One more fire

Dean leaned against the wall. He felt his heart like a paper ball roll up in his chest, crinkling wearily with every beat. He had his rifle pressed to his chest. His machete bit into his hip by the handle, but he didn't bother to slide it over. His eyes stared into the abysmal darkness that was his mind while he waited for Castiel to scope the church in Syracuse.

My kid brother is being tortured like I can't even dream up in there, and I've been to Hell…

Dean's thoughts bit him a serpent coiling around his spine. He wanted to cry out, but no sound would come from him. He sat there, waiting in the ashes that were piled in the church's garden. Lady Bevell's men had been dumping the ashes of the demons they bled and burned out here.

My kid brother is being tortured like every which way he ever was at once, all because of our Mom…

Dean felt his throat grow tight. The rest of him was hollow, made of tin. God forbid, he was turning into his Tin Man father...

Dean closed his eyes and all on a sudden it came back. A night, a peaceful night, a long time ago. One when the Winchesters were getting along such as they rarely did.

When Sammy was just a 15-year-old boy and happy-go-lucky for the most part before raw cynicism had eroded his pure and docile nature.

Speak of the Tin-Man and he will appear. Dean felt his frigid face threaten a smile. When he had needed his wayward father, somehow there he was again. He had never been so ready to appear in life.

"You boys are being ridiculous...There is nothing better than a Skeeter Cake…We ate them on the daily back in Nam." John rolled his eyes at his boys. The night flickered around the little campfire. Left too far away from town, the Winchester's had no choice but to camp the night in this abandoned park reserve where they had just killed a Mehne_Which is a type of water monster the Cheyenne named.

"Nuh-uh, there is no way that letting mosquitos drop in a pancake is healthy or safe or_Ech!" Dean as a 19-year-old boy shied away from the pancake that John was cooking over an open flame. The skeeters were bad here, and Dean, ever the germ freak, was not sure how they could eat and not die of some kind of vector-borne disease even though he didn't see any skeeters in the batter just yet.

Sam leaned against a tree, a newspaper spread on his lap, wild bangs falling in his eyes. He grinned sheepishly at Dean.

"What? You afraid you'll turn into a Mehne if you eat that, Dee? Might mess it up with you and the bottle blonde chick at the diner a few miles from here, huh?" Sam winked smiling with all his teeth engaged. Dean sat up straighter back arched like a cat.

"Shut up, Sam! This is serious! Dude, I am offended you would talk about that right now when Dad is literally putting our health and safety at risk with this_this...What the hell even is a Skeeter Cake?!" Dean shivered, rubbing his arms, just so annoyed with everything.

"Dean Winchester…" Dad's heavy voice spoke over the fire, coffee black eyes burning behind the smoke as he locked gaze with Dean.

"I may be a horse's ass and lead you down every godforsaken highway on this continent. But I love my boys to death and I would never feed you something that would hurt you. Now eat your damn Skeeter Cakes and shut up…" John smirked then. He rarely smiled so this was a new experience that burned itself like lasers into Dean's memory forever. Possibly more so because they had decided to bury the hatchet for Sammy's sake seeing the kind of day he'd had. Dean knew this was a forever moment by the lump that formed a gold carat in his throat.

Sam was giggling into his fist, hair a wild thatch of humid windblown mess. Dean watched, stomach in his mouth with delirious happiness_which was surprising given that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere because of how black the road was. It was just his Dad saying that he did care about him was rare pearls and to watch his Sammy laughing like the innocent teenage kid he was supposed to be...It was like some kind of wonder drug to his ears.

How it blazed in his memory now! When John went crawling on his knees to Sam. Sam who's hair was wild and tousled because he had almost been killed this night. One of the first times he had legitimately almost not made it out of a hunt alive. His leg was busted up too_bloodied and hurting like the kind of Hell that Sam was wont to grin and bear.

"That goes for you too, Chuckles…"John gasped, pulling Sam to his chest and smoothing his wild hair down. Dean's eyes throbbed. Sam and John rarely were in a good mood with each other, and even more rarely showed affection. But Sam had nearly died and so John clung to him, holding him to his chest for a moment as he kissed his forehead. Sam, to Dean's amazement, closed his eyes and suffered it_ lucky to be alive. ( This was years before the fight that had torn these two apart. Dean could look back now and see the difference, how much less awkward with one another father and little brother once had been.)

"Damn it, Sammy...Something happens to you and I think I would turn to dust inside. You are a pain in the ass but you're my pain in the ass, kiddo, don't ever forget it." John laughed as he squeezed Sam's shoulder.

"No, sir." Sam smiled up at his Dad. Then, he smiled at Dean.

"Something happens to you and I think I'll turn to dust inside…"Dean whispered the quote out loud as the memory of his teenage brother blazed before his eyes.

"Dad, I lost...I lost him..I lost…" Dean could barely think his brother's name now. He tried to say it.

"Mmhee…" The final sounds of "Sammy" groaned out of his throat.

"S_" He started over, but it came out a hiss. A snake's hiss and he bit his tongue and flinched, busting his chin against the rifle.

"Dad...I lost him...Lost...Lost.."

Little brother, I can't say your name! It made Dean's head hurt to think that he could no longer force out the sounds needed for the term of endearment he'd used to proudly all his brother's life. He could scarcely think them, and God help him!

"I can't say his name, I can't!" Dean shook his head.

But into Dean's mind crept the voice of his father. A long, long time ago.

Most importantly, watch out for Sammy…

"Dad, how can I? How...I freaking...I can't...I can't. I couldn't and…"

Son…

Dean was hearing his father's voice now. Unbeknownst to him, it actually was his father's voice, cutting through the static of the seance Lady Bevell was using to torture Sam. Dean thought he was tripping but he just ran with it anyway, lonely as he was.

"Yes, sir?" That phrase sounded so weird in his late 30s gruff voice.

You gotta keep your head together, Dean...You have to get to your brother. It's your job, right? Watch after our little pain in the ass?

Dean cringed. He swallowed a gulp wishing he could lay eyes on the face he so desperately needed a name for.

"Yeah, yeah...um…" Dean swallowed.

You've pulled him out of every fire he ever fell into and this one...This is just one more fire.

"One more fire." Dean stood up, feeling someone move along the wall. He reached out and grabbed a collar twisting his fist in it. He slammed the body against the wall, the rifle training to it with a whip-like coil.

"It's me...I found him." Cas smiled patiently at Dean who had pinned him to the wall. Dean spluttered and let his friend go. The angel placidly smoothed his coat and nodded over his shoulder indicating the way he had come.