A/N: Massive thanks go to DearHart for giving me the idea for the flashback sequence (section in italics). Your review compelled me to get it written straight away, though it's taken me two weeks to get it anywhere near acceptable and I'm still not sure I'm fully happy with it - or the chapter as a whole. Anyway you're awesome DearHart! Hopefully you'll like it :) x
Chapter Five
Pushing open the main entrance of the bunker, Sam raised his face to the sky the minute he stepped out into the fresh air, savouring the taste of freedom from windowless walls for the first time in fourteen days. Two whole weeks of not being allowed out of the bunker after Dean laid down the law during their morning discussion about Sam's recent painkiller intake. His big brother hadn't spanked him as he'd dreaded, but by the time Dean had finished yelling at him he'd wished the man had; it would have at least alleviated some of the guilt and shame Sam had been feeling.
He hated being grounded. And he wanted to hate Dean for grounding him, but unfortunately he didn't; he was still too busy quietly revelling in the fact his brother was alive and free from the Mark of Cain. He may have gone a little stir-crazy by the end of his confinement, but at least he'd been able to venture around the bunker and wasn't trapped in his bedroom twenty-four seven. Though he had spent the first two days in self-inflicted confinement after Dean had laid out the new rules just for little brother; lest said little brother turn around and slug big brother in the face. That would've definitely seen Sam staring far too closely at tiled flooring with his butt in the air.
Plus he wanted to sulk about the unfairness of it all.
For the foreseeable future, Sam was no longer allowed anywhere near a med kit and in Dean-speak that actually meant Sam would never be touching the kit again – unless there was an emergency. Nor was he allowed any caffeine; coffee and soda having been permanently wiped from his diet. Along with any and all alcohol. Tea, milk, juice, hot chocolate (though limited to one a day due to the minute caffeine content in the cocoa powder) and water were his alternatives. And his butt was to be in bed by ten o'clock every night. Dean had primarily stated he was enforcing the latter because of the purple bruising under Sam's eyes and wouldn't retract it until they had vastly reduced. It had taken just over a week and yet Sam was still in bed by ten because his idiot of a brother thought it was doing Sam a world of good to be in bed at a reasonable hour. Only the nights they were out on hunts would he be free from the bedtime.
That was about the point Sam kicked up a stink. Sure he understood that Dean was only genuinely thinking of Sam's health, but hello! Grown-assed adult who doesn't need a bedtime! As usual Dean didn't take Sam's age into account. His big brother had instead swiftly made his authority known by tanning Sam's hide and put him to bed in the middle of the freaking afternoon instead. The next day had seen him sitting on – Sam cringed – a naughty chair in the middle of the kitchen whilst his brother finally installed the new breakfast bar because he'd kicked off about the bedtime again. His sore bottom becoming extra sore from the three hard swats he'd received when he'd got up off the chair after being told not to move.
Message acknowledged and received. For now.
They were meant to be discussing it again in a month's time, but Sam doubted there would be any discussion actually involved when the time came. Not only would his body have become accustomed to going to sleep shortly after ten, but he doubted Dean would retract the new rule. Sam, however, would certainly take his shot at changing Dean's mind. And hopefully he'd be able to put his point across without once throwing a tantrum.
But for now, Sam closed his eyes with a grin, taking in the feel of the faint sunshine dancing across his skin. On a good day this was Heaven. Turning right instead of the usual left he'd take to get to the street, Sam headed up the small and almost obscured dirt path leading around to the back end of the power plant. On one of his and Dean's past explorations of the plant and the area around it, they'd found a large piece of land overgrown with weeds. The elevated level of ground the plant was built on and the thick line of trees was effective in hiding it from view of the street running parallel. Whilst the fence of large and overlapping trees on the opposite side and at the very far end made it a hidden treasure.
One Dean and Cas were currently sparring in.
Walking the weed free path that had been made, Sam reached the larger area that had been cleared of weeds before the rest of it could be done. He set two of the three water bottles in his hands down on the ground when he reached Dean's discarded jacket and Cas' sweater. Sam unscrewed his own water bottle and took a sip as he watched the two. He winced as Cas landed hard on the ground from one of Dean's kicks, but the former angel immediately sprang back up, landing a punch to Dean's smirking face that had Dean staggering sideways but remaining standing. Dean said something Sam couldn't hear before laughing and dodging the kick Cas levelled at him.
Sam bit his lower lip, really hoping neither was using any powers outside of their strength here. They'd both promised not to go overboard and keep using the powers; to lay off at least until they could figure out how they still had the powers in the first place. Because if there had been an upside to being grounded, it was that Sam had been able to surreptitiously keep an eye on both his brother and Cas. To watch for any side effects the powers might be having on the older men's human bodies. For now it seemed as though everything was normal, both men remaining healthy and strong. On the outside. Even though Dean and Cas said they both felt physically fine, who knew what the powers could be doing to them on the inside.
This was the first time Sam had had the opportunity to see the two sparring since the spell and he shook his head. Both were going to be a mass of cuts and bruises when they were done, because neither one was holding back from using their strength; both older men brutal in their kicks and punches. He winced again as Dean caught Cas in the back of the knee with a fierce kick, toppling the former angel to the floor. An irrational and childish surge of alarm swept through Sam at the thought they were going to really hurt each other - kill each other and leave him all alone! - and his next breath got stuck in his throat.
Black spots were invading his vision…
"Dean! Dammit, Dean! Stop already!" Sam yelled, hating that his brother was so far gone into growling anger that Dean had no idea what he was continuing to stir up. Because only his brother could go on a hunt to kill his tenth vampire nest in as many months to ease some of the constant aggression and end up pissing off a two hundred year old ghost.
A powerful ghost that was currently doing its damn hardest to kill them both.
The extreme wind the ghost had kicked up and dropped on their heads had seen them taking refuge inside a small mausoleum. The wind had nearly toppled both Sam and Dean to the ground on several occasions before they'd dove inside and now Dean was too busy taunting the ghost trapped outside the guarded walls, rather than helping Sam to figure out a strategy to get out there and gank the thing.
"Dean! Stop! Please!"
Dean stopped his taunts, finally registering Sam's voice. He turned his head to look at Sam who could have sworn he saw a flash of black in those hard green eyes when lightening forked across the tiny windows and briefly illuminated the small space they occupied. And it wasn't the first time during these past months that he'd seen that flash of black, in fact its appearance was growing more frequent. The temperature around him dropped several degrees and Sam feared it had nothing to do with the ghost. His brother was walking towards him, movements dangerous and powerful, but Sam remained firm, keeping eye contact, even as he slowly withdrew his knife from his back waistband. In case it was necessary.
God did he pray it wasn't.
"Dean …" Sam cut himself off as his brother's right arm snaked outwards faster than Sam could register and Dean's large hand clamped down on the back of Sam's neck. Fingers squeezed against his skin, causing Sam to let out a soft hiss. He stifled it as best he could, remaining still, lest that hand change position and curl around the front of his neck instead. Because if those fingers squeezed there as tightly as they were against the back of Sam's neck, Sam would have little choice but to bring the knife swiftly into play.
"What did I tell you earlier?" Dean growled lowly against Sam's ear.
Sam swallowed his fear, hating that he even felt it in the first place. But Dean was different now. In the past week it was as if a switch had been flicked. Dean had suddenly become that pure violent soldier John Winchester had moulded and the Mark was exploiting; with none of the playful, impertinent, loving, sarcastic and caring big brother left behind. It had left Sam walking on eggshells around Dean just to try and keep the peace. But more than once Dean's anger had seen him bolting to get away; and more than once leaving him feeling like a complete and utter coward. He hissed again as the fingers wrapping around the back of his neck dug in a little more and shook him.
"What. Did. I. Tell. You?" Dean hissed against Sam's ear again, every syllable laced with the displeasure of having to repeat himself.
Sam swallowed again and responded quietly, knowing to raise his voice again would be bringing forth even more fury. "To keep my mouth shut."
He could feel Dean's breath blowing against his cheek, could see Dean's head nod down once out of the corner of his eye before lifting again.
"I hear your voice again, boy," Dean's voice was whispered steel, "you're gonna get what I promised you."
Sam nodded jerkily, his hair brushing the side of Dean's cheek before Dean straightened and moved back to the small windows to look outside again. Sam slipped the knife back into the waistband of his jeans before curling his shaking fingers into his palms and resting them on his knees. He thought back to earlier, before they'd come out here on this hunt. Back when he hadn't had much choice but to follow as Dean had dragged him out of the bunker and shoved him into the Impala. And then when he'd pissed off Dean with a single spoken sentence in the confine of the car that had seen his brother promise to beat Sam's ass with a switch until it was roar, bruised and bleeding if he didn't shut his mouth and keep it shut for the rest of the hunt.
Sam shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest to try and conserve some body heat in the chill of the mausoleum. He had never before been afraid of his brother. Sam had certainly always held a healthy amount of caution that came from knowing his big brother was the type of man who had no qualms about dishing out a swat or full spanking to his little brother's behind, even though said little brother's in his thirty's. Sam had felt Dean's hand across his butt on numerous occasions, as child, teen and adult, but Dean had never threatened him in the way he had in the car with that cold, calculating fury. Dean had always refused to use anything beyond his hand, an old hairbrush or a wooden spoon on Sam's bottom, especially after he'd found out what John had done during the two month absence that Sam now knew Dean had spent at Sonny's Home For Boys.
Sam was determined to do as ordered because he knew this Dean would go through with the action he'd promised. Anger rose up within him, feeling like a useless spare part that Dean was lugging around just for the sake of needing its use some day, rather than the hunter he was. But this Dean was arrogant and obnoxious, needing no one's help but his own. And Sam was only here because Dean dragged him, not because he was needed.
Yes, Sam would do as he was told, but only because when he got his brother back he didn't want Dean to wake to the knowledge he'd taken a switch to Sam and carved his butt into mincemeat.
And honestly, he didn't want to think it, but was getting his brother out from under the Mark's influence even going to be doable anymore?
The unknown answer terrified Sam.
#
Finally Dean had grown bored of taunting the ghost from within the confined walls of the mausoleum. He'd grabbed hold of Sam's upper arm in a bruising grip and Sam had been yanked out of the door alongside Dean, shotgun in his hold. He kept his mouth shut about the treatment in accordance with Dean's order, and about the fact he was more than capable of walking out of there without being dragged.
Now, whilst Dean took pleasure in playing taunting chicken with the ghost, Sam was in a six-foot deep hole with skeletal remains two centuries old and in the process of smashing through the wooden coffin lid for a second time with his shovel. And more than ready to be done with this. Though the end of the hunt would mean getting back in the Impala with Dean. Sam contemplated hitchhiking or stealing a car. Or calling Cas. Anything not to have to be in that close a vicinity with Dean for seven hours where anything Sam did could set the man off into blazing fury; and there were a lot of trees lining their route home. He shook his head at the useless idea. Dean had already proven three days earlier - in total contradiction to the threats and violence towards Sam - that he'd hunt Sam down and drag him back; his brother's usual overprotectiveness amplified by the Mark into two-hundred percent possessiveness.
Since the change in Dean, his brother had stopped bolting away from Sam every time Sam pissed him off. And Sam could no longer run to his bedroom; Dean had ripped the door off its hinges and shattered the locks. So Sam had run the other way, out of the bunker. Dean had caught up with him halfway through Nebraska. Cas had placed himself between them, shoving Dean away from landing the next blow on Sam, and the look Dean had had in his eyes, the willingness to go through Cas to get to Sam. Sam had tried to shove the angel out of the way, but Cas hadn't budged. Sam had sworn not to place Castiel in that position again.
The crack reverberated through the graveyard as loud as a foghorn amongst silence.
Sam froze, the shovel head skidding across broken wood with a clang. He knew that sound. He was as fluent in the sound of breaking bones as he was in Latin. The shovel slipped from his grasp without his noticing as he was already scrambling his way up and out of the hole, yelling his brother's name. As soon as he was on his feet, he was searching for his brother and kicking up the shotgun from the grass, catching it in his right hand without even looking at it. He had it raised and aimed in seconds.
"DEAN!" he yelled again, heart thundering painfully against his rib cage.
No voice responded. But then, this new Dean might be just vindictive enough not to answer and leave Sam in even more darkness than that of the night surrounding him.
Sam froze once again, but this time with the familiar prickling feeling creeping down his spine. He spun and fired, the rock salt scattering the ghost's body into vapour. Sam knew he needed to finish this. The ghost would only keep trying to kill Sam to stop him from torching the bastard's bones and Sam couldn't help his brother all the while he was trying to fend off a ghost.
He scrambled for the lighter fluid and matchbook, snatching them up just as the ghost reappeared, sending him flying backwards. He slammed into the ground, a soft cry of pain releasing from his throat as the hit jarred his previously injured shoulder. He hurriedly pushed himself back to his feet, shoving the pain to the back of his mind and sprinted for the grave. Throwing in the lighter fluid, he fired the last remaining rock-salt shell when the ghost lunged at him. Lighting the matchbook he tossed it in the hole, momentary satisfaction flooding through him as he heard the ghost scream, but he didn't stick around to watch it burn.
The shotgun slipped from Sam's fingers but he barely noticed as he was already bolting towards the area he thought the sound of breaking bone had earlier come from, feet pounding over earth. His heart leapt into his throat as he spotted his brother's form slumped to the side of a gravestone, unmoving.
Dean's not moving. Why isn't Dean moving? Maybe he's just in too much pain from the break. It's just a broken wrist. A broken leg or elbow. It's …
Sam skidded to a halt, breath coming in short gasps as the copper tang of blood hit his nostrils; a lot of blood. He dropped to his knees beside Dean, slowly and carefully easing Dean over onto his back. Sam's body was instantly wracked with tremors as he saw the fatal wound on his brother's head. Bile rose in his throat and Sam twisted to the side and threw up onto the grass. His brother's head was broken; the front of Dean's skull almost split in two. But it wasn't registering yet with Sam. He was seeing it, but he was also seeing his brother's head and face the way it always looked because Dean was just sleeping.
How could he not be? There was nothing wrong. They were okay. A broken wrist. A broken leg …
Sam grasped the front of Dean's shirt, dragging his brother up against him. "Dean, hey, Dean, c'mon. This isn't funny, man. Dean, you gotta wake up." Sam shook his brother lightly, not yet registering the movement shook Dean's limp arms like they belonged to a rag doll. "You're okay, big brother."
The sound of wings momentarily had him shifting his gaze to the angel dropping to kneel beside them, tears in the dull blue eyes. Sam grew angry; now was not the time for stupid tears, it was time for healing, god dammit! "
Cas..." Sam gripped the front of the angel's coat in a tight fist, "... you gotta help him! Heal him!"
"Sam," Cas said softly, hand coming down to cover Sam's and squeezing lightly. "he's gone. Dean's dead, Sam," the angel choked on the words, all composure stripped away.
"No," Sam shook his head, "No. No, no, no, no, he's just ..."
It was the denial that set the avalanche in motion as Sam found himself tumbling over and over down through the rabbit hole until he hit dry earth with a bang; the truth hitting him like a hammer to the chest. And with the realisation, a keening cry as eerie as a fox crying in the dark of night swept over the resting places of the dead. It echoed off gravestones and walls of mausoleums before fading off into the distance and all that could be heard from that quiet and small cemetery in the silent and tiny town was the sobs of one who had lost all.
Dean …
Sam could no longer feel the movement of his brother's chest.
Is …
Nor the familiar drum of heartbeat beneath his hand.
Gone.
There was no life. A ghost had torn it away.
Dean is gone.
"He'll come back, Sam," Cas' voice intoned, breaking through the sound of his sobs.
Sam held on tighter, his cheek coming to rest against Dean's broken head. Knowing his brother would open his eyes again did nothing to curb his grief and the crushing weight of failure. Dean was gone from him again and the next time his brother opened those eyes - they would be pure obsidian; his brother's soul once again fully claimed by the Mark and the dark pits of Hell as it's only remaining Knight.
It was his fault.
He'd said shit to Dean two years ago that had led his big brother down a path of receiving the Mark of Cain, because Dean thought the little brother he loved so much had completely and thoroughly abandoned him and everything their brotherhood stood for. So why not accept an ancient brand that would lead to darker paths when there was no one that cared. Sam fucking cares! He gives a shit about what happens to his brother! He'd willingly sacrifice his own life for the man who'd raised him, who had been an amazing big brother and everything else. He HAD made that sacrifice, not just to save the big brother he loved more than his own life, but the world that hadn't done either him or Dean any favours.
But that's why they did it, right? Because no matter how fucked up the world was, it was worth the save at the end of the day.
But was it? When he was once again holding his brother's pale and cooling corpse in his arms was it worth it? Was anything worth that? As selfish as that made him sound, Sam didn't care, because... was it? How many times was he meant to go through this? Or Dean go through this. Before that one time became one too many and they were a drooling mess staring out the window of the mental institute wishing for that one more day they were never going to get back again with the brother that meant the world.
Sam would go quietly - the pills he had stashed away would do the job all in one go. He'd slip away to join his brother in a peaceful death he's never felt before. Did that make him a coward for having such a thought and not the strength to carry on? Some may call it cowardice, but hadn't he and his brother done enough for this godforsaken shit-hole to be owed a little bit of peace, even if that peace only came in a bottle of pills? Didn't they deserve that?
Or would they have to forever always keep fighting against the fragility of it all?
They had spent a lifetime not knowing from one day to the next whether they were going to survive. If big brother was going to outlive little brother. If little brother was going to outlive big brother. Or were big and little brother going to outlive everyone; to have to watch everyone they knew and loved die around them. Hadn't they lost enough? Mary, John, Bobby, Jess, Jo, Ellen, Rufus, Kevin… the list went on.
Were they meant to lose each other indefinitely? Could someone please tell him?
Please?
Please?
"Sam, we have to go." Sam heard the deep voice from the end of a long tunnel, his sobs echoes in his own ears. "If you wish to do the ritual the time is now."
Sam pulled his brother in closer to his chest as he wrapped his arms tighter around Dean's lifeless body. He could see, beyond the blood, the wound was already starting to knit itself back together.
Dean would wake a demon once again.
It awoke Sam slightly from his fog enough to remember that there was a possible light at the end of this entire fucked up mess. Everything seeped away; Dean's recent behaviour; Sam's hurt; everything. And what seeped in was pure focus and determination the like of which could only belong to a stubborn Sam Winchester.
Slipping an arm beneath Dean's knees, the other around his back, Sam rose from the ground, Cas rising beside them. It was now Sam's turn to save his brother. And he was either going to cure him or set him free to go into permanent death.
Oh god.
Sam straightened his shoulders as he carried his dead big brother to the car for the second time in a year. He could do this. He just needed to remember to breathe.
Breathe.
Just breathe...
"Breathe, dammit!"
Sam blinked. That sounded like Dean.
"Sam! I said breathe! Now!"
A force smacked against his chest sending Sam's trapped breath rushing out of him. He coughed harshly and sucked in a lungful of fresh air, repeating the process several more times with several more coughs. He blinked. Was he lying on the ground? There was a hard surface beneath him and cloudy blue above him. There was a weight on his chest and he thought he heard his name being called. Blinking rapidly against the fog filling his mind, he startled as Dean's bloodied face swam into his vision, his brother leaning over him. He shot upwards with a gasp and the accompanying fear that he hadn't saved his brother after all.
Die I die?
Is this Heaven?
Is this Hell?
Unfortunately, all his abrupt movement did was send dizziness sweeping through his head to remind him that no, he was very much alive, and now quite unable to keep his breakfast from making an embarrassing reappearance.
All down his front.
"Whoa, okay, easy, Sammy," Dean soothed, voice laced with concern as he and Cas gripped Sam's upper arms on either side, and gently helped ease Sam into a better upright position. Dean moved behind him, a hand resting on Sam's chest and easing him back to rest against Dean's sturdy chest. "Grab one of those waters behind you, Cas." Sam allowed himself to relax back into his brother. "Think you're done, buddy?" Dean questioned against his ear, sending a jolt of memory through Sam to the last time his brother had done that, but he felt no fear pulse through him this time. His brother's tone was calm, soothing.
Sam nodded lightly, indicating he was done with the throwing up. He blinked sluggishly again, eyes lowering from Dean's bloodied face to Cas' kneeling form, the worry written clearly across the ex-angel's face as he handed the water over to Dean.
"All right, Sammy, rinse and spit," Dean instructed as he twisted off the cap and set the rim of the bottle to Sam's lips.
The bottle was gently tipped upwards so the cool water instantly trickled into Sam's mouth. He swished it around his mouth, before turning his head to the side with Dean's continued support and spat it out. Dean had him rinse a couple more times, before Sam decided to swallow the next mouthful, grateful for the soothing liquid against his burning throat. He really hated throwing up.
"What happened?" Sam questioned groggily when he was done drinking.
"You damn well tell us, Sam," Dean responded, gruff anger now coming through to mask his concern. "I'm in the middle of throwing a punch at Cas when I see you collapse. We both ran over and found you barely fucking breathing."
Sam's forehead drew inwards. He took in Dean's bloodied nose and split lip and then Cas' torn eyebrow and cut chin. The memory of watching the sparring session and his sudden and unexpected fear of them killing each other and being left alone slammed into him again. He dropped his gaze to his lap, feeling the heat flare across his cheeks as he smelt and saw the mess coating his front; embarrassment dimming irrational fear and bringing back rational thinking.
Needing to get away from the mess he'd made, he tugged on the hem of his outer and under shirt and started rolling them up from the bottom so at least he wouldn't get the vomit in his face when he removed it. Hands stilled his own, and Dean took over, leaving Sam feeling even more like a child as tears burned his eyes. He hurriedly did his best to blink them away. Dean made short work of Sam's shirts and they were both being tugged over his head and out of his arms in under a minute.
Then Dean's hands were under his armpits and he was hauled up into his big brother's arms. His butt came to rest on Dean's left hip with Dean's arm slipping underneath his butt in support. He blushed, unable to align his brain with the fact that – here he was, thirty-two and over three inches taller than Dean and yet Dean was carrying him with only one arm and with all the ease he had when Sam was still a toddler. He knew Dean had the strength to carry him, but it didn't make sense to Sam's intellectual mind as to how he still fitted against Dean's hip like he was made to be there. And he really wasn't putting up much of a fight against it as his mind felt he should be, because he had already wound his legs around his brother, with one arm sliding around the back of Dean's neck.
"I'm getting puke on you," Sam mumbled, his blush intensifying as he knew there were spots of vomit on his jeans. "And I can walk."
"Clothes get washed, kiddo," Dean murmured against his ear, fingers brushing briefly over Sam's cheek where Sam could feel the residue of a salty tear. "And I'm not sure if you realise it, kid, but you're shaking like a leaf. It'd be better for us all if you didn't break your neck from losing your balance." Dean told him succinctly, the hand beneath his butt squeezing against his hip lightly and letting him know Dean wasn't putting him down before they got inside.
Sam hadn't realised he was shaking but now he'd been informed, he could feel the tremors running through his limbs. Dean turned them and Sam unconsciously gripped hold of the front of his brother's shirt as if afraid he might fall – which was a stupid thought. He saw Cas standing beside Dean, the jackets and water bottles in his hold.
Cas offered a smile, and reached out, running a hand down Sam's nearest arm, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance before letting go. Cas turned his eyes to Dean. "Would you like me to get his shower running?"
Sam stiffened at the idea. It was bad enough Cas had been witness to Sam losing his stomach, the last thing he needed was Cas witnessing him butt naked as well. That would be beyond embarrassing. A hand started rubbing soothing circles across his back and he looked at Dean, sighing in relief at the understanding he saw in his brother's green eyes, one of which gave him a soft wink, letting him know he wouldn't put Sam through that in his vulnerable state.
Vulnerable? Sam scoffed inwardly. Where'd that thought come from?
As Dean answered Cas in the affirmative, adding, "Grab some clothes from Sammy's room too. Just sweats, t-shirt and underwear, Cas," a much larger part of Sam than his intellect was more than happy to simply bury his red face against Dean's neck and just let big brother deal with everything.
He'd sort out these crazy emotions later.
#SPN#
Sam yawned against his brother's collarbone for the millionth time as Dean carried him through the hallways of the bunker. He shifted his arm from around the back of his brother's neck and scrubbed at an eye with a closed fist before absently slipping his thumb in his mouth and suckling on the digit. He felt super tired and was struggling to keep his eyes open even though he'd barely been awake for five hours. At this rate, and if he didn't get his head together, Sam would undoubtedly find himself back in bed and taking a freaking afternoon nap because Dean would put him there without question.
He blinked sluggishly, trying to open his eyes and keep them open, but the second he stopped thinking about them staying open they slipped closed again. He pulled his thumb back out of his mouth and scrubbed viciously at his eyes, a soft whimper passing his lips without him realising it.
"All right, buddy, we're here now. Once we're done with your shower you can have a nap, okay."
See. There goes his brother assuming he needs a nap just because he can't keep his eyes open. He didn't need a nap. He was thirty-two fucking years old. He had things to do. Research to be getting on with. Anything else that consisted of not being put back to bed in the middle of the afternoon.
"Nooo," he whimpered shaking his head against his brother in the negative. It took a moment for his brain to register exactly why it came out that way. Oh great. Am I actually fucking crying right now? For the love of … why? But the salty tears now silently trailing down his cheeks weren't stopping no matter how much he told his brain there was absolutely no need for them.
Sam felt a rush of warm air flow over the bare skin of his shirtless upper body and knew they'd entered the bathroom. He could hear the running water of the shower. His legs were suddenly and easily pried away from Dean's body and shifted around so they were both in front of Dean's waist, then Dean was sitting and Sam felt his bum hit his brother's thighs. One of Dean's hands was rubbing light circles over Sam's back whilst the other rested against the back of Sam's head as he continued to cry into his brother's collarbone.
God, what is going on with me lately?
He really didn't understand where the earlier fear had cropped up from; or where the temper tantrum had sprung up from the other day; or why he had this constant need to want to suck his thumb. And that last may just be the craziest, because while he may have a lot of issues, he wasn't usually this emotionally out of balance. He tried to deal with one thing at a time, but these emotions seemed to be flying at him from all different directions and he was finding himself bouncing off the walls in trying to curb them.
"Sammy, I gotta get you in the shower and warmed up, bud." Dean's voice broke into his thoughts.
A small whine left Sam's mouth without his say-so, his body squirming against his brother in restlessness. He shook his head. He didn't want a shower. He wanted to sleep.
Sam mentally threw up his hands.
Seriously, what the hell?
His brain and body seriously needed to start working properly and get in-sync with each other because this up and down, back and forth crap was seriously going to drive him insane. Thankfully right now his brother was in charge and could deal with Sam's body and brain no longer working in tandem by shifting him around and doing it for him. Like now as Sam's legs were raised one by one so Dean could remove his boots and socks; then flick open Sam's jeans fly and briefly lift Sam up to get the denim material past Sam's butt and pull them down Sam's legs. Dean then kicked off his own boots, socks peeling off his feet without Dean touching them.
Sam blinked, before his tired brain caught up. Right, telekinesis. But his brother wasn't supposed to be using his powers, was he?
Sam shook his head, feeling as if he were having an outer body experience. He was there, but he wasn't there, because he knew he should be feeling some form of embarrassment right now. His brother was undressing him for his shower and all Sam could do was sit back and let him because he was too tired to protest otherwise. Sure Dean had undressed him and seen him butt naked plenty of times, the man used to bathe him and change his diapers and had on occasion in the past decade had to change him out of destroyed and blood-caked clothing and shove him in the shower, but he was a big boy now. One more than capable of handling it himself if he could just get his body working correctly.
He did let out a squeak of protest as his boxers were stripped down his legs and he was carried into the shower and set on his feet under the spray, facing the inner wall. He braced himself against the wall in front of him, his legs shaky as hell. He heard the curtain being pulled closed across the pole, and panic flashed through him. Where was Dean going? Oh god, he really wasn't going to be able to do much more in this shower than stand under the spray without his brother's assistance. But he needed to wash his hair and clean his body because he stank of puke. His eyes burned, fresh tears burning his eyes as they mixed with the water flowing over his face. His brother's name left his throat in a strangled sob.
"You're okay, baby boy, I'm right here."
Dean's voice was soft and right behind Sam. He snapped his head around to look over his shoulder, relief flooding his system as he saw his big brother stood there fully dressed in his black t-shirt and jeans. Guess that's why he removed his boots and socks. His brother was getting soaked, but Dean was holding Sam's bottle of shampoo and squirting a generous amount into his palm. Sam turned back around, trying to stifle his sobs whilst tipping his head back enough that his hair wasn't directly under the spray. He was past ready to get rid of the stink of vomit from himself.
Dean was swift but thorough in washing him, making sure everywhere was clean and rinsed before the shower was shut off; it had to have only been three to four minutes since Sam had been put in the shower. The curtain was opened and Dean stepped out instructing Sam to stay put. Sam shivered against the cool air. Dean returned quickly now dressed in grey sweats and a white t-shirt he'd probably grabbed out of the dirty laundry hamper. He held one of the softest and largest towels they owned and Sam found himself swiftly wrapped up in it, before he was once again in Dean's arms and carried back over to the bench.
"Sammy, I gotta grab your clothes, so I need you to hold yourself upright for just a sec, okay? Can you do that for me, bud?" Of course I can, Sam thought and nodded as such, his eyes barely open. "Good job."
Despite the fact he'd agreed, Sam was awake just enough to realise that when his brother's grip on him released he would be unable to prevent his body from toppling sideways. And when that inevitably happened a few seconds later, the floor rushed up to meet Sam, but Sam was unaware of that fact because he was already fast asleep.
#
"Dammit, Sammy," Dean cursed shooting back to halt his baby brother's descent towards the tiled bathroom floor. He cursed his stupidity, realising he never should've let go of Sammy to hold himself up in the first place. The kid had barely been able to hold himself up throughout the shower so why Dean thought Sam would be able to do the same on the bench… Dean shook his head. He was an idiot.
Looking to the counter housing the three sinks on the other side of the room where Cas had inconveniently placed Sam's clothing, Dean wasn't going to be able to grab the items without letting Sam go first. Unless he used his telekinesis, but he'd already utilised that power to shift his socks earlier and he'd promised Sammy he would keep it to the minimum. Coming to a decision he grabbed Sam back up onto his hip, and crossed over to the clothing, swiping it up in one hand whilst he held Sam with the other. Huh, who needs these powers, he thought smirking as he left the bathroom. Although, admittedly, this strength is definitely coming in handy.
Sammy may not have the muscle mass of a few years ago, but the kid was still a hefty six-foot four sasquatch, who thanks to the strength Dean now held, currently weighed little more than a baby bird in Dean's arms rather than a hundred-seventy pound heavyweight. Something Dean would be careful not to ever mention out loud in front of his baby brother.
Reaching Sam's bedroom, Dean laid Sam on the bed and made short work of getting him dried and dressed in the sweats and t-shirt Cas had grabbed earlier. Lifting Sam back up, Dean grasped a corner of the comforter and threw it back before lying Sam back down on the sheet covered mattress. Pulling the comforter up, he tucked it around the kid's shoulders just the way Sam liked it. Brushing a hand over the brown hair briefly, he leant down and placed a kiss to Sam's head.
"What're you doing to me, kid?" Dean said softly with a half-smile as he drew away feeling the love he held for his kid swell inside his chest.
#SPN#
Having changed into fresh clothing, Dean found Cas in the kitchen. His former angel was stirring a wooden spoon around a pot on the stove, and whatever was inside smelt awesome. Smiling, Dean crossed the kitchen and slipped his arms around the other man's waist and rested his chin on Cas' left shoulder. He could see Cas' lips turn upwards into a grin.
"Mmm, what is that?"
"I found it in the freezer." Cas nodded his head to a pink post-it now stuck to the edge of the extractor above their heads. It read: chicken and leek soup for you laterz bitches, love Charlie xx
Dean laughed softly remembering the last time Charlie had stayed over. Sammy had had a little sniffle and after having witnessed Sam so sick back during the demon trials, Charlie had gone into full-on overprotective mode. She'd cooked up several different broths and hot meals for both him and Sam to stash away in the freezer claiming they couldn't permanently live on take-out dinners. Dean didn't see the issue to be honest with you. He and Sam had lived on take-out and whatever Dean could throw together with mac 'n' cheese for most of their lives. Plus hamburger; but then who couldn't cook up a decent hamburger?
Cas paused in his stirring, turning his head to look at Dean. "I hope it's still viable. I just grabbed it when I saw it was soup. I thought it would be good for Sam's stomach."
Dean smiled at the concern Cas' had for his little brother. "He'll love it, Cas. But he's asleep at the moment."
"Ah. Well, I'll reheat some if he wants any when he wakes. Do you want some, Dean?"
"Oh yeah," Dean responded nuzzling Cas' neck.
Cas chuckled. "The soup, Dean."
Dean groaned and pulled away. "Yes, Cas, I would love some soup."
"So how is Sam?" Cas questioned once they were seated on neighbouring stools at their newly installed breakfast bar running parallel to the kitchen island. Two bowls of hot soup and a shared plate filled with thick slices of tiger loaf sat on the wooden surface before them.
Dean sighed. "I don't know, Cas. It was like Sam's energy got zapped the minute the kid hit the deck out on the green. I couldn't even get him to keep his eyes open long enough to take his shower let alone get an answer out of him to what happened out there."
Sam's sudden collapse like that was definitely a cause for concern. Correction; it had scared the shit out of Dean and Cas both. Dean couldn't see any physical reasoning behind it on his brother's body; no injuries, bruises, cuts or otherwise. Sam hadn't been showing any of his typical tell-tale signs of the onset or running of a fever; nor of a severe headache. The kid had been cranky the past couple days, but that was an effect of being cooped up too long from his grounding. Today, the kid had just… collapsed. And without any rhyme or reason nearly stopped fucking breathing entirely.
He watched Cas' forehead crease into a frown as the other man tore a slice of tiger loaf in half and dipped it into his soup before eating it. "Considering how run down Sam has been of late," Cas said with half a mouthful before he swallowed, "and with the taking of those pills on top, is it plausible he's caught something?"
"From where, Cas? Neither of us are sick, so we haven't passed anything on. And today was the first time he's left the bunker in two weeks," Dean responded, though Cas' observation was reasonable.
Sam had driven himself into the ground in order to save Dean, and then Dean had gone and died on the kid – again. Then Sam had been under the weight of performing the spell correctly without killing himself or all of them in the process. That kind of built up stress could see anyone falling sick, and it wouldn't surprise Dean if some latent bug decided now was the perfect time to swoop in and knock his kid on his ass.
He'd honestly just been working on instinct earlier when he'd hauled Sammy up into his arms outside on the green. After seeing the kid puking and trembling, carrying Sam had been a far more ideal option than letting the kid fall over his own feet on the sloped path back down to the bunkers entrance. But by the time Dean had reached the crow's nest he'd been more than happy with his decision as Sammy had been yawning non-stop by that point and almost limp in his arms, with eyes at half-mast.
Cas cleared his throat beside him and Dean could tell the ex-angel had something he wanted to say but looked reluctant to do so. Dean sighed.
"Spit it out, Cas." Unfortunately his poor choice of words had Cas spitting out the spoonful of soup he'd just taken into his mouth back into his bowl. Dean stared at Cas' confused expression before laughing.
"Why'd you want me to do that, Dean?" Cas' gruff voice was just as confused as his expression.
Dean drew in his laughter with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't …" he waved a hand at Cas and then the bowl, "I didn't literally mean for you to spit out your food," he chuckled, "it's an expression. Basically means tell me what you're thinking."
"Why can you not just say that?" Cas questioned in exasperation. "Just when I think I have a handle on all yours and Sam's idioms you throw more into the mix."
Dean shrugged innocently with a chuckle, breaking off his bread and dunking it into his soup. He let it rest for a moment to soak up the flavoursome broth before popping the now runny piece of bread into his mouth. "What were you thinking?"
Cas raised an eyebrow, scooping up more of his own broth. "I was thinking that perhaps we were overlooking a prominent reason for Sam's collapse."
Dean raised his own eyebrow. "What? Like the spell could have done more to him than erase the demon blood from his system? Yeah, I've thought about it."
Cas nodded. "We have no reason as to why the spell caused any of these side effects. I am no expert on spells, Dean, but I didn't believe there was any one spell alone strong enough to do what this one did to us. Yet Sam somehow managed to work the spell to do so. Perhaps it's time we seek an outside source." Dean narrowed his eyes as Cas turned his gaze to him, eyes apologetic. "Someone more experienced in spells."
"That ain't happening, Cas," Dean responded firmly. "I swore if I ever saw that bitch again I was gonna hack her head off. And a headless witch doesn't make for great conversation."
"Then I search for her alone."
Whilst Dean hadn't been fully effective in helping Sam research their current situation for the past two weeks – okay, he'd grown bored of looking at the same crap over and over again – he had been doing what he was good at. And that was teaching Cas how to be a hunter. This situation with the powers had proven it wasn't going to be solved overnight. He and Cas were still kicking; they're bodies hadn't spontaneously combusted from inside out. But that silent fear of Sam's couldn't be discounted. It was a possibility. And Dean knew eventually the research and hunt for answers would take them outside of the bunker. And into hunts. Hunts Cas would be expected to join in with.
Dean needed the former angel hunter ready. Meaning he'd first needed to teach Cas how to rely on himself without the assistance of any powers; to be able to fight just through the use of his body and weapons. Cas was very competent – but he knew solely how to fight as an angel and not as a human. He no longer had his smiting ability; and although Cas still had the strength and zapping all over the place abilities to utilise, that meant nothing without the knowledge of fighting where reflexes and the ability to calculate where your opponent's next move might come from could save your life.
Second step was teaching Cas the basics of how to actually find a hunt; to filter out the norm from the crazy, and where the norm might actually be the hunt where the crazy was just that. It wasn't Cas' strong point that was for sure, but he didn't suck at it as much as he had the few times in the past he'd tried to help them on that front. And Cas was really putting in the effort to try and understand everything. He wanted in. But only a true hunt would show how much promise Cas actually had for the job. The ex-angel was going to screw up, he was going to get things wrong, and Dean would let him know it.
Dean and Sam may have been on a more equal footing where hunting was concerned for a good few years now, but at the end of the day… Dean was still in charge and they both knew it. Dean had been raised by a drill sergeant and though he may not be as near as harsh as John Winchester had been, Dean knew he was still a tough taskmaster. Every hunt came with the risk of major injury or worse, and as much as he expected Sam – and now Cas - to be on point and fully in the game he expected more of himself.
Cas wanting to go out there alone to hunt down that redheaded bitch went against Dean's very nature of protecting what was his. So his response ended up short and succinct.
"No."
Cas placed his spoon in his bowl and turned fully to face Dean. "While I appreciate your concern for my safety, Dean, do not go all overprotective on me," Cas told him, voice just as firm as Dean's had been. "I am your partner, not your baby brother."
"Protectiveness is in my nature, Cas," Dean responded succinctly with the truth. "I've spent my entire life being protective and I'm not gonna change anytime soon."
"That I understand, Dean," Cas acknowledged his voice softening. "And when it comes to hunting I will follow your lead. But you will not be able to protect me from everything, otherwise I'll not learn efficiently." Yeah, Dean was more than aware of that, he had had to let his baby brother go out alone into the big wide world when the kid had gone off to Stanford by himself. "And I also understand you're used to being in charge, Dean," Cas continued, "both home and away. I have no intention of stepping on that on hunts, but here, at home… we are equal in this relationship, Dean. That goes for all aspects, including how you – though I'm hoping someday that might become 'we' – continue to raise that boy we both love."
Dean stared at the man before him, lips creasing upwards into a smile, eyes bright with the emotion of realising Cas was deadly serious. What had started as just sex between them, a means to scratch an itch, had developed into something far deeper and substantial than he could have imagined and really without his noticing. And… Dean realised he was okay with that. Dean was okay with the whole encompassing … this. And he was pretty sure this was going to work because of one important factor.
Nobody Dean had ever dated had taken the time to understand that he and Sam were a packaged deal to any relationship (not in the way your dirty minds are thinking). Sammy's his kid – always had been. And no kid was ever too old to raise them up. Cas, an awkward, blunt and more often than not confused former angel understood that. But since when did Cas learn so much about human relationships?
"Metatron."
"What?" Dean questioned confused, pretty sure he hadn't voiced that out loud, though maybe he'd accidentally opened the mind connection between them.
Cas smiled lightly. "Your last thought was rather loud." Dean snorted, throwing an arm over the back of Cas' stool and leant over, meeting Cas' lips with his own. Cas pulled back after a moment. "We do need any information we can get, Dean."
Dean dropped his head with a groan. "Seriously, right now? I was getting kinda busy." Cas raised an eyebrow. Dean sighed. "Fine, Cas, we'll hunt the bitch. But I ain't promising she'll still have a head the second after she opens her mouth."