Chapter 23: Past, Present, and Future

Libraries were, up until recently, one of the best places Sam could imagine. They were safe spaces where someone could sit from opening to closing with neither judgment nor expected payment for visiting, and the resources available besides books were astounding. Sam's view of them was (understandably, if tragically) a little tarnished now due to the events of WM, but the city's public libraries still held a solid place in his heart.

They were also good places to ruminate upon his life as he procrastinated his schoolwork. Now that they had fallen into a lull for the day, Sam had the opportunity to reflect on just what the hell had transpired in the last few hours.

Ben, mischief-maker and hellion in the making, somehow managed to engage Gabe in a lengthy conversation that Sam ended up not being a part of. He'd meandered from asking Gabe questions about what a police station looked like on the inside ("Where do they keep the donuts?") to extolling the virtues of "free-living" as explained by Dean Winchester. Sam couldn't hear Gabe's end well due to Ben refusing to put him on speakerphone ("It's our conversation, Unca Sam!"), but he was pretty sure Gabe fell into fits of laughter at the knowledge that Dean was teaching Ben where the speed traps around Lawrence were.

"He says it's important, but I don't get why if he's not going to let me drive 'till I'm 30," Ben complained, "And Daddy said 30! That's in ages."

"It'll fly by, don't you worry," Sam muttered, already wondering when exactly he'd gone from being a gangly freshman in high school to a flailing adult.

Gabe said something that Ben sighed tremendously at.

"A bike isn't the same as a car, Mr. Gabe. A car goes way faster."

They continued in the same random tangent before Ben's aura shifted slightly. Sam only noticed because they were at a red light, and he didn't have as much focus on the road.

"I'd be very disappointed if you made Unca Sam sad," he said, frown reminiscent of Lisa's, "Momma says he shouldn't be hurt anymore, so this is your warning. I can't do much cause I'm a kid, but I'd find a way to make you feel sorry."

"Ben!" Sam hissed, struggling between feeling mortified that his nephew was blatantly threatening his boyfriend and sounding like an echo of "I'm not mad, just disappointed" Lisa whenever she lectured one of them.

Ben glanced at him; aura slightly riled. He'd meant every word of it, and his seriousness would've been cute if Sam didn't think that Ben would sic Dean on Gabe if necessary.

However, whatever Gabe said in response must've satisfied Ben, because his aura lightened, and he veered back into chatting about the big life events that plagued a child, like how he hated his training wheels and why he thought all coloring books should have tear-out sheets.

"Mr. Gabe is acceptable dating material," Ben declared once he'd ended the call at Sam's behest for lunch.

"You're just echoing your mother, aren't you?" Sam asked dryly. At least he now knew just how prevalent his refreshed dating life was in the gossip circles.

"Yeah, but I had to make sure! There's a difference between Mr. Gabe being your best friend and dating," Ben said, handing Sam his phone as if he hadn't hogged it to call Gabe in the middle of his workday.

"True, but it's not your responsibility to understand that difference just yet," Sam replied sternly, already firing off an apology text.

"But it is-"

"Nope. Not your responsibility," Sam interrupted, ruffling Ben's hair until he shrugged him off irritably. "It's like driving. Don't worry about that stuff until you're 30."

His phone dinged almost immediately. Sam glanced at it just before the line of cars began to move.

Gabe: No worries babe. Ben's cute, even when he's threatening me.

"Ugh! You and Daddy are so mean," Ben pouted, crossing his arms in a rare fit of pique.

Some kids lost their temper over not getting the toy or more time playing like they wanted. Ben generally lapsed into irritation over more serious things, and like a true Winchester, when he felt they were babying him too much and not letting him handle things.

"How mean am I really if we're going to eat breadsticks?" Sam asked innocently as he whipped the Impala into a rare parallel parking spot by a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. He may have only driven the car for as long as it took him to get his license, but driving was like riding a bike.

Ben tried to hang on to his ill-temper for dramatic effect but couldn't stay grumpy for long. He just didn't have it in him (not yet at least) to hold a petty grudge.

Sam managed to call Gabe as Ben made a mess out of spaghetti sauce and tell him the important bits, which involved skimming over Ben's revealed ability ("I told you he was telepathic!") to focus on the Dead Eyes showing up.

"It has to be because of that phone Kevin took," Gabe sighed. Sam could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose over the line. "Are you sure you don't want me to join you?"

"Very sure. They didn't even see us, and you've got work. Ben, that's enough bread," Sam replied, dragging the breadsticks basket away from Ben before he could get his greedy little hands on any more of them.

"If you need a place to lay low…well, you know where you can go."

Sam stilled. The idea danced on the edges of his mind when he'd gotten the key, but with recent events, it waltzed its way into the forefront.

Going back to his childhood home or the dorms was a hard no. In the past, Dean would've been his first option, but now that Cas practically lived there, Sam knew that wasn't a real option anymore. His brother would do everything possible to make room for him in a heartbeat, but Sam wouldn't do that to him now that Cas was in the picture. Lisa would take him in for sure, but that could lead the Dead Eyes to her doorstep, which also nixed reaching out to people like Ellen or even Bobby.

Gabe is the only sensible option here.

Ben's eyes were on him now. The smears of sauce around his mouth helped to offset the too-old eyes Sam was quickly becoming familiar with, but he was now acutely aware that he was, in his nephew's words, "thinking too loud."

"I don't want to inconvenience you…"

"I'll stop you right there. You wouldn't, and won't ever," Gabe said, pitching his voice down for some illusion of privacy at the LPD. "Whatever qualms you have, just know that any based on putting pressure on me or inconveniencing me have no basis in reality. I gave-hold on."

Sam waited, anticipation racketing up in his throat. Ben was back to eating, but more slowly now, his brow crinkled as if he was focusing on a difficult puzzle.

A door shut, and a lot of the ambient office noises beneath Gabe's now slightly echoey voice cut out with the slam.

"I didn't give you that key on a whim. I…would like it if you, ya know, came over. A lot. Multiple times of the week," Gabe hedged, "Permanently is certainly on the table but not a decision I want you to make right now, nor do I think you will! I think I've got the hang of you to know that, Samantha Winchester."

"Pft. Don't call me Samantha," Sam mumbled, warmed by Gabe's little monologue.

"I'll call you whatever I want, baby."

"Adults are so weird," Ben remarked when a much redder Sam ended his call, "If you like each other enough to kiss each other, then that's like, forever love."

"There's a bit more to it than kissing, buddy," he replied, wiping Ben's face clean with a napkin and trying very hard to not think of the L-word. He'd thought loud enough around Ben for today.

They made their way to the library; one of several scattered across Lawrence. Ben was starting to get sleepy, and Sam desperately needed to make some headway into his schoolwork.

So, here Sam was, with Ben curled up napping in a beanbag by his chair and his laptop open before him, doing everything but schoolwork.

In his defense, he'd given it a genuine shot. He'd done some readings and submitted a few things that just needed polishing, but eventually, the lure of certain topics dragged his attention away. Between the Dead Eyes now knowing where he lived and Enochian becoming more and more pressing in personal ways, Sam couldn't really be expected to stay focused.

And Gabe's offer.

Sam scrubbed his face with hands, wincing as he pushed too hard on the tender spots. Less thinking and more working was in order.

"Fuck it," Sam mumbled, closing all of his school-related tabs and opening up a fresh one.

He scrolled through articles with the deft, practiced eye of a student, switching between news reports of gang activity in Lawrence and sites that featured the history of Enochian. Throughout all this, he exchanged texts with multiple people at once, trying to get information from as many fronts as possible. A lot of it was for the benefit of the case, but the Enochian was mostly for Sam's personal reservoir. He should've dug deeper into the language weeks ago, but better late than never.

Kevin was one of the first he texted to inform him of the Dead Eyes at their place, but the response he got was unexpected, to say the least.

It turned out (unsurprisingly) that Kevin and his cohorts had been doing their own scraping away at the case. They didn't know much-still didn't know much of importance beyond Max Miller-but they'd collected some interesting knowledge, and thanks to the newest addition of Hannah, had complied everything into a document for convenience's sake. He'd been sent the link and added to a group chat and now Sam was catching up on what felt like a group project everyone was actually participating in.

Kevin: Yeah they definitely came for that phone I accidentally took. I'm surprised it took them that long tbh.

Adam: Maybe the drugs are fucking with their brains?

Kevin: Maybe. Still feel bad tho. I'm really sorry about it Sam :(

Sam: Don't worry about it. At least now we know why.

Jo: Yeah Kev, you've apologized like 5 times and you've filed a police report with your mom and everything. They didn't take anything right?

Kevin: Nope. But what am I gonna do now?

Sam: Lay low and don't go back yet.

Charlie: Create a new identity and run for the hills! Ik someone who can hook u up w/an ID and some other fun bits ;)

Hannah: Be careful on campus! That's the only other place they'll logically think to look for you.

Adam: Smart thinking Hannah. Good thing I got my knife.

Jo: What's with you and your knife, Milligan?

Sam snorted quietly before returning his attention to the several pages long document on his screen.

They'd mostly focused on the victims, gathering what knowledge they could as to why they might've been targeted beyond the obvious. Most centered around rumors, but a lot of it was backed by evidence. For instance, Mitchell had long been accused of favoring the athletes, but they'd gotten evidence from public board meeting transcripts that the accusations ran deeper than that. He'd been reprimanded by the school board more than once for poorly doing or outright neglecting the duties he'd been assigned outside of coaching. One of those duties turned out to be assisting the school resource officers.

No one liked the officers at Southview High. They were notorious for being more violent than necessary when restraining kids and pushing for expulsion when they could. Sam knew that Mitchell was one of the staff that helped break up fights, but he'd never given it more thought than that.

The section on Max Miller was telling. A Southview High alumnus and only a year older than Sam, he came from a rougher section of Lawrence and attended LU on a scholarship. Much of the information seemed to come from Hannah, which made sense since she was the only one that semi-knew him. One of the bullet points included the ring, as well as the fact that he seemed to talk about high school a lot, and not positively.

Besides the "let's try and catch a serial killer" group project, Sam was also holding a riveting exchange with Cas of all people. The man didn't feel comfortable leaving Dean's side, so his responses were largely immediate and surprisingly humorous. They'd drifted from discussing his brother at great length ("Dean vexes me, but in a good way. Don't tell him I said that.") to Hannah, and inevitably the subbasement and all its implications.

Cas: The tunnel system is quite extensive in the oldest parts of Lawrence such as downtown, but at this time of year with the melting snow, many will no doubt be flooded.

Sam: So hypothetically, what does that mean for the killer?

Cas: I would have to consult some maps, but it would limit what routes are available to him. If he is indeed transporting bodies through the tunnels, he'd need the whole route to be big enough to accommodate.

Sam switched tabs, looking at the Lawrence subway system with new eyes. It was only a guide to where some of the legendary tunnels could be, but after living in the city for most of his life and the brief visit he'd taken with John and Dean into a few of them, Sam figured he could deduce where some of them would run.

"I don't like the subway."

The shift in Ben's aura had been gradual enough that Sam already had a juice box ready and waiting.

"I know you don't. Is it because people think too loudly on it?"

Ben nodded, quietly slurping up his juice and rubbing one eye with a small fist. His aura remained dusky blue with sleep, but Sam knew from experience he'd perk up in no time.

"Can I go get a book?"

"Sure. Anything in particular you want today?" Sam asked, grabbing his laptop and standing. They were upstairs in a tiny alcove tucked away in the central study area, and the children's section was downstairs.

"Dunno. But I want to pick it by myself."

Sam let Ben wander once they reached the much more colorful children's section, stationing himself near the door in one of the few adult-sized chairs the area contained. Independence was good for Ben, but he'd be damned if he didn't keep an eye on the only exit.

Jo: I just want those bastards to pay for what they did to the RH. I still can't believe it's gone.

Sam: Me either. But they'll get their comeuppance soon. They can't last long like this.

Adam: They won't. They're going nuts over here.

Sam knew that Adam lived past the Kingsford Parallel, but his location had never been so notable until now. Kevin may have been the one hitting the party circuit in an attempt to keep high school friends from falling victim to the bad lifestyles out there, but it was Adam that gave him all the times and spots where things would happen, as well as how to act at said parties.

Hannah: But "nuts" isn't necessarily good, is it?

Adam: Not really, but this way they'll burn out faster? It's sorta lose-lose.

"Unca Ben, I found one!" Ben whisper-yelled, scampering towards him with a book clutched in his hands.

"Oh really? Let me see," he said, tucking his phone away and accepting the book.

"It says it's about myths, like the ones you told me about," Ben explained, toeing the multicolored carpet.

"And you wanted to read more?" Sam asked, touched. He'd gotten into the habit of telling Ben myths when he didn't have the energy to come up with a new tale, but he hadn't told him one in a while.

"Yeah. Can you get it for me?"

"We'll have to get you a card when you start kindergarten. You like coming here almost as much as I do."

"It's nice and quiet," Ben said, aura resting placidly around him as they made their way to a checkout monitor.

They made their way back upstairs to their previous spot. Lisa didn't get off of work for a couple more hours, so there was no rush to get back.

Sam worked on actual schoolwork this time, quickly falling into a flow only interrupted by the occasional request from Ben. A bathroom break here, a hard to pronounce word there. Ben knew most of the myths and was great at making inferences, but there were still a few holes in his unnaturally broad knowledge.

The only other distraction Sam allowed himself was his research into Enochian. A lot of the information he'd found was generic or things he already knew, but some lines here and there stood out.

"In some niche scholarly circles, Enochian is less important for its rumored divine origins and more for being a language of creation. Everything, from the rituals to the emphasis on base runes, suggests that the language is meant to be used creatively. Therefore by this theory, Enochian is meant to bring vitality and restore what was once lost, or never had at all. However, this seems incongruent with the overall lawful and obedient angels of Judeo-Christian literature, which leaves this interpretation of Enochian as an opinion held by the minority."

And then a single line, in a site so old that Sam was sure it had been made and then promptly abandoned when the Internet was still in diapers.

"If Enochian is the language of the angels, then therein lies the implication that demons speak in their own destructive tongue."

There was no author, or any other source information, which only added to his uneasiness. Sam bookmarked the site anyway and went back to his schoolwork, discomfited by what he'd learned.

Essays held his attention for a bit longer before his phone lit up once more. Sam had half an eye on it (because schoolwork having his full attention was a joke at this point) but picked it up when he saw the name.

Cas: Dean's awake.

Sam: Really? How's he doing?

Cas: Good, all things considered. I thought he'd sleep longer. He wants to know how Ben's doing.

"Your dad's awake," Sam said to Ben, who looked up with a surprised, but pleased expression from the illustrated pages he'd been studying intently.

"Is he ok? He got hurt, didn't he?" he asked, brow furrowing slightly.

"Yeah, but he's fine. Promise," Sam said gently to ease the ripple of dark purple guilt that cut through Ben's aura. He'd done such a good job of distracting his nephew from Dean's absence that Ben hadn't even thought of him for half the day.

Sam: Ben's alright. If he doesn't look like death half warmed over, we'll swing by.

Cas: Please do. I'm not sure if he misses Ben or the car more.

"Want to go see him?"

Ben scrambled to his feet in response, aura lighting up like a firework. Despite the glaring differences between father and son, no one could say that they didn't love each other fiercely.

Sam: On the way. Tell him to hang tight.

…

"So, when were you going to tell me that John used me against you?"

The curveball, which Sam had somewhat expected due to the amount of tension in Dean's aura, still managed to slam into him due to just how unexpected it was in topic. Out of everything he'd discussed with Dean (he wasn't sure which went over worse: the Dead Eyes stopping by his place or Gabe giving him a key), he'd been expecting a shift into current events, not the past.

And not that night of all things.

"I talked to him, so cut the crap and don't skirt around the topic like we have for the past almost two years," Dean continued, grabbing Cas' wrist and tugging him back down onto the couch before he could make what was supposed to be a subtle escape.

"Dean…"

"No, it's fine. I need you here," Dean stressed, his other hand already half crushing his soda can. His aura teemed with excess energy, but Cas's placidness calmed him somewhat and kept him levelheaded.

Sam wished he had Gabe to do the same. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have right now or ever anticipated having in the first place.

He glanced down the hall to where Ben was playing with Bee. There would be no hope for distraction in that arena; Ben had descended upon the poor tabby with all the glee a child could muster at the sight of a domestic animal and hadn't left Bee's side since.

"Why are you asking me if you already know?" he asked, unable to help sounding defensive. It all felt very much like a trap by well-meaning parents, complete with how Dean and Cas were sitting on the couch.

"Because I wanna hear it from your mouth. I'm not gonna toe the line here anymore Sammy. You're my brother," Dean stressed, the old guarded look in his eyes, "and I've always wanted what's best for you. But how we lived in the past isn't what's best for you anymore. Never was, never will be, and I was wrong to think we could go back to the fucked up good ol' days."

Sam reared back. Stunned didn't even begin to cover the range of emotions cutting through the sharp knots of nerves that had tied themselves in the pit of his stomach when Dean broached the subject.

"Why now?" he asked.

Dean and Cas exchanged a look so long and loaded that Sam managed to get a partial answer just from their silent exchange. This conversation was a buildup of what must've been weeks of talks between the two of them; not all of them pleasant either. Sam could only imagine how many walls Cas had to get through to reach this level of familiarity with Dean. To know all the dirty aspects of their past, and to be trusted enough to sit with Dean during such a rough conversation?

"You aren't the only one that's been doing…side investigations," Cas admitted, tearing his eyes away from Dean first. "We've been working on helping Dean to overcome his trauma-"

"Don't put it like that, and not so loud," Dean interrupted with an antsy glance down the hall, his hand briefly squeezing Cas'.

Sam caught the action (at this point, nothing escaped his notice when it came to these two) before his mind registered the big T-word.

Trauma. He'd hardly ever heard it put so bluntly, but out of the two of them, it was easy to see who'd been most visibly traumatized by their childhood. Sam began processing it all when he'd hit high school and started realizing there was more to the world than the criminals they dogged in the night and the cardboard cutout lives they lived in the day, but Dean hadn't. He'd been forcibly recruited by Crowley, and then suddenly he was a father.

Ben had opened his eyes a bit, but children weren't meant to fill the voids their parents possessed. Dean still held his old hurts and used physical pain through his fights to distract from the deeper ones he didn't want to acknowledge. Cas must've taken it upon himself to help when he realized just how badly Dean had been affected by their childhood.

And he had. On the surface, it looked as if he'd come out just the way John wanted (minus the contract with Crowley), but beneath it all, Sam knew Dean was deeply troubled. His good heart clashed with some of the things he did, and every time he doted on Ben like he was the eighth wonder of the world, the question burned in his eyes and aura; a flash of wondering doubt that muted the normal greens.

Why hadn't John raised me like this?

Dean's aura soared with anxiety, the color so potently yellow that it knocked Sam out of his thoughts and reminded him that he'd been quiet for too long.

"I wanted you to go to LU with me. I thought it'd help you feel better about me going to college, and getting more independent, and maybe you'd find something new to learn. They have trade programs, and it all seemed good in my head," Sam confessed, casting his mind back in time. He hadn't thought about the jagged memory for a while, but it wasn't hard to remember all the hurt and guilt.

"I was just really excited I'd gotten a scholarship and got carried away. John didn't like that," Sam shrugged, trying to stay nonchalant for Dean's sake, "He said it was bad enough one son was trying to shirk the family duty. Said the usual things about me never succeeding in college and having to crawl back home. He was really drunk."

"He was always drunk," Dean murmured with a sidelong look at his fridge. He didn't keep any of the hard liquor out in view anymore; not since Ben started walking, but the beers sat where they always did.

Cas patted his hand, blue waves crashing into Dean's aura and doing their best to keep him calm. If he and Ben hadn't been here, Sam suspected this conversation would've already gone off the rails.

"He was drunker that night. Made him angrier. He said…he said that if I tried to drag you into "my college crap" that he was going to pull me out of school and take me out of state. And that would've cost me my scholarship," Sam said, eyes fixed firmly on his hands.

The guilt coated the back of his throat, so thick that Sam was sure he'd have to run for the toilet soon if this kept up. As the younger brother, he knew he'd gotten to be more selfish than Dean could've ever been, but this particular situation haunted him.

"I wasn't 18 yet, so I was scared he would. But you're so smart Dean," Sam implored, suddenly needing his brother to know what he'd always thought of him, "You struggled in public school because you couldn't focus and sit still, but college is different. I just know that if you'd been given the opportunity, you could've gone and succeeded. Screw what John says. You can be better than a soldier."

Dean's jaw worked, his white face only accentuating the stark bruises littered across his skin. Sam hadn't forgotten he'd been stabbed, and that he should really be resting right now, but they were too far down this path to halt the conversation now.

"He said he'd take Baby away from you, and all sorts of other stuff. I didn't know what to do," Sam continued, tugging on his hair.

"You backed off because you didn't want to ruin what I had and then ran out," Dean summed up, standing with a grunt.

Sam and Cas watched as he dragged the wooden sentinel chair away from the corner and towards the hall, positioning it so that the back faced Ben. He straddled it and crossed his arms on the top, simply watching as his son obsessed over a cat that didn't know how lucky it was to be tolerated by Dean Winchester.

The only reason Sam didn't lose his stomach contents from frazzled nerves was Dean's aura. All the excess anxiety and strain drained away into regular hues of green, leaving behind just a faint touch of the foul yellow that had stained it before.

"Benji, come here," Dean beckoned after a couple of minutes.

Ben came into view, coming around to stand by Dean's side with a moderately puzzled look on his face. Periwinkle suffused his aura, a soft shade to contrast his father's vibrant greens.

"Can you tell Uncle Sam what you think of Grandpa?"

Sam watched as a shadow passed over Ben's aura, thick and gray. His eyes narrowed slightly, one hand coming up to wrap around Dean's wrist.

"Can I use bad words?"

A choked noise that might've been a laugh escaped Cas before he could completely stifle it. Father and son were completely serious, right down to Dean's genuine mulling of the question.

"You can use two bad words. Surprise me."

Ben accepted the generosity and wheeled on his little heel to face Sam, his serious scowl only adding to Sam's mounting confusion.

"I think Grandpa is very mean and a little, ya know," he started, swirling his finger around his temple in the near-universal sign for crazy, "Also, he smells like beer all the damn time and doesn't like me or you! That's stupid of him and I hope he fucks off soon. He's old, and Momma says his organs are gonna fail soon."

Sam had already started laughing when Ben said damn (that was Dean's influence for sure), but the casual death proclamation proved too much for him to hold his composure. The solemn nature of the talk fractured, relieving some of the tension.

"Is he talking about cirrhosis?" Cas asked through his own gravelly laughs as an alarmed Dean goggled at his vindictive son.

"Yeah, that's what Momma said! You're really smart Mr. Cas. I bet you know all the bad words."

"I do," Cas replied gravely, sending Sam into another round of laughter. Ben swearing was one thing, but Castiel Novak dropping f-bombs was just too hard to imagine.

"The point is," Dean stressed, grabbing Ben and tossing him up into the air with the reckless abandon that gave Lisa heart attacks and thrilled his son, "That Benji, my sweet boy that wouldn't hurt a fly, has been holding out on me! Isn't that right, champ?"

"I am a champ," Ben replied evasively through giggles.

"Little brat," Dean said affectionately, setting him down and nudging him down the hall, "Go to your room for a minute, yeah?"

"I suspected he might not like him, but he only told me upfront a few weeks ago," Dean explained once Ben's door clicked shut, "I asked him who he wanted at his birthday party, and it led to him explaining how he didn't want Grandpa to come and this whole chain effect that I couldn't stop thinking about. It reminded me of all the times Lisa prodded at our past, but this time I knew I couldn't ignore it."

Sam sobered up as Dean stood, dragging the chair back to the corner.

"I've been a shit brother to you ever since you left home," Dean said, hands clenched on the top of the chair, "All the red flags were in front of my face. I should've known there was more to the situation than the line John fed me. But…I guess I was stuck being the good son."

"I should've done more," Sam countered, distraught as Dean began to pace, "It's not your fault, it's mine. I'm the one that ran."

"It's not your damn fault. I've always wanted better for you, Sammy, and I'm proud that you went when you did," Dean emphasized, stopping before him with a fiery expression. "So don't feel guilty about how things played out, because I can see it on your face. He's the one that's to blame, and…oh, Sammy. C'mere."

Dean tugged him up and into his arms just as the traitorous tears fell. Sam was taller; had been for a while now, but somehow he always managed to make him feel like he was a kid again.

"Might as well have the full chick flick moment," Dean sighed, squeezing him tighter and enveloping his aura around him.

"Don't ruin it," Sam laughed wetly, hooking his chin on his brother's shoulder and closing his eyes.

The weight of his less than perfect flight from home fell away, leaving behind a hollow that Sam could fill with something better. Dean would need more time and help to come to terms with the natures of their lives (and maybe Sam needed some too), but this acknowledgment was enough for now. Later, when everything was back to some semblance of normal, they could talk about it better.

Dean thumped his back in the macho way he always did when the hug got too long for his tastes, clearing his throat as he pulled back.

"Good?"

"Good," Sam echoed, and for once, they were both being honest.

The burbling coffee machine caught their attention. Cas had conspicuously drifted into the kitchen to give them privacy and gave them a bashful smile in tandem with lifted mugs. His aura shone with relief and satisfaction, an iridescent flash of pride at Dean's handling of the situation highlighting it all.

"I felt it was appropriate. Who doesn't like coffee?"

Dean's smile couldn't have been softer. Sam slapped the back of his neck and pushed him forward before the two could get drawn into their weird little habit of gazing into each other's eyes for five minutes, shaking his head ruefully.

"Keep it PG," he whispered to Dean, ignoring the embarrassed tint in his aura and glare as he went to Ben's room.

"Hiya, Unca Sam. You guys aren't thinking so loud anymore," Ben said in greeting, not even looking up from his toy bin.

"We've resolved it. I'm sorry about that," Sam said, folding himself up on the floor. The room didn't differ much from Ben's room at Lisa's place due to them wanting him to have a sense of stability, with the sole exception of the easel in the corner.

Sam blinked at it and the papers already draped over the top. That hadn't been there before.

"It's alright," Ben replied, shutting the lid of the bin with both hands before bringing over a pad of paper. His aura glowed cotton candy pink at the edges, almost fluorescent in hue.

"I've got pictures," he said officiously, handing it over with a determined, if skittish look.

Sam began to flip through the pad, pausing at certain areas. Amidst the colored pencil, crayon, and marker, there were troubling images that would've landed Ben in a therapist's office if they hadn't already known what was up with him.

Lawrence was drawn against a red sky, and runes that looked like mimics of Enochian were scattered throughout at the edges of some scenes. Fire engulfed what must've been the Roadhouse, as well as a building that brought to mind the WM. One page was a rudimentary rendition of the subway system, except it only held the few branches Ben had ever traveled on. What people there were had little distinguishing features, as if Ben was more focused on the narrative than the figures entrapped in it.

"That's you and Mr. Gabe. And that's Momma. And there, that's the devil man."

Ben pointed to a person colored in black and sporting a forked tail nearly as long as he was tall. Next to someone that had to be Dean (Ben always drew him with freckles), Sam didn't have to guess at who it was.

Crowley.

"Did you see him in your dreams?" Sam asked.

"One time in real life too," Ben revealed, frowning at the caricature of one of the most dangerous men in Lawrence. "He was on the other side of the fence outside."

He walked over to the easel, pulling back a few of his flipped sheets. Sam scooted over, peering around to see Crowley drawn bigger, standing with Lawrence in the background and a long, low building on fire to his left.

No way. Is that the motel?

"It was before Christmas. Daddy didn't see him, but I did, and I know he saw me 'cause he waved at me."

Sam shuddered. To his knowledge, Crowley had only ever dared step foot on what was unofficially Dean's territory a handful of times. It was his way of toeing the line and paying a false sense of respect. Dean went to extremely great lengths to keep Ben from the other, darker half of his life (like dropping him off at his apartment unbidden), and if he heard about this…

But Ben hadn't told him.

"I knew Daddy would just worry, so I kept my trap shut. I like the pool, and if Daddy moved, he probably wouldn't get a place with one," Ben said, picking the thought from his mind like an elusive thread as he flipped the papers up to a fresh sheet.

"That…really shouldn't be your main priority," Sam said, struggling to figure out how else to phrase it to his nephew.

Ben shrugged. "What am I supposed to worry about? Taxes? Adults think loud about that the most, and I still don't get those."

Sam's raucous laughter sent ripples of confusion through Ben's aura ("What's funny about taxes?") and drew Dean's attention.

"Making your uncle laugh, Benji? At least one person that lives here has a sense of humor," Dean said, sticking his head in and peering around for Bee if his perturbed expression was any indication.

"Oh, so Cas lives here now," Sam said slyly.

Dean's aura colored lime green. "Not what I meant!"

"I almost forgot! Mr. Cas got me this," Ben said, tugging on Sam's sleeve insistently and pointing at the easel, "He said I've got talent and that the arts are very important."

So that's where it came from, Sam thought, smirking at Dean, who was now studiously avoiding his gaze.

"That was very nice of him, wasn't it Dean?"

"Yeah. Very nice," Dean echoed, shifting from foot to foot. A flush crawled up his neck, contrasting the greens of his aura.

"I'm glad he's your friend, Daddy," Ben said, gears metaphorically churning in his mind. "Is he gonna be like Mr. Gabe is to-?"

"Pizza! How about we get some pizza to wrap up the day!" Dean exclaimed, throwing Ben off course with one of the few things that could successfully detract him from completing a thought.

"A bribe! How lowbrow of you," Sam remarked over the din of his nephew's enthusiastic response.

"It's completely practical," Dean retorted, "Now, can you get up, or am I going to have to help you off the floor?"

"Just because you have trouble getting up doesn't mean that I do."

After placing an order for several pies that Sam suspected would end up working their way into Ben's lunch box and the bottom shelf of the fridge, they gathered in the living room. Dusk was on the way, and the hour began to tug on Ben. He'd had an excitement-filled morning, and before anyone could say naptime, he was out like a light on the couch.

"I'm getting a strong sense of déjà vu," Cas remarked, gesturing to Ben's almost uncomfortable prone position.

"Just like his old man," Dean said proudly, but he turned him over regardless, propping him up against the armrest with a gentleness reserved solely for his son. "There. Hey, back off cat!"

"Bee will keep him warm," Cas said pragmatically, scratching the tabby beneath the chin and tugging Dean away. "Look, he's alright. Behave, Bee."

Bee made a little chirping sound before settling in Ben's lap, tail over paws and eyes firmly shut against Dean's disapproval.

"They're so cute. Lisa will love this," Sam smiled, pulling out his phone.

"You're on the cat's side too? Unbelievable," Dean huffed, but out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see him doing the same.

The scene was short-lived. Ben woke up right when the pizza arrived, nose alerting him just as the exchange was completed. Sam multi-tasked between schoolwork and eating along with Cas, and between the two of them, the living room was primarily filled with keyboard sounds.

"Workaholics," Dean remarked through a mouthful of meat lover's special, one hand permanently holding a napkin to clean up stray food bits before they could land on Ben's clothes.

"Deadlines wait for no one. I refuse to be unprepared for the end of term," Cas replied at the same time Sam said, "Students don't get sleep or breaks."

"Woah! Tag teamed by the academics," Dean said, making a conciliatory gesture. "I'm going to be swamped when Ben starts hitting the books. What's the career of the week, champ?"

Cas shot Sam a questioning look as Ben frowned thoughtfully down at his pizza slice.

"Ben changes his mind about it a lot. He's gone through pretty much all the public service jobs at this point, and rocket scientist. He was very disappointed they didn't get to go on the rockets, and that it was just astronauts that did that," Sam explained.

"I'm going to be a sailor," Ben proclaimed, taking a decisive bite of his pizza.

"You've never even been to the ocean," Dean pointed out, eyebrows quirked.

"But I know how to swim! That's more than some sailors out there, Daddy."

"Many sailors in history didn't know how to swim, so he makes a fair point," Cas added, aura cornflower blue with growing amusement.

"Mr. Cas, can you tell me about some sailors?" Ben asked, puppy dog eyes in full force. "I bet there were a bunch of famous ones, but I only know about Blackbeard, and he's a pirate. That's different."

Cas cocked his head, trying to puzzle through Ben's logic, but gave it up as a lost cause after a few seconds of very confused aura motions.

"Very well," he said, glancing at Dean and waiting for an encouraging nod before continuing, "I shall start with the Phoenicians since they were prolific sailors of the Mediterranean. If we look at the mythology of the area, the sea is supposedly filled with monstrous creatures of all sorts of proportions…"

Sam couldn't say whether it was Cas's strangely soothing (if technical) storytelling or the sheer onslaught of carbs, but before he knew it, he was slipping sideways into a dream-like state.

It didn't count as sleep; he could still hear Cas's voice as a drone on the very edge of his hearing, but the heaviness and darkness were there, pressing in on his mind and guiding him downward into flitting, spiraling images.

A small part of him told him to wake up, but the voice was snuffed out before Sam could even try and listen to it.

Water drips somewhere further down the tunnel, echoing off of the rounded walls. Unease chokes his throat, tightening his shoulders and heightening the claustrophobia. The weight of a city presses down from above, uncaring that he's caught in its old, half-forgotten bones.

There, on the walls; a mark. He knew that mark, and it wasn't one of his. It was-

"Sam? You awake?"

Carved into the wall; not bloody like all the other runes. And it's fresh. He's come this way already, and it hadn't been here before.

"Sam. Sammy."

Words that might've been "I'm up" left his mouth, but Sam wasn't sure if they came out clear. Pain lanced through his head, making it difficult to do much of anything besides struggle to see past the images.

Stone turns to hard-packed dirt beneath his pounding feet. Which way is he supposed to turn?

"You don't look well," Cas said bluntly, aura more discernable than his face right now. Everything was just colors and light, and Sam couldn't differentiate between what was playing out in his head and reality, because in a way, they were both reality.

Get it together, he thought frantically, trying to hide his turmoil as he pressed a hand over his eyes and squeezed them shut.

A dry hand grasped his wrist, gently tugging it away from his face. The touch was grounding, and Sam felt the sharp pain in his head ease.

Waves cascaded up his arm, washing away all the confusion. There was intentionality behind what he could recognize as the movements of an aura, as if whoever owned it was wholly focused on what they were attempting.

Sam opened his eyes to find that Cas was the one behind it. He'd placed two fingers on the pulse point in his wrist, a look so concentrated on his face that Sam was only mildly surprised to see a line of blue linking him and Cas and the spread wings flaring from his shoulder blades.

Note to self: figure out what the hell those wings mean before they pull any more surprises.

Dean crouched by Cas, eyes flitting between their hands and faces. Ben was squished in between the both of them, hands grasping his knees plaintively. Both looked concerned, but Dean not nearly as much as Ben.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, half-curious and half-mystified. He'd never seen aura manipulations at this scale before, not even when Gabe's aura took a persuasive turn to match his silver tongue.

"It's this trick of his. Just relax," Dean replied cryptically.

"It's magic," Ben breathed before frowning up at Cas. "You said you didn't know magic!"

"I don't. It's just…an innate skill I have. Some understanding of physiology? I've never been sure as to the root of it," Cas said, blue eyes studying Sam's face.

A half-lie flitted across the parts of Cas' aura that were still attached to him. What was flowing up his arm began to ebb, leaving behind a clean, washed-out feeling. Linked like this, Sam could feel what Cas was feeling more intensely beneath the overarching sensation of being, for lack of a better word, healed.

When Cas pulled away, the connection severed cleanly. Sam flexed his hand, looking at the blue clinging to it. The visions were gone, as well as the burgeoning pain.

There was no doubt in his mind now that Cas must know Enochian intrinsically like Gabe did, because how else could something like this be explained? Dean could keep the man's secret like Sam would keep Gabe's, but he'd have to prod some more another way. It was growing to be the elephant in the room, and the room was already filled with a serial killer.

"It's magic," Ben insisted before turning his attention back to Sam. His dark eyes pierced him in a way that told Sam he knew exactly what had happened.

"Something bad is gonna happen tonight," he said sadly, his little hands moving to grip the hand Cas had let go.

"Yeah. But this time it's different," Sam replied, gently squeezing his fingers. After the ocean-like magnificence of Cas's aura, Ben's felt comforting in its familiarity. "So don't worry about it, alright? I've got it covered."

"Sam," Dean started warningly.

But Sam wasn't listening. This wasn't like the other snippets of information Sam saw in his visions and couldn't place or use, or like the ghost images of fire he'd attributed too late to the Roadhouse. He knew what was going to happen, and more importantly, where.

It all leads back to the tunnels.

Time was running out, but now that Sam had been thrown a bone, he wasn't going to waste it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So, I'd started this chapter just before the finale, and lemme tell you, for something I didn't even watch, the ensuing drama and fallout afterward had my writing soul crushed. I haven't seen anything past season 10ish besides clips, but it still felt really weird knowing the show ended, especially the way it did. Luckily, this story is so AU that I feel alright continuing with it after taking some space from it. These guys have been my comfort characters for ages, and I really want to finish this series properly.

This chapter is largely transitionary for the upcoming one, which will be dark and feature Sam being dumb and doing what's implied at the end of this chapter. That's all I'll say! The next chapter might not be out before the end of the year, so if that's the case, I wish you all the best in leaving 2020 in the dust!