should go and see him", Sam said instead, catching Dean off-guard.
"I- what?" That was the last thing he had expected to hear. Hadn't Sam heard a single word he'd said?
"No..." His head shook frantically, eyes wide and scared, "No, Sammy, I can't. I can't."
The way his brother looked at him now was unmistakable, just sad and pleading.
"Dean-"
"Idid this to him", Dean repeated. Couldn't Sam understand that?
I raped him, he wanted to scream, but he couldn't, couldn't bring his mouth to form the word, couldn't force his ears to hear the truth, plain and cruel.
"I can't- can't expect him to- He's not even gonna want to see me, Sam. And I can't blame him, I can't ask him to."
"It wasn't your fault, Dean", Sam said, and oh, how Dean wished he could believe that. "Cas knows that."
Dean snorted, a hysterical sound that forced its way out of him instead of the pathetic tears he actually felt like crying again.
"Oh, does he? Because I don't."
"It's not your fault."
He knew Sam meant well. But he had no idea. He couldn't know-
"Then whose is it, Sam, huh? Tell me", Dean challenged, hating himself for directing his own anger and frustration at Sam instead. "Lucifer? Yeah, but that son of a bitch is not here. It's not his face Cas had to look at while he- while..."
While it happened. While I- Oh God, he wasn't gonna throw up again in front of his brother.
"Sam, I can't ask that of him. Of course I want to see him. Gods, I'd be there right now but I- I won't force him, Sam, I can't."
He could just imagine it, the look of fear and disgust in those blue eyes he loved so much, the usual warmth and kindness replaced by hatred and shame. No, he couldn't, he couldn't.
"He doesn't even know it wasn't me", Dean said more to himself, the realization leaving him in a breathy whisper. "Of fuck, goddam- God, he doesn't- what if he thinks-" He was fisting his hair again, wild eyes finding his brother's. "Tell him. Please, Sam, even if he doesn't wanna see me again, please tell him I'd never-"
"Dean." Sam's voice was too soft, too comforting. "You really think Cas doesn't know that?"
"I- I don't..." Dean swallowed. His heart screamed that Sam was right, that Cas had to know, would never believe Dean was capable of something like this- But his head showed him flashes of what he'd done, his own voice as a vicious snarl echoing in his ears, words that were constructed to sound like it was Dean speaking, giving no sign of another being behind his actions but the fact that they were spoken at all.
Come on, Cas. You knew this would happen sooner or later. The way you look at me? Don't pretend you don't want this!
"I don't know", Dean finally mumbled. "I really- I don't know."
Sam looked at him for a moment with that perpetually sad gaze, but then he nodded.
"He's not awake yet, but I'm gonna make sure he knows, ok?"
"Yeah." Dean pressed his lips together. "Yeah, thanks."
"What are you gonna do now?"
Dean had asked himself the same question, didn't get to an answer.
"I seriously- I have no idea, I- Shit, this is all so fucked up." He ran his hands over his face and down over his mouth, breathed out through his fingers. "I guess I'm just gonna wait here til he wakes up and then...leave it to Cas."
"Leave what to Cas?" Sam's eyes widened, his head slowly shaking in disbelief. "Dean, you're not seriously thinking about- leaving because of this."
"What else can I do?" Dean didn't wait for an answer, too tired to deal with any of Sam's logic shit right now, or even worse - talks about friendship and family and feelings.
"I have to be realistic here, Sam. I don't know the damage this has done, ok?" (And they both knew he was far from talking about external wounds here.) "I don't know where that motherfucker is, I don't know why he did it, I don't know what Cas will say, I-" He sighed, resigned. "I just gotta prepare myself for every possibility."
"But Dean, Cas is your friend. Your best friend, surely he-"
"Was", Dean broke him off, the word like venom on his tongue. "He was my best friend."
"Dean."
"Sam." Dean shook his head. "You have no idea. The things he made me do to him, I-" He couldn't recall any of it, couldn't let himselfrecall any of it. He swallowed the bile rising up in his throat, closed his eyes to gather himself for a moment.
The words that left his mouth when he opened them again had come unannounced, and they sounded alarmingly final even to his own ears.
"There are things even profound bonds can't fix."
Silence settled between them for some time after that, and Dean couldn't help but be grateful for it, a break from remembering things he desperately craved to forget, from having to give answers to questions he didn't have an answer to.
"Where would you even go?", Sam asked after a while, making Dean sigh internally. "I mean..."
"Yeah." Dean shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno, man. I'm just...gonna think about that when the time comes."
If the time comes. Which it won't, Sam's eyes seemed to say, but Dean ignored it, couldn't allow himself to be infected by futile hope.
"I-" Sam swallowed. "Okay. I'm gonna...I guess I'm gonna sit with him til he wakes up. Maybe...change some bandages."
He hesitantly made move towards the door, feeling that there wasn't more to get out of Dean at the moment, and still he stayed turned towards his bother as he went, searching eyes full of worry. Dean couldn't even appreciate it. There was nothing Sam could do to help him. And he sure as hell wasn't the one that needed their care and attention right now.
"Yes." He tried to nod encouragingly, but it sounded pained.
This should be my place to fill, he couldn't help but think, heart constricting painfully in his chest. I should be the one watching over him.
But he couldn't. And maybe that was fair. He shouldn't be allowed to lighten his guilt. Maybe having to stay away was his punishment, always wondering how he was, a hopeless and helpless spectator from the bleachers.
"Do whatever you can to help him."
"Of course."
"Oh, and Sam?"
"Yeah?"
His brother paused, hand already grasping the door to pull it open.
"Get him out of that room. I don't want him to wake up there."
Sam's brow furrowed.
"I'm not sure it would be wise to move him, the wound on his back-"
"No." Dean's voice was resolute, demanding. "Get him out of there."
He couldn't stand the thought of Cas waking up to those same surroundings, triggering memories and forcing his mind back to- No. He should feel as safe and comfortable as possible, anything to help him recover, because he had to, he had-
"Please", Dean added more softly, pressing his lips together. "Please, I can't stand-"
"Okay."
Sam still looked doubtful, but he nodded, and Dean felt a breath of relief leave his lungs.
"Thank you."
~oOo~oOo~oOo~
Sam had done as he'd asked, managed to bring Cas to his own room, and Dean hoped the familiarity of home surrounding him would soothe Cas at least a little once he woke up...if Cas still saw this place as home, that was...
Dean himself was sitting in his room now that Cas was out of there, furiously cleaning every millimeter, his hands already bloated and sore from water and bleach. But he couldn't stop. The room felt stained, tainted in a way that all the soap of the world wouldn't be able to cleanse, but he had to try anyway. So he scrubbed and scrubbed until his knees were aching and his knuckles raw, and then he scrubbed some more. Sam had passed his door a few times, but he hadn't commented on it, had left Dean to his own, and he was glad.
The sheets. He'd have to burn the sheets later. But not yet. He couldn't stand to look at them, let alone touch them. Keep your eyes, down on your hands, back and forth, back and forth, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.
And then, later, he knew he couldn't sleep here, in this room smelling of bleach, on this bed, on these fresh sheets, the sheets he forced himself to change for Cas, because of Cas.
In fact he couldn't sleep at all, couldn't close his eyes to darkness and silence. Because the darkness didn't stay dark, and the silence didn't stay silent. Pictures of naked skin, writhing, struggling to get away. And sounds, so many sounds, whimpers, cries of pain, pleas.
Please, stop. Don't do this. I can't- please, no more.
At least he'd never said his name. He'd never said Dean. Maybe he couldn't bear to say it, now that he thought the person belonging to that name, the person he thought to be his friend, was capable of this.
Dean was grateful. Like this, perhaps he could remember his name the way it used to come from Cas' lips, warm and affectionate. Memory was all he had, he was sure.
He'd never get to hear his name spoken that way again.