I am continually apologizing for the lateness of chapters, but it's good to be back. The good news is that my massive English research essay is done, so I should have a bit more time to write. Again, thanks for sticking with the story, and let me know what you guys think of the ending of this chapter ;) Massive thank yous to Celtic Knot, freetobescary, VegasGranny, and Bjester74 for your reviews, you guys keep me motivated. Hope you enjoy!
Getting Dean to the Impala took a few minutes longer than it should have, as his legs were stiff and the rest of his body was cold from having been sitting tense on the ground for so long. Eventually, Sam did get him situated in the passenger side and only left for a second to grab a blanket out of the trunk and take a moment to compose himself.
He'd pulled Dean back from the edge, and in the very location where Dean himself had failed to do the same years ago when the fate of the world hung in the balance. But this, piecing his brother back together, surely it would be easier than trying to piece back the world…right?
He got into the front seat next to his brother and unfolded the blanket to place over Dean's lap. He didn't refuse it and he didn't take it, he just sat and stared blankly out the window, as if in a trance.
When Sam turned the Impala on and pumped up the heat, the legos in the vents started to rattle. Maybe it was that, or the eventual warmness that started to fill the car, but slowly Dean started to come back to himself. Sam wasn't driving anywhere until Dean was.
Dean cast a glance out the side window where the car Sam had used was sitting. He then turned back to Sam with a questioning look on his face, but didn't open his mouth. It was fine, Sam got what he meant. He could still understand his big brother's coded facial expressions. "Dean, it's fine. Cas and I will pick it up or something. Or it'll sit here, we've got plenty of backups, and it's not exactly a car we're tied to," he explained.
Dean seemed to take that explanation, his form losing a bit of its rigidity. His fingers found the edge of the blanket and began fiddling with it, which Sam took as a decent sign. Slowly, he shifted the Impala and turned it around and away from the cursed place that had once taken him and had almost taken his brother.
He had a few ideas forming in his head. The first was easy enough to accomplish, but the second was still in progress. It may take some convincing, but after that, it would probably help. Sam just had to figure out how to bring the subject up.
Almost three hours later, the Impala hurtled back into Lebanon. It was mid-afternoon now, and aside from a few words here or there, Dean hadn't said much of anything. His color had returned, which was good, and his eyes followed the highway as they drove, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
However, he did register when they pulled off the main road and into a small diner just outside of a little shopping mall in town. Sam got into a spot and turned off the car before he looked to Dean, as if for approval. They'd been to the diner a few times before, not enough to be easily recognized, but enough so that they knew both the food and service were worth returning for.
"I'm guessing you didn't eat before you left?" Sam brought up.
Dean shook his head. "Left a bit in a hurry," he affirmed quietly. "They got anything good here?"
Sam smiled just a little bit at that before he nodded. "Apparently they do waffles pretty well," he replied, not mentioning the times they had been there. Dean had gotten the waffles every single time, and had not once been disappointed. It was a safe bet for brunch, at least. "You warm enough? We have extra jackets in the back," Sam mentioned, seeing as how Dean had only just then shrugged off the blanket in preparation for getting out of the car.
"'m fine, Sam," Dean said shortly. But he caught himself quickly and softened his tone and added in a quick "thanks". It had already been a long day, and Sam wouldn't blame Dean for being a little out of sorts. Whether his thanks was a means to put up a facade as to not worry Sam or an honest apology, Sam didn't know, but he hoped the latter.
Even in the afternoon, their breath still made puffs of white clouds in front of them before they got into the diner. A young red-haired waitress who introduced herself as Emily got them situated before she left for a few minutes to give them time with the menus. The diner, for the most part, was fairly empty, given the off time. When she came back with a pot of coffee, Dean got the aforementioned waffles and Sam took pancakes.
"Waffles are basically pancakes, what's the big deal?"
"They're partially crispy pancakes with built in syrup wells, Sam, how can you favor flat, squishy circles over these?"
It was a conversation they had years ago, and had stuck to their respective sides of the debate ever since. But Sam didn't have an exact date for the argument; was it something Dean remembered or had it gotten lost too?
"Still with the pancakes?" Dean eventually brought up and tried for a smile.
So then it was part of the memories that Dean still possessed. For that one, small fact, Sam was still grateful. "I stand by my squishy circles," he defended. It was easy, normal even, to come up with a reply to it. Almost like old times, but not quite. Even the one sentence made it apparent that Dean was trying too hard for things to in fact be normal when just hours ago he'd been freezing his ass off in the middle of a cemetery.
Dean let out a soft 'whatever' and grabbed his coffee cup. The few seconds it took him to put sugar in allowed Sam a moment to text Cas to let him know that they were in Lebanon but had stopped to eat. When Sam looked back up from his phone, Dean's eyes were on him.
It didn't take a genius to figure out who Sam had been texting. "Cas okay?" he asked. His sudden disappearance hadn't just affected Sam, but Cas too, and it was obvious by the look on his face that he had once again realized this.
"Yeah, he's fine. Just making sure the drive went okay," Sam replied easily. "The drive" was also in reference to Dean, and on simple terms, both were going 'okay'.
They were silent for a few seconds before Dean spoke again. "Sorry about the whole…rushed exit thing," he apologized again.
Sam shook his head at that. "Dean, you've only been out of the hospital a week, and there's some pretty heavy stuff that comes with that," he said in complete understanding. "No apologies needed."
While Dean did eventually nod back at that, it was evident by the way he toyed with his slightly chipped coffee mug that he didn't totally buy it. But then again, it was just like Dean, and Sam knew it: carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Emily came back again with their orders, which thankfully brought some much needed lightness to the otherwise dreary day. She then offered to pack up a few coffees to go (probably because they looked like they needed it) but also because she seemed like a nice person. Her long, red hair bounced slightly as she walked to give them the to-go cups and bid them a safe drive back wherever they were going.
The brothers took the coffees with a smile and it wasn't long before they were back on the road, only about fifteen minutes from the bunker, which was a relief. Dean was back, and for the most part things were alright, that was what mattered.
"What now?" Dean asked a few minutes into their drive.
"What do you mean?" Sam replied, not quite getting what it was referring to.
"With this whole…thing. We got a game plan?"
Sam thought for a moment before he shrugged, one hand on the wheel. "Same as always, I guess. Talk it through, keep Cas and I in the loop about what's going on," he threw Dean a quick glance on that point, "see Luna, take your meds, maybe a movie here or there?"
"Fun plan," Dean replied sarcastically, but at least it was something. Maybe, in the tiny little ways they thought might help fix this, they could all combine to eventually form a solution.
"It'll work, Dean. It just needs time. More than a week of time. And it needs communication. Whatever's going on in your head, you need to let someone know. It's not a…a burden you're placing on Cas or I to let us know what you're dealing with, alright?" Sam probably spoke a bit slower than he needed to, but he also needed Dean to get it. If they could prevent another encounter with Stull or a missing brother, it would definitely be nice.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean nod, eyes still on the road in front of them, but clear and understanding about what had to be done.
When they finally got back to the bunker, Cas greeted both of them, happy to see that they had returned safely. Dean excused himself a few minutes later to take a shower, which left Sam to catch Cas up on what had happened.
"And he was just sitting there?" the angel asked as Sam described how he had found Dean at the cemetery.
"Yeah, just…blank. His mind was going, but nothing was getting out. I don't know if I got through to him or not. I mean, I think I did, but, we'll see," Sam said with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.
"I believe Dean understands the gravity of the situation," Cas nodded slowly, "and while getting him to describe what is going on may take time, it's really the only option we have, and I think he sees that."
Sam looked to Cas, as if for confirmation about what he had just said. "Dean can be stubborn, but he also cares a great deal. It's just a matter of whose worry wins out, his about making us shoulder too much, or ours about him."
"That about sums it up," Sam nodded slowly. He didn't like it, but they couldn't exactly force Dean to talk, especially if he had no intention of doing so.
They talked about the car for a minute and agreed that if, once, matters settled down, they'd retrieve it, but until then it wasn't of much importance. When Dean came back, they settled on a few movies to watch to get their minds off the situation at hand and tried to enjoy the fact that they were still able to share each other's company.
After the movies, Dean had decided to turn in early, as he was wiped, both physically and emotionally. This whole ordeal was taking more thinking and worrying than pretty much anything had before, and it was tiring. He had no trouble falling asleep, partially due to the medication, which made him drowsy. But when he finally did fall asleep, he dreamt of Emily.
Or…at least he thought he did at first. He only saw the woman from behind, and her red hair immediately made him associate her with Emily. But when she turned around, in a medieval looking outfit of all things, her face didn't match the one of the friendly waitress.
Something about her though, it was too specific to just be a dream. The whole thing was too specific. Even his own clothes were covered in chain mail. They were in some sort of a tent, again going with the medieval theme. They were seated at a table with a board spread out in front of them. The board had little plastic figures on it in different colors. Dean and the woman were talking and moving them around, as if deciding the best battle strategy. It was as if he were watching the event unfold from an outsider's perspective, but still in his own body, like he was just watching it play out and not influencing anything.
Dean realized fairly quickly that he liked this, even in a dream. It was easy, doing this with her, so she wasn't someone random either, they had a history of some sort. When they did get up, she placed a plastic crown on Dean's head and left the tent. Dean took off the crown and twirled it in his fingers, wondering what the hell sort of dream or memory this was. Had they time-travelled back? Then why the plastic?
He followed her outside the tent, but then found himself in another one. This one was much darker than the red one they had been in just moments earlier. When he turned around, the flaps he had come through were gone. The woman was near the side of the room, her hands up as she faced a man with a fancy looking book, also in medieval gear, chain mail and all.
Dean went up to them, but his actions did nothing. Again, he was just watching something play out instead of being a part of it. Even shoving the guy did nothing, and when he drew a very real looking sword to keep the woman from moving, Dean was powerless to stop him. The man kept reading from the book, and all of a sudden, the woman's fiery red hair lit into a blaze.
Dean could only stand and watch in complete and utter horror as the flames engulfed her red robes until there was, quite literally, nothing left. She had gone up in flames and smoke and then…nothing. Even the man and his spell book were gone. Dean tried calling out to the woman, whose name he didn't even know, but he couldn't find any way out of the room or any trace that anyone else had been there at all.
He tried, desperately, from inside the dream, to make himself wake up, but he had no such luck. It was as if he was stuck in a loop, watching the woman go up in flames time and time again, while he was powerless to stop it. He should have been able to stop it. He should have been there for her to help when she needed it. She meant something to him, but he didn't know what, and it was killing him.
When Dean finally did wake up, the collar of his t-shirt was wet with sweat. A quick check of his clock let him know that it was just past three in the morning, which was prime time for a rude awakening from a nightmare. He pushed his feet off the bed and they landed on the cool cement floor, but he didn't yet move to get up.
No, he needed a moment to get his bearings. The woman, there was something about her. But as he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with anything. Seeing Emily earlier though, it must have triggered some sort of…something to do with this other woman that Dean couldn't remember.
Sam would remember, though. If she had been that important to Dean, there was a good chance that Sam knew something about it. He was about to get up to see if Sam could help, but he stopped himself. What if the woman had been important to both of them and had in fact gone up in an inferno? What if she was dead and Sam wouldn't want to go through it again? Or, what if she never existed in the first place and Dean's mind was just playing more tricks on him? How much crazy could Sam take?
Dean pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Damnit," he muttered under his breath. He couldn't exactly run off and find answers. No, the only answers were here in the bunker, and Sam could help. Hell, Sam wanted to help, that had been the whole point of the previous day: convincing Dean that he had people to turn to when he needed help with this stuff.
But even amid his younger brother's reassurances, the what-ifs still bombarded Dean's mind in rapid succession. It was almost five in the morning before he finally got up out of bed and padded down the hall to Sam's room.
The red-haired woman in his dreams, who looked so happy, always went up in flames, and Dean needed to find out why. That need, coupled with Sam asking Dean to ask for help finally led him to his younger brother's door. It was already cracked open, and Dean took a breath, trying to assure himself that he was in fact doing the right thing, before he pushed it open a bit further, a multitude of questions on his lips.