Keeping the Home Fires Burning
K Hanna Korossy
"Son of a bitch! Every time!"
Dean turned away from Sam and Castiel, his tone sliding from anger down into despair, hands rising to grip his hair. Sam winced, thinking of his brother's injured shoulder.
"Every time we get close, it always falls apart. Every. Freakin'. Time."
"Dean…we will find Gabriel," Cas said urgently, hearing the same break in Dean's voice as Sam did. "We will."
"We better," Dean said. His arms dropped and, still facing away from Sam and Castiel, he started toward the library door.
He made it five steps before he crumpled into a heap.
"Dean!" Some part of Sam must've been expecting this, he was by his brother's side so fast. Turning him over to find Dean's face ashen, his skin too warm against Sam's. He was completely out.
Sam jammed a pair of fingers under the unshaven jaw, while his other hand jerked at the right collar of Dean's jacket. Heartbeat was strong but too fast, and Sam could finally see why: there was a puffy bullet wound just below the collarbone, slick with something other than blood.
Sam glanced up at Cas, who'd just knelt on Dean's other side, and the angel furrowed his brow at the sight of the damaged shoulder. He hovered his palm over Dean's forehead, which immediately began to glow.
"The bullet is still inside…and infection is taking root. There is also a remnant of poison."
"Poison?" Sam asked sharply. Crap, where had Ketch been in all this? He opened his mouth to ask if Cas could heal Dean, but it was an unnecessary question. Cas was already laying hands, his eyes closing briefly as Dean lurched like he'd been shocked.
Sam watched, fascinated and repulsed as the wound bulged, then expelled the bullet in a well of blood. Even as the chunk of metal rolled off Dean's shoulder into Sam's palm, the torn skin started knitting itself back together, red then pink then tan and smooth.
Cas sat back on his heels, expectant, and Dean made a sound and scrunched his eyes.
"Dean?" Sam patted his cheek. "Hey, man, no fainting on the job."
"I don' faint," Dean muttered, and squinted up at Sam. "Wha' happened?"
"You passed out," Sam said pointedly, offering his hand. Cas did the same, and they got Dean up and into a nearby chair with a minimum of wobble.
"I'll retrieve some of the red liquid Dean likes," Castiel announced.
"Gatorade, right," Sam said distractedly, gaze not moving from his brother. "Thanks, Cas."
"Of course." Their friend left them to it.
Dean was scrubbing his hands again over his hanging head, but this time the gesture was more weariness than anguish.
"Y'all right?" Sam asked quietly, not because he didn't know but just to hear what Dean would say.
"Peachy," Dean grumbled. He'd discovered his healed shoulder and was rolling it experimentally.
Sam held up the bloody bullet in the palm of his hand. "You wanna tell me what happened over there?"
Dean eyed the slug, face a slide-show of emotion. He wasn't even trying to hide it from Sam, and Sam wasn't sure if that was good news or bad. Dean finally settled on a scowl. "Some yahoo with a gun got the jump on me. I shoulda been more careful."
Sam set the bullet on the table. "And Ketch?"
Sam thought he'd tamped down the Do I need to tear him a new one? in his tone, but Dean's shadow of a smile told him his brother was reading him just fine, too. "He took the guy down, made some kinda paste to stop the poison on the bullet." Dean peered down at his shoulder. "I hate to say it, but the son of a bitch did a good job."
"But…he stayed over there?"
Dean yawned, scratching stubble. "Gathering intel with Charlie. He's waiting for us to get back." He gave Sam a hard stare. "Which we can't do."
"Yet."
Dean huffed. "Yet. Right."
Sam took a long breath. "So, you're good?"
"I'm fine," Dean said, bracing his hands on his knees and slowly pushing to his feet. "Just need a shower, sandwich, and a nap, in that order."
"Dean." Sam put some John Winchester into his voice, knowing Dean could never ignore that.
"Yeah?" His brother paused but didn't look back.
"We are getting Gabriel back, and we are going to open that rift again and go save Mom and Jack."
Dean half-turned his head then, his profile in the shadow. "You sure about that, Sam?" But his sarcasm was stripped down to its desperate bones.
Sam pulled himself up to his full height. "Yes. I am."
Dean twisted back to look at him, almost amused. But Sam saw the moment of surprise in his face as he saw not the kid brother he'd made stay behind, but Sam friggin' Winchester, expert hunter, researcher, fighter.
The relief in his brother's expression made Sam stand even taller.
"Yeah," Dean said softly. "Okay, Sammy."
The End