A/N: Shall we see how Sam is faring? Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement!
-o-
Being pissed off at Cas was easy enough, and it was even distracting. But as he made his way back toward the river, he was struck with the sudden sense of fear that was pulsing through his body. Almost foreign, but somehow familiar. The uncertainty, the desperation, the concern: the things of brothers. They had not been completely forgotten, not even when he'd had Sam locked up in the panic room all on his own; it had still been there.
Yet it was different, now. Acute. Unadulterated. During that year post-Hell, Dean's fear for Sam had been intertwined with his own insecurities, so laden with anger and grief that it was hard to see Sammy beyond the questionable actions his little brother was taking. After all, it was sort of hard to be big brother of the year when he was trying to get his mind around being a torturer turned savior.
Even in the end, when he got to that convent in Maryland, he'd been more afraid of what destruction Sam would cause rather than what it would do to Sam himself.
It had been a slow rebuilding process for both of them since they, snippets of trust, tacit agreements, and Sam's implicit consent and Dean's forced trust to let Sam ride by his side once again. Dean knew it wasn't perfect, knew there was still plenty of things they needed to talk about, things like why Ruby had gotten ahold of Sam, why Sam had changed, why they were still in this together, but it was the apocalypse. There were bigger issues, more important things--
Maybe he'd forgotten, though. Forgotten what started this. Forgotten the feeling of Sam's limp body in his arm, the look of Sam's graying skin as he started to decompose on the bed, the sheer desperation of doing anything to get him back.
It had been selfish, yes, and Dean would readily admit to that still. But it wasn't entirely selfish. It was about needing his brother. More than life itself, more than his soul: he needed his brother.
He just hadn't realized that sealing that deal would actually cost him the very thing that motivated him to make it in the first place. By saving his brother, he'd managed to lose the inherent love that had made it worthwhile, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it...until now.
For a year, the only times he'd almost lost Sam, he'd been ready to let the kid go. At least he'll die human. It was his line in the sand, and so much of him had believed that Sam was beyond hope from the first time he found out that Sam was using his powers until that last moment when he saw Sam turn to Lilith and end the world. Even when he chose Sam, put Sam above everything, even when he sold his soul to the angels and called to make amends, part of him was still ready to accept losing Sam, maybe because he thought he already had.
But he hadn't. He hadn't lost Sam, he hadn't even lost Sammy, no matter how often he thought to the contrary. And this hunt proved it. He hadn't even known what was missing until it was back in place: Sam's partnership, not his subservience. Sam's part as an equal player, not as a foot soldier to be ordered around.
Knowing Sam had come back for him, had jumped with him--it brought it all back into focus. Beyond Cas' master plan, beyond the demons' conspiracies, beyond Lucifer himself, brothers. Painful and harsh and desperate, Dean felt the feeling gnawing at the growing pit in his stomach; he needed his brother. Demon blood, demon's bitch, Lucifer's chosen, Dean's little brother. He couldn't have one without the other, and, in the end, Dean was pretty sure he knew what mattered more than all of that: Sam himself.
Dean had spent his entire life reducing Sam to roles, not even to be cruel, but because that was how life was. He always saw Sam as a function of his environment, as an extension of himself, which is why it had hurt so much to see Sam change without him. Sure, he would love for the kid to start acting a little more like Dean's best friend, but it wasn't Sam's job to be his best friend. It was his job to be his brother and so the kid had fallen down on the job pretty badly a year ago, but, then again, they both had. Dean had needed Bobby to kick him in the pants, and Sam hadn't had anyone to put him back on the straight and narrow.
But destiny was a harsh teacher, and Sam had learned his lesson. After all, Sam was here, Sam was by his side. He'd stepped up and helped kill Ruby, and had been following Dean's lead ever since, without question or presumption. Sam was doing everything he could and even if the angels couldn't see it, Dean knew that his brother had more than made up for it.
Dean picked up his pace, feet crashing over the deadened ground. He had just rediscovered his brother, maybe for the first time in a long time, and he couldn't lose him now.
The fear steeled him, and he rediscovered something else. More than a savior of the world, he was a big brother. He could kill Lucifer and none of it would matter if he didn't save Sam.
Then he saw it--the tree stumps dissipated and the horizon expanded before him as he recognized the cliff where he and Sam had made their stand.
Logically, he knew Sam wouldn't be there anymore, not given the time that had passed, but he couldn't stop his heart from lurching in his chest as he skidded to a stop over the edge. He looked down, over the river. It was longer than he remembered, and despite Cas' assurance that the fall probably hadn't been fatal, Dean could see the rocks below. Worse than that, down stream he could see the rapids pick up.
He swallowed hard, his eyes frantically scanning the scene.
There was nothing. Not a demon, not a freakin' possessed bunny, and not a little brother. "Sam!" he called. He looked upstream in desperation and the same desolation scene greeted him. "Sam!"
His own voice echoed back to him in the deadened forest.
For a moment, he thought this is it. His despair was vast, if impractical, but he could not deny it. Sam had always been strong, but Dean had to admit, it was less so these days. His brother had withdrawn a lot since Lucifer had been sprung, and his brother's once massive frame seemed like a shadow of its former self. Sam still worked out when Dean prompted him, but getting the kid to eat was a chore that Dean often reduced to guilt trips to simplify it.
So, Sam wasn't in the peak physical condition he once was, and it gave Dean reason enough to doubt that Sam would have the physical prowess to pull himself out of the water.
And he didn't even want to get into the emotional side of it. He'd only caught the kid with a gun in his mouth once, but once was enough, and Dean was wary of the multiple times he'd found Sam in the hands of a demon, thrashed and bloody, doing far too little to defend himself. Dean was all for Sam going clean, but that didn't mean that he liked the idea of his brother being essentially defenseless around a loose demon. There was only one knife, and Dean still carried, and though Sam could rattle off an exorcism from heart pretty quick, it wasn't always quick enough.
Sam wouldn't roll over and die, though. Dean just couldn't believe that. Not after all this.
Dean just had to keep looking. There was a current in the river, and so Sam probably would have been swept downstream. Even if he'd been just fine from the fall, there was no doubt that it would have taken him a ways to make it to shore. Then, from shore, Sam would have had to find a way back up to the ridge.
Which meant Dean had to keep looking.
Running along the cliff, Dean kept one eye keenly on the edge while still keeping an attentive gaze on the water below. Sam had to be somewhere. And he couldn't have gotten that far, not without divine intervention.
The banks were empty, though. There was nothing except the steady thrum of the river pouring over the rocks.
"Sammy!" he called out. "Sam!"
Then, he heard something that made him pause. Not a voice. Not a human sound. Not even a sound of animals or demons or worse, demonic animals, but--
Dean's stomach bottomed out.
It was a steady rush, a constant and throbbing roar. Squinting ahead, he could make out the river stretching toward the horizon before it just disappeared.
A waterfall.
If Sam hadn't gotten out of the water, he would have gone over. And if Sam had gotten out of the water, Dean would have seen him by now.
Dean gaped for a moment, unable to force his mind into working. Knowing Sam had jumped off a cliff with a horde of demons on his tail was one thing. Thinking that Sam may not have gotten out the water was something else entirely.
Panic flaring in him, he broke into a sprint, running doggedly toward the sound. When he got there, he stumbled to a stop, dumbstruck and horrified.
The waterfall was wide and flush, pounding down hard on the pool in the river beneath it. White foam frothed at its base, swirling with eddies. It might have been beautiful, but Dean was too busy calculating just how dangerous it was to appreciate anything to do with its inherent beauty.
It wasn't as far as he'd feared, but it was far enough. A good 15 feet, and given the roar of the water, powerful enough to do some damage. The force going over the falls would be substantial, and even a good swimmer might be lucky to buoy up on the other end unscathed.
Worse, were the rocks. Speckled on both ends, the jagged ends were foreboding. There was a wide, mostly open gap in the middle, but it would be a crap shoot going over.
Beyond that, Dean couldn't tell how deep it was, but the river didn't slow down for long. The current kept going strong, moving quickly from the base of the falls into a rocky patch of rapids.
All things considered, it was a recipe for disaster. Even if the fall wasn't deadly, it would be disorienting. And if Sam had gone over, he wouldn't have had any time to recover before being pulled through the rapids.
Denial was setting in. It looked hopeless. Jumping off a cliff was one thing, going down stream in heavy rapids was another, but a waterfall? His brother's skills had slipped in recent months, but even in his prime, Dean wasn't sure Sam could have handled this much.
But he had to. Dean had to think the odds could work out in Sam's favor. Even a hundred to one, a thousand to one. Something.
Then, he saw it. A flicker of movement. A human blur.
Dean had to squint to see it, and he ran closer, calling out his brother's name as he did. There was a faint movement again, and Dean made out the figure curled on the ground. It was just along the edge of the water, and the long legs were still partially submerged in the shallows. Though mostly limp, Dean could see the subtle movements, the labored rise and fall of his brother's chest, clearly visible even from a distance.
The relief that spread through Dean was almost intoxicating, powerful and overwhelming with its sheer weight.
Sam was alive.
He'd jumped off a cliff, evaded demons, gone over a waterfall, and survived.
The story of Sam's life. No matter what tragedy, no matter what pain, no matter what mistakes, Sam just survived. It was almost a cruel reality for his brother, to lose everyone and everything, including himself, and still not be spared anything.
And yet, Dean was grateful. He was grateful to still have his brother, to not have to face life without him, to not have to face life knowing he'd failed. Failure was powerful and controlling--failure drove Dean to the crossroads and it had driven Sam to start the end of the world. It was that depth of pain and regret that Dean couldn't face, even when it meant that it would be Sam who suffered that burden in his stead.
Hell had been no picnic--it had been Hell--but in the months that had passed, Dean was able to see that his sins were not in the fiery pits, but in that failure to cope. He had grown beyond his torture, taken the trauma of what had happened to him down there and let it strengthen him, and yet, when faced with the prospect of losing his brother, he was still John Winchester's good little soldier, completely incapable of facing failure.
Except that wasn't true. This wasn't about following orders--not anymore. Sam wasn't some innocent to protect. Sam wasn't some little kid in need of coddling. Sam was a grown man, a fallen man, a man who made his own choices and had to face up to them. Dean's job wasn't to be Sam's protector anymore--his calling was far higher.
In that way, maybe Castiel was right.
In so many other ways, Dean just didn't care. It wasn't his job to take care of Sammy. It was his privilege to have brother who, despite everything, he still loved, and who still loved him.
A privilege he'd overlooked, one that he'd felt burdened by, hadn't known what to do with. He'd allowed himself to belittle Sam when it made things easier, he'd made Sam take a back seat on the planning. He hadn't trust the kid with the details of hunts, he had refused to allow Sam to lead in any regard. Of course, some of that was justified. Sam's lies and deceit over the last year had made him somewhat less than trustworthy, but it had been months. Months without a single unexplained absence. Months without the slightest lie. Months without a drop of demon blood, a single use of the powers--nothing. Months of Sam's unwavering obedience, like he was a second-rate soldier.
It made things easier, but Dean knew it was problematic, because it wasn't Sam. It wasn't even living. It was mere existence, and given the number of times Dean ordered the kid to eat, that wasn't even Sam's choice either.
Which was why Dean knew his brother was alive. Dean hadn't given him permission to die, and he trusted Sam in that. And if he could trust Sam to live, then maybe it was time to trust his brother in other ways as well.
He had to start by seeing how the kid was. Alive was a relief, but okay was another question entirely.
"Sam!" he called again, begging the lump to move again--something more significant, something more indicative of awareness.
He went closer, eyeing the edge, looking for some way down, while keeping an eye on his brother's limp form.
"Come on, dude," he muttered. "Sam!"
Then, Sam twitched. It was a small movement, almost spastic.
Dean yelled again, encouraged by the results, cupping his hands to his mouth to amplify the sound as best he could. "Sam!"
Sam moved again, drawing his limbs in as he curled slightly to his side.
The movement was a good sign. Dean watched carefully, watched as his brother moved each limb, which meant there were no major breaks. Sam might even be mobile right away, which meant they could hightail it out of there and regroup before the demons got their act together again and found them.'
"Sam!" he called again.
Even from a distance, he could see his brother's face scrunch up, his forehead wrinkling as his eyelids fluttered. Then, with an awkward heaving motion, his brother propped himself up on his hands, his torso swaying a little. Sam shook his head slightly, moving one hand from the ground to his head, as if to clear it.
Dean yelled again, his voice feeling the strain. "Sam!"
Sam looked up at that, squinting painfully into the sunlight as he scanned the ridge where Dean was standing.
Dean waved, calling out again. "Sam, you hear me?"
For a second, their eyes met. He saw Sam smile, and Dean recognized his relief. "Dean!" he yelled back, and his voice sounded weary and strained, but alive. "You okay?"
"Dude," Dean called out, unable to contain his grin. "Apparently I can fly!"
He saw Sam sag with it, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. "I didn't know where you were!"
Then Dean got Sam's relief: his brother didn't know Dean had been whisked away. His brother didn't know what happened to him at all. Which was why Sam had never gotten out of the water. He had stayed, searching for him, probably diving beneath the water to pull Dean out.
Only Dean hadn't been there. And Sam had gotten swept downstream and gone over a freakin' waterfall because of it.
Apparently, brotherly devotion wasn't a one-way street anymore. Maybe it never was.
"Touched by an angel, of course," Dean said.
"Castiel?"
"Who else?"
Sam's shoulders seemed to slump and he closed his eyes. Dean couldn't tell what Sam muttered, but the relief on his brother's face was evident.
"So you're okay?" Sam asked.
"I'm not the one who went over a waterfall."
"It wasn't quite as bad as you'd think," Sam said.
"Yeah? Was it like being tossed around by a billion tons of water?"
"Uh, yeah," Sam said. "And you can't forget the part about getting tossed into rocks and turned over so many times you don't know which way is up."
"Oh, so pretty run of the mill."
"Well, since not all of us can fly."
Dean's smile widened. The banter was good--it was very good. It just wasn't overly productive. "Can you see a way up?" Dean called down.
Sam squinted, turning his head to peer along the ridge. He looked back at Dean, shading his eyes with his hand. "The cliff slopes out about a half mile down that way!" he called. "It'll still be a hike, but I think I can probably get up."
"Maybe I should come down," Dean offered.
"Don't we still have to get rid of the demons?"
"Cas is working on it," Dean said, hoping it was mostly true.
Sam looked back down toward the path he'd indicated and then looked back at Dean, shaking his head. "Too risky," he called. "You have the exorcism. So you'll need to cover me if they do show up. Besides, we can't get out from down here, can we?"
"And you think I remember how to get out from up here?" Dean asked, nose scrunched.
He saw his brother laugh, and it felt awesome. Sam ducked his head for a moment, before squinted upwards again, a grin on his face. "I'm glad you're okay," he yelled. "When I hit the water and you weren't here--"
"Dude, less emo crap," he interrupted. "More climbing. You know, before demonic Bambi and Thumper make an appearance."
Sam offered him a lopsided grin, moving slowly toward the rocky incline. Movement would be slow, Dean was sure, especially with the heavy wet clothes. The kid moved gingerly, and Dean could only guess that the trip down the river had left Sam more than a little bruised.
But that wasn't going to stop Sam. His brother was already making his way up, stepping carefully over the rocks, using his hands to balance himself.
Then Dean heard it. Quiet and distant, but Dean recognized it. The steady buzzing, the sound of a hundred voices, distinct but still talking as one.
His heart skipped a beat as he looked up, squinting back toward the forest. There was nothing there, except a cloud of dust, raising far on the horizon line.
But not far enough.
The demons were on the move, which wasn't a good sign. Dean couldn't be sure they were coming for him, but it was a good bet. Dean was the immediate threat. As self aware as the swarm may have been, they were still pretty limited in the scope of their originality. They would destroy one threat before taking on another.
He turned his eyes back to Sam. "You think you can hurry up?" he called.
Sam paused. "Why?"
"Because I think we got company," Dean told him.
The meager humor that had laced Sam's features dissipated. "The demons?"
"They're a ways out, but I think they're coming our way," Dean told him. There was a crash and a roar, louder than Dean expected. He turned his head back toward the horizon, and cursed.
They were out of time. The herd was closer than Dean had anticipated, and Dean's angelic host apparently hadn't quite made it back in time to help out with the encore.
He looked back at Sam, who was still pulling himself up the steep incline. Sam had picked up the pace, moving steadily up the side of the cliff, but it was still slow enough to be problematic.
On the incline, Sam was completely vulnerable. The kid needed both hands to pull himself up and while Sam would probably be able to recite an exorcism or two from memory, Dean doubted they would be the right ones.
He was just going to have to do it himself. He had hoped to set up a bit more, to lay out some devil traps to at least give them a bit more leeway. But his focus had been on Sam, and it was too late for any of that now.
He looked back at his brother, who met his eyes. Dean understood without asking--Sam's tacit consent to do what needed to be done. At any cost.
Not at any cost. Not this time.
Hurriedly, he dug through his pack, finding some salt and the exorcism. He was about to pour a circle of salt around him, with the ground shook and the buzz surged.
Looking up, the pack was moving quickly on the horizon line, headed straight toward them.
Which was really not good. Even if Dean had time to lay down a ring of salt for himself, Sam would be vulnerable.
Hesitating, Dean looked back at his brother. "Sammy, we've got demons heading our way. Can you get to cover?"
Sam gave the surrounding area a look, turning his gaze back to Dean. "I don't really have much leverage here."
"Just someplace for a ring of salt--something," Dean called down.
"Dean, you need to focus."
"I am focused!"
"On the demons," Sam said. "They're coming and you're the one with the exorcism."
It was logic, yes, but it only veiled the self-sacrifice. Sam would never put himself above the mission. Especially not now.
And Dean wasn't sure he could either, no matter how much he wanted to.
Looking back at the horizon, the pack was closer, moving steadily, almost as if they were chasing something.
And then he realized who they were chasing.
Dean swore again.
Castiel was moving at a fast pace, storming steadily out of the decimated forest.
Dean didn't have a choice. The angel was leading them straight here, no questions asked. There wasn't even time for the salt--just time to start reading and hope that Cas could pull out some freaky angel crap to give him the time he needed.
The Latin, even from a distance, had an immediate impact. The horde shuddered, an inhuman groan howling into the sky. It regained quickly, pulling toward him quickly.
Determined, Dean held his ground, keeping his Latin steady.
The roar of the animals grew furious and hysterical and it was all Dean could do to keep from ducking.
Castiel was closer now, and Dean could make out the grim determination on his face.
Trusting the angel was still hard after all this time, especially when he was bringing in a host of demonic animals on his tail. But Castiel wouldn't act without a plan--would he?
Dean shifted uncomfortably, glancing backward for a brief second, while he kept the exorcism going.
As they closed in, Dean tensed, curling in on himself. Castiel stopped short of him, turning abruptly to face them, and Dean couldn't help but duck as the leading edge, complete with charging buffalo and raging bear, came at him with a ravenous roar that he felt down to his boots.
The charge, however, stopped short of Castiel, the demons crashing into each other. The front line twittered as the ones behind fell into formation, just beyond Castiel's reach.
Mouth open, Dean could only stare. It was quite a sight. Over two hundred animals, with deep black eyes, pulsing just mere feet from where Dean was standing.
All in all, it was a pretty cool trick. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that before?" Dean snapped.
Castiel looked back at him, nonplussed. "You didn't ask."
"So the fact that I was nearly killed by these guys earlier meant nothing you."
"I was unsure how long I could maintain this type of diversion."
"Wait--what?" Dean asked. "You can't hold this forever?"
Castiel grimaced. "It is quite taxing."
"You're an angel. And I thought you said these guys wouldn't be a problem."
"Dean, do you wish to relive the misjudgments on both our parts or finish this hunt before they overwhelm my defenses."
As fun as getting mauled by a demonic bear sounded, living sounded a little better.
"Dean!" Sam's voice called from below.
Looking over the edge, Dean gave his brother a thumb's up. "We're cool up here, Sam, just keep climbing."
Sam didn't seem to believe him, but Dean didn't have time for it. "Cas here is going to zap these demons into submission." He turned his eyes back to Castiel. "Aren't you?"
"One demon is not problematic," Castiel explained. "But the sheer number of them is more than I am capable of defeating."
"So why don't you zap us out of here?" Dean asked. "All of us."
"If you would not come to the battle, I had to bring the battle to you," Castiel said. "This is a fight we must wage, and one we must win."
"You set me up? You knew I had to get Sam out."
"You are missing the point," Castiel told him, his voice hitching a little. "They are ready to move beyond this portion of the woods. Their threat to the world is imminent. While we can escape, our failure to stop them here would result in mass casualties."
Castiel's apocalyptic logic was as sound as it had ever been, and it pissed Dean off. Logical and calculating--Castiel liked everything to make sense, to line all his ducks up in a row--even if they purposefully left Sam out.
"Dean," Castiel's voice cut harshly over the roar. His voice was heavily strained now, and his face looked pained. "You must finish the exorcism."
"How long can you hold them?"
Castiel grimaced, the animals sidling up against an invisible barrier. They were frothing at the mouth now, eyes pitch black, mouths moving. "A few minutes, maybe more."
"I still don't get why you didn't mention this before, you know, when you were telling me how easy it would be."
"Our intelligence was not as accurate as I would have hoped. I was not sure of their true nature until I faced them."
"You really might want to do a little bit more research before these things," Dean said. "Just so we actually know what we're doing."
The animals craned their heads, one after another, and the voice from them rose again. "We are Legion," they said.
"Yeah, yeah, I got that part," Dean muttered. "Let me guess, you are one, right?"
"Go," Castiel said tersely. "Quickly, I cannot hold them indefinitely and you are wasting time."
A bear surged against the barrier, hissing as he did so, and Dean could see the size of the thing's teeth.
He didn't need any more incentive.
Fumbling for the papers, he found his starting place. With a breath, he glanced at the animals, and it was all the resolve he needed.
It was faster than he remembered, though not having to fend off attacks probably helped. He just needed to focus and to read and trust Cas to get him through this--to get them through this. He spared a glance over his shoulder, where Sam was still making slow progress up the incline. Just a little longer and they could all go home.
A howl broke out, and the animals convulsed. "You can stop one," they said. "But you cannot stop all. We are Legion. We will destroy."
Castiel cried out, his outstretched arm wavering. "You must hurry," he called. "I cannot hold them longer."
Mouth dry, Dean chanted faster, his lips tripping over the ancient language. He let it flow, feeling its power throb in the air, building and building--
And then the air cracked. Castiel stumbled into him, and Dean didn't have time to catch his footing. In horror, Dean watched the swarm converge, a perfectly crafted sphere, moving in tandem and coming right at them.
Dean ducked instinctively, and he felt Castiel pull himself over him, covering him. There was a thundering sound and the ground quaked before the squeals of animals and the thumping of flesh on flesh overtook him.
For a moment, it was a blur of sound and sensation, too fast and furious to even fully comprehend. Dean's heart pounded in his ears and his breath caught painfully in his lungs and he wondered briefly if he might die.
But then, it was over.
Castiel moved, cautiously, and Dean found himself blinking up into the sunlight.
"They are gone," Castiel informed him.
Pushing to his feet, Dean stared out over what was left of the cliff. It had crumbled away, whole sections missing now, and when Dean peered down, he could see animal carcasses spread across the floor of the river canyon.
"They're dead," Dean said. He looked to Castiel, wide eyed.
The angel nodded gravely. "The demons did not want to leave without a fight," he said. "The loss will disrupt the ecosystem, but not overturn it. It is an acceptable victory."
Dean wasn't a tried and true tree hugger, but it was still kind of hard to see. Moose and buffalo and bunnies--
Then Dean realized what was missing. His stomach bottomed out and his mouth went dry. "Oh, no, Sam!" he called, looking over the rocks. "Sam!"
The incline was changed now, littered with new rocks, both large and small. A few small animals were caught among the wreckage, partially squashed by the slide.
But, more than that, Sam was gone.
Just like that. One second, Sam was scaling the side of the cliff. The next, the rocks had swallowed him whole.
Time stood still. All Dean could do was stare out over the marred landscape. The incline was covered now, the haphazard path Sam had scoped out completely gone. The boulders from the cliff's edge were varied in size, from small debris to large boulders. If Sam had gotten crushed by one of the larger ones--
Dean wouldn't think it. He couldn't.
"Sam!" he yelled.
Stumbling forward, he stepped down cautiously, testing the rock. When it didn't skid, he moved down another one. "Sammy!"
He scaled faster now, loose rock sliding out from under his feet. For a second he thought he might trigger a second slide, but the rocks stood steady. Dean should have stopped probably--this wasn't safe for him or for Sam--but stopping meant not helping Sam. And not helping Sam just wasn't an option.
He skidded further, losing his footing and landing hard on his backside. Tears burned at the back of his eyes, and he gritted his teeth against him, pushing back to his feet desperately. He was tripping forward this time when a pair of hands stopped him.
Dean didn't have to look to know who it was.
Castiel held him fast, restraining him as Dean pulled hard to get away.
"Dean, we must--"
Dean thrashed against him, shoving hard at the angel and staring him down venomously. "We must do nothing," he seethed. "Except help my brother."
He could see the argument flash through Castiel's eyes, the reminder about the greater good, the incessant big picture of saving the world. Dean had been swayed by it before, time and time again. He'd let himself believe it when they'd locked Sam up the first time, when he'd let Castiel keep Sam out of the top secret meetings, when he'd ordered Sam around on a need-to-know basis.
That bigger picture--it was crap, because Sam may have been in it, but he didn't matter, and everyone knew it. Especially Sam. He was tired of seeing Sam's eyes look as lifeless as though he were dead. Sam deserved more than that, and that was the thing worth fighting for the most.
Castiel's features settled, and Dean saw the hardness of his countenance soften for the first time in a long time. Dean remembered the Castiel he used to know, the one who empathized with humans and regretted the tough choices he had to make. War did funny things to people and angels alike, and if ever Dean needed Cas to remember what got the angel in this position to begin with, it was now.
"His time is short," Castiel said finally. "His body is in mortal peril."
Dean's heart skipped a beat. "Where is he? Can you get him out?"
"It would require me to move the entire landscape," Castiel said.
"Then move the entire freakin' landscape," Dean demanded. "Move the entire freakin' mountain for all I care."
"It could make the situation worse, cause another slide--"
"What exactly are you trying to say here, Cas?"
"I cannot retrieve him," Castiel said.
Dean's jaw tightened. There was no use arguing with Castiel's mysterious ways nonsense. He had to appeal to the vestiges of humanity Castiel had never been able to deny. "No," he said. "But you sure as hell can help."
The angel looked confused. "But how?"
Leaning forward, Dean pulled at a rock. "Use that freaky angel strength and start moving. You don't want to shift the entire thing--fine. We'll do it the old-fashioned way. One rock at a time."
Dean grunted, throwing a rock out of the way. It was a drop in the bucket, and he tried not to look at the pile in front of him. But his heart was pounding and his mind was racing, and all he could think was that Sam was under there somewhere and he was still alive, and Dean didn't want Sam to die a monster and he didn't want Sam to die human--he just didn't want Sam to die at all.
With effort, he levered another rock out of the way, a rivulet of sweat trickling down his back. His muscles groaned with the strain, but he didn't stop. Sam hadn't stopped. Sam had let Lucifer out and still hadn't stopped. Sam had gotten tossed over a waterfall and hadn't stopped. Dean might quit some things, but he wouldn't quit this.
The next rock was harder, large and cumbersome. He strained, trying to pull it, but it barely shifted before clattering back into place. Dean tried again, biting down hard as his entire body trembled with the weight.
He couldn't do it. Panting, he dropped the rock, leaning his head forward, feeling tendrils of panic taking root. He was so close to Sam, so close to really making things right with Sam again, and he didn't have the strength. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.
A sob caught in his throat, unbidden and unexpected. Another followed, and he felt himself caving, and he didn't stop it. It hurt worse than Hell. It hurt worse than the end of the world. It felt worse than breaking the first seal, all on his own.
This was his purpose. Not the one God had given him, not even the one his father had left him with. But the one he chose for himself: being a brother. It wasn't about being the savior, it wasn't about being God's so-called warrior, it was this. Sam's brother. The one thing he wanted to fight for, and there was nothing he could do to earn that title back. Not with Sam buried under heavy rock.
Dean had lost. He could redeem his soul, he could save the world, but Dean had lost everything. And it wasn't just that Sam might die, though Dean knew it was probable; it was that his brother might die before Dean had the chance to apologize, before Dean had a chance to set things right between them. He'd been so good at telling Sam how wrong the kid was that he'd completely overlooked his own role in it and it couldn't be too late.
He attacked the rock again, desperate and with every ounce of strength he had. He would do this. He would do this for Sam, for himself, for both of them.
He labored and sweated, cursed and grunted, and fell slack against the rock. Gutted, he screamed, "Sammy! Sammy, answer me!"
It wouldn't do much good, but it was all he had. Maybe if he had some kind of direction, knew better where to dig. Sam could have been moved by the rocks, swept downhill with them. If Sam could talk to him, give him some kind of clue--
He pounded hard against the rock, moving from it to another, scrabbling at the smaller ones, trying to clear any path he could. It was reckless and haphazard, and Dean knew on some level that it could do more harm than good, but it didn't matter. He had to do something, because sitting around doing nothing was worse than dying.
Then, someone touched him.
Dean flinched, turning to face Castiel, fist pulled back. "If you're not going to help, leave me alone," he spat.
"Dean," Castiel said emphatically. "You must listen."
"I don't want to listen to you, you--"
"No, listen," Castiel said again, inclining his head to the hillside.
His mouth was open with another threat, and then, he heard it.
Distant but screaming: "Dean!"
Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy!" he called back, scrambling down the hill toward his brother's voice. "Sam, where are you?"
He was vaguely aware that Castiel was following this time, gracefully stepping down the rocks after Dean.
Dean paused, trying to listen again, and Sam's voice came back, muted and tired. "Buried," he called. "I...it's too dark!"
Of course it was dark, Sam was trapped under rocks. But Dean needed some kind of sign, some kind of indication where his brother was. "Just keep talking, dude," Dean said. "I'm trying to narrow in on your location."
Dean scaled down further, rocks skittering in front of him. He listened as he moved, finally stopping his trek to listen more carefully. "Sammy?"
There was a lull and only the empty sound of the mountain echoed back at him.
Dean felt his heart rate pick up. "Come on, Sammy, you answer me! Don't make me find you just to kick your ass."
"Dean," came the reply, and it was weary and far too obedient. Sam was weak, that much was certain, and it occurred to Dean that Sam was still following his orders without question.
The knowledge made him ache, but he had to use it. One last time, he would use it for all it was worth, and then he would make it right again. "That's it, kiddo," Dean called back. "I think I'm getting closer. I need you to stay awake, though, okay?"
"You better...hurry," Sam's voice came and Dean could hear the letters slurring.
Dean wished momentarily that Sam was still a liar.
Fear nearly choking him, Dean picked up his pace. "Keep talking, Sammy," he yelled out. "Give me a sign."
"I'm still...here." Sam's reply was weaker, and it was hard to tell if Dean was closer or further away.
Dean licked his lips, eyes scanning the expanse. It wasn't like finding a needle in a haystack, but it was hard enough, and the stakes were far higher.
Castiel touched lightly by him. "Where do you suggest we dig?"
Dean wished he had an answer. He could remember a time when it would have just come to him, out of instinct. When he could have just known. When Sam's soul was just a part of him, plain and simple. He could sense his brother, he knew his brother's every move, he would just know.
Then, there was a shifting. Down hill, far enough that Dean was sure it wasn't him. A light scattering of rocks trickled to the riverbank before settling still again.
"Did you see that?" Dean asked.
"Yes," the angel replied.
"I'll be damned," Dean muttered, because that was what was missing. Not just Dean's failure to reach out, but Sam's willingness to reach back. It took two to do this, and it was about time they both got on the same page.
And there was no time like the present.
"Hang on, Sammy!" he yelled again, moving faster now, zeroing in on the movement.
Sam made no reply, but this time, he didn't have to. The spot was clear in Dean's head, and when he was there, he knew it, just knew it.
Panting, Dean swiped a hand across his brow, before pulling a rock away, flinging it down the rest of the incline. It clattered uselessly toward the river, and Dean didn't hesitate to jerk the next one free.
He was vaguely aware that Castiel was next to him, and together they began clearing the rocks. It was deeper than Dean had hoped, but the rocks were oddly matched, leaving gaps and crevices, which boded well for Sam's overall well-being. Being trapped amongst a ton of rocks was one thing--being partially crushed would likely be fatal.
"We're almost there," Dean called out as he labored. "Just a little longer. Stay awake just a little longer."
Dean saw a snatch of Sam's shirt, first. The blue plaid was dirty and ripped, but it was Sam.
Encouraged, Dean pulled harder, working at a rock just above the opening. When it crashed to the side, Sam's chest was visible, and one of his arms. There was a little blood, but it looked reassuringly intact.
"I see you," Dean breathed out. "I see you, Sammy."
He worked at the next rock, the one presumably over his brother's face. Castiel had to help him, but together they wrenched it free, and Dean crashed on his haunches, panting to catch his breath, and his eyes watered with relief.
For his part, Sam barely seemed to notice. His brother's eyes were slits, blinking lazily in the sunlight as a new trickle of blood snaked away from Sam's nose.
Dean wouldn't think of it. He'd found Sam in all the ways that counted. He'd followed Sam over a cliff, down a river, over a waterfall, and under a rock slide, and that had to be enough.
Reaching down, Dean cupped his brother's face. The action seemed to rouse Sam a little, until his eyes rested on Dean's face and a smile flitted weakly across his face.
Sam opened his mouth, then closed it, trying to swallow. When it didn't work, he winced, trying to open his eyes just enough to hold eye contact for a little longer. "Hey," he said. "You said...stay awake."
"Damn straight I did," Dean said. "And don't think now that I've found you that it's time to take a nap. I need someone to keep me some company while I drag your heavy ass out of here."
Sam's eyes wandered, landing on Castiel, who was hovering right behind Dean. "You've got company," he murmured. "You don't need me."
Sam's eyes drifted at that, his head lolling a little.
Dean stopped it, putting one hand roughly on Sam's cheek. "I mean good company, little brother," he said.
That got Sam's attention, and the kid opened his eyes, for a second as clear as they'd ever been. "Been a long time," Sam said.
"Since what?"
"Since you thought of me like that," Sam told him. Then his eyes unfocused and his breath hitched. He blinked and sought Dean's face once more. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Dean said roughly. "Just--stay awake. Sam? Sammy, please."
Sam held his gaze, eyes glazed, before the look zoned out. Then Sam's body relaxed, head lolling against the rock beneath it.
"No," Dean said, reaching down to shake Sam. "No."
But it was an order Sam couldn't follow, and his brother remained limp.
A sob choked Dean, and he felt himself tremble. "Sammy?" he asked. "Sam?"
"He's alive, Dean," Castiel's voice said over his shoulder. "But his time is short."
It took all of his resolve to put his brother down, moving toward the rock across Sam's legs. "Help me get this off him," he said, bending down, his fingers grappling at the rock.
It was large, and he felt his muscles strain with the effort. Castiel was next to him, and Dean felt the burden lift and the rock shifted. It took some maneuvering, but the large stone lifted. Repositioning himself, Dean moved under it, pushing upwards with his arms to move it off his brother. With Castiel's help, the rock moved free, and with one final shove, they sent the large rock hurtling down the incline.
Breathing hard, Dean turned back to his brother. Sam was free now, but he didn't move, his long legs limp, one turned funny at the ankle and blood staining the other. There were no other visible signs of injury, but Dean couldn't be sure of anything--internal injuries, spinal risks, head trauma--the list was endless and far too likely. Sam hadn't reported much specific pain, but his brother hadn't been overly coherent all.
Which meant moving Sam was a risk--a big one. But leaving Sam here might be an even bigger one.
Dean didn't know. Dean could play savior, Dean could destroy demons. Dean might even be able to kill Lucifer, but if he couldn't save Sam--
If Sam died thinking Dean hated him--
If Sam died right when they started being brothers again--
A sob rose in his throat and it shook him hard before it turned to anger. In a rage, he turned to Castiel. "Do something," Dean said, feeling a bit hysterical. If he'd ever needed divine intervention this was it, right now.
"This is beyond my capability," Castiel said.
It was the typical excuse. Dean should have predicted it. Probably did. But he had refused to imagine it was possible. Not with so much on the line--not with Sam on the line.
He was on his feet, in the angel's face, staring him down, closer than he normally dared to get. He could count Castiel among his small circle of friends, but this level of familiarity was entirely different. But there was no time for formalities. There wasn't even time for respect. Sam was dying, and Castiel was going to do something about if Dean had to pluck his damn wings, confiscate the halo, and do it himself.
"You pulled me from Hell without a scratch on me," Dean said. "You can pull people out of thin air. You can fix this."
Castiel swallowed, but kept his head high. "I cannot."
"That's crap, and you know it," Dean roared. "My brother has worked his ass off in the name of your holy pursuit, which, in case you forgot, is what started this whole freakin' mess to begin with. I take your missions, I follow your orders, and now I'm telling you, that you will help Sam."
Castiel shifted, his eyes darting away momentarily. "I speak the truth when I tell you that I cannot heal him," the angel explained. "But I will do what I can."
With that, Castiel stepped by him, dropping down beside Sam. "Get close," he ordered. "Hold onto your brother's hand."
Confused, Dean did as he was told, trying not to look at his brother. Sam was colorless on the ground, his hair matted by the gash along his forehead. A smear of fresh blood stained his lips, smudged onto his chin, and Dean felt himself stiffen at what he knew that indicated.
But there was no time to contemplate it. Just as Dean was going to ask Castiel what was going on, a white light roared, and Dean cursed, fingers tightening on his brother's hand, closing his eyes as the air was sucked out from around him.