What Happened Before
Chapter 2
Author's Note: This is a tag to season 14 episode 14 and can be read in conjunction with 'What Happens After.' I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. All mistakes are mine. I had to get this out while working on a stand-alone piece. Reviews are love.
"Michael…. He's dead," Jack says.
Sam is breathless with residual terror. Michael is gone. But -
"Jack a-are you – uh….?" Sam can't bring himself to finish the sentence. What is he trying to ask, anyway? Jack are you okay? Jack, are you still you? He feels dizzy waiting for a reply.
Jack doesn't respond at first, just slowly turns to face them. Then, a small smile graces his lips.
"I'm me again."
As if to prove it, Jack's eyes flash otherworldly gold, and a warm light emanates from his chest. A massive set of wings unfurls from the Nephilim's back, their shadows filling the room.
It is as glorious as it is frightening.
Gradually, the light fades and the wings disappear from view. Jack rolls his shoulders and flexes his hands, as if getting used to a new body. He looks strong again, the raw might of Michael's grace consuming and eliminating the weaknesses that had been plaguing him for weeks.
Cas steps forward. "Jack…are you alright?"
"I'm…better. You don't have to worry about me anymore," Jack replies confidently. Then his gaze shifts. He frowns in concern.
"Dean?"
Following Jack's gaze, Sam turns to the left just in time to watch his brother stumble and catch himself on the pillar nearby.
"Whoa, hey!" Sam exclaims, lurching to the side and snatching hold of Dean's green jacket with one hand, the other hand shifting to grip the older man's arm at the elbow. "Dean?"
"I'm good," Dean grunts. "I'm good."
Dean won't make eye contact, and Sam shakes him a little, trying to encourage him to raise his head. Dean straightens too quickly trying to brush off attention, and the resulting head rush makes him sway on his feet. His eyes, unfocused and glassy in his pale face, betray him; as does the deep crease in his forehead, appearing almost like a battle scar. The dried blood and the bruises certainly do him no favors. Sam can tell by the way Dean leans against the pillar that he is barely able to keep himself upright, and that his gaze keeps tripping over all the bodies in the room.
The word 'trauma' comes to the forefront of Sam's mind. Sam can barely process it all himself - everything happened so fast. He can only imagine what his brother is feeling, what with a concussion on top of the physical and mental strain of holding an archangel locked deep inside of his head for months. Not to mention the pain and terror of the just the past few moments – being blinded and nearly asphyxiated by Michael.
Sam knows Dean will blame himself for the deaths. But this isn't Dean's fault, Sam thinks. It's mine. He'd seen firsthand how hard his brother had fought to keep Michael contained. His brother is a warrior, but not invincible.
Sam is jolted out of his thoughts as Dean groans and sags in his grip. The older man swallows hard, shutting his eyes against what has to be a monster headache and full-body exhaustion. Sam allows the pillar to take most of his brother's weight while he ensures the man stayed upright.
"What do you think I'd leave behind, hm? Nothing but blood and bone." Michael's ominous words ring in Sam's head mockingly. This was what he'd feared – the aftermath of archangel possession. Dean is weak, hollowed out – and they will be lucky if this is the worst of it.
"Alright, just take it easy," Sam implores. He moves his left hand up to Dean's shoulder to stabilize him and slides his other hand down to Dean's wrist, taking mental note of the too-rapid pulse.
"Is he okay?" Jack asks.
Both Cas and Jack are standing within arm's reach, ready to assist if needed. Sam doesn't have the capacity to answer the boy's question. He turns to Cas instead.
"Uh, Cas, can you – ?"
Maybe, with Michael gone, his brother can finally get some rest.
But when Cas steps closer, Dean opens his eyes and fixes the angel with a glare. "No."
Cas freezes, startled.
"Dean -"
"I said no, damnit." Dean says brokenly. His anguished gaze looks past them all. "Don't you get it? It wasn't supposed to end this way." He looks at Sam with an aching expression, as if searching for explanation. "It was supposed to end with me."
Sam knows exactly how his brother thought this was supposed to go down. "I told you to let me take that coffin ride to the bottom of the ocean!"
"I know. I know, Dean. You feel responsible. But this isn't on you."
It's on me, adds the whispered voice in Sam's head.
"The hell it ain't," Dean retorts bitterly.
Dean is confused and shocky between the head injury and whatever kind of mess Michael left behind in his mind. The racing pulse is also a concern. Sam just wants to get his brother horizontal – and preferably unconscious - for a few hours. He gives Cas a meaningful look.
"Dean. You need to let me heal you," Cas says gently.
Dean shakes his head and looks down at his feet. Then he raises his head again to look at Sam with a shattered expression, his pupils blown wide and his bloodshot eyes full of tears. His hoarse voice breaks on the words. "Why couldn't you just let me go?"
For Sam, the words have an impact like a physical blow. He closes his eyes and fights hard to quell the mix of anger, panic, and despair rising within him.
"Dean, listen – I know what you're feeling right now, it's –" he trails off, shaking his head and clearing his throat as his own emotion threatens to overwhelm him. It's unbearable.
"They're dead 'cause of me, Sam. All of 'em. Because I wasn't strong enough." His back to the pillar, Dean grips the sides of his head with both hands, his frame rocking slightly. "I let him out…I let him out…"
Sam purses his lips. If self-loathing was an Olympic sport, Dean would place first in every category. But this open vulnerability is something else. Sam doesn't know if it is a result of the concussion, the obvious exhaustion, or something else Michael did. But Dean doesn't even seem to realize he is muttering to himself, his psyche crumbling before an audience. And his head is bleeding again.
Sam usually tries to respect Dean's personal boundaries when it comes to dealing with trauma, but he abruptly decides this can't go on any longer. He motions at Cas, who strides forward and has two fingers on Dean's forehead before the older man even has time to react.
They all jump when Cas unexpectedly pulls his hand back, gasping loudly as if he's just been burned.
Dean stares at Cas in concern while Sam steps closer, fully alarmed.
"What the hell was that?"
Cas doesn't answer right away, just shakes his hand, looking pained.
"I don't know. It's as if…"
He reaches forward to try again, and this time Dean allows him to place his whole palm on his forehead.
The angel's reaction is instantaneous, almost like being shocked by an electrical socket.
"Gah!" Cas exclaims, yanking his hand away.
Sam's mouth falls open and his eyes widen in surprise.
Dean frowns. "What the hell, Cas?"
"I don't know," Cas responds, flustered. "Touching you…it's like touching an open flame."
He holds out his hand, and there are blister burns on his palm.
"It was Michael," Jack says from behind. "He laid a…a trap, in Dean's mind. Like a warding. Or a curse." Jack looks at Cas. "Dean can't be healed."
Sam turns to meet Jack's gaze. "How do you know that?"
"Because I consumed Michael's grace. I know everything he knew."
Sam absently rubs his jaw with his hand. It was a lot to take in but…of course. He had wondered in the midst of the chaos why Michael would leave his 'perfect vessel' for another, less suitable meatsuit. It seemed out of character. But the spiteful act of laying a booby trap in Dean's mind? That was perfectly in character. And now his brother, who is physically and mentally at his lowest point, is going to have to suffer even more.
Cas is visibly stricken at the thought of not being able to heal his friend. He turns to Jack, "If you know everything Michael knew, then maybe you also know how to undo it."
Jack's brow furrows as he searches his own thoughts, then he shakes his head. "Even with my powers back, I'm not sure what to do or where to start. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Jack. We'll figure it out," Sam says quickly.
He takes a deep breath, gathering his own reserves. "Okay. Jack you go help Rowena. I'll take care of Dean. Cas, could you start…cleaning up?"
"Of course," Cas replies, shooting another worried glance at Dean. "Let me know if you need anything."
As Cas and Jack walk away, Sam turns to Dean.
He's just in time to catch the older man as he sinks to the ground, eyelids fluttering.
"Whoa, whoa – hey. Easy –"
Sam barely catches him under the arms.
"Sonofabitch," Dean whispers, cursing his own weakness. He struggles to get clumsy legs to cooperate, to keep from passing out.
Dean is no lightweight, and Sam strains mightily to keep them both from crumpling to the floor. "I gotchya," he grunts. Once they are somewhat stable, he slides his brother's arm over his own shoulders and begins half-dragging the man back to his bedroom.
The journey is a tedious one. Dean's whole body trembles. Sam doesn't know if it is an adrenaline withdrawal, shock, or something worse, but he is grateful when they finally reached Dean's bed.
His brother gingerly eases down onto the mattress, then immediately slumps forward to put his head in hands. "We don't have time for this," he mutters. "I'm fine."
Sam takes a deep breath and channels his father.
"You're beat to hell, Dean. I can't do what I need to do out there if you make things hard for me in here. Now are you gonna let me help you, or not?"
Dean lifts his head a fraction, complying but refusing to meet Sam's eyes.
Sam yanks open the nightstand drawer where Dean kept a first aid kit. He pulls out the necessary items – a penlight, peroxide, gauze, a butterfly bandage. His mind keeps wandering back to the map room, the work he has ahead of him. The blood. The smell. Hunters' funerals. His feeling of helplessness only grows as he tends to his injured sibling.
Dean keeps flinching as Sam re-bandages the head wound. Sam is so lost in thought he barely notices that his completely silent brother suddenly has tears running down his cheeks.
"Dean? Oh hey – you're okay. Just relax, alright?"
He instinctively knows that this isn't a reaction to physical pain – this is the reaction of a body at the end of its ability to mentally and emotionally cope.
Seeing his brother so vulnerable sparks a wave of fierce tenderness in Sam. Hurrying to finish his ministrations, he gently replaces the butterfly bandage holding together the laceration on Dean's head.
"Ready for the penlight game?" Dean doesn't respond, just stares at spot over Sam's shoulder as his body trembles and the tears silently flow.
Sam confirms his brother's pupils are still uneven and then re-checks his pulse, frowning at the still-frantic beat. Dean has a thousand-yard stare Sam recognizes, and he appears to be taking rapid, shallow breaths. Sam doesn't know if it is shock or the onset of a panic attack, or both. He lays hands on Dean's shoulders, pressing down a bit to ground him.
"Hey man, I need you to try and focus, alright?"
He waits until Dean's teary gaze locks with his own. "Breathe with me. In…and out."
Thankfully Dean follows Sam's instructions, and within a few minutes his eyes seemed to clear.
"You with me?"
Dean nods, clumsily wiping his face. "Sorry."
Sam sits down on the bed next to brother, his eyes wandering around the room as he gathers his thoughts.
"They're dead because of Michael, not you." Sam says quietly. He pauses, but can tell from the tension in his brother's shoulders that he is listening. "I know you better than anyone. And you did everything right." He takes a deep breath and clears his throat. "And you may not want to hear it right now, but I would rather have a thousand dead hunters than a dead brother. So, I need you to come back from this, okay?"
Dean doesn't say anything, he doesn't even move. But he seems calmer somehow.
Sam stands with a groan, his own muscles sore from the events of the day.
"When's the last time you had anything to drink?"
Dean shakes his head. "Don't know." The words crackle like crushed glass.
"Okay, I'm gonna get you some water." Sam says. "Be right back."
He returns to find Dean lying flat, one arm flung over his eyes.
"Here," Sam says, nudging his brother's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Don't fall asleep yet. You need fluids."
Dean sighs and sits up straighter, taking the glass of water from Sam's outstretched hand.
"These too," Sam holds out a pair of white capsules.
Sam tracks his brother's slow, shaky movements worriedly. "Anything else bothering you, besides your head? I didn't really check you over."
Dean shakes his head. "Just tired." He eases back down on his mattress, eyes closed, one hand resting on his stomach.
"Okay." Sam bites his lip, self-consciously smoothing his palms against his jeans, and sighs. He knows Dean is lying and really doesn't want to leave him alone. But he needs to go help Cas move the bodies.
"Right. I'll be back in a bit. Let me know if you need anything."
He lingers at the doorway, looking back to watch the slow rise and fall of his brother's chest.
He knows Dean isn't going to sleep well.
End