A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating, it's the end of the semester and everything's a bit hectic. Thanks for reading. ncsupnatfan: Great hearing from you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. As far as 'Mary', I will not give you any answers, but I will remind you that salt did not seem to affect her. Spoilers… Angeldonut: Thank you so much for your review! I love hearing from new readers. I'm sorry for the feels, but then, it is Supernatural after all. Please keep reading. Hope to see more reviews from you soon. Kasey123: There will be more, I promise. I love you all!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.


Chapter 38: Heart and Soul


Sam and Dean sat watching the boy anxiously after putting in the extra blood. Sam spoke, "You think he's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." Dean's face was grim, "Man, we dodged a bullet there." He sighed, "Well, I think I'll have a drink now." Sam continued to stare at the child as he left. Dean had seemed to be improving over the past several years, especially since they obtained the bunker. He had seemed happier, drank less, and generally appeared to be slowly healing psychologically. However, between the Mark and everything that had gone with that, the fight to defeat the Darkness, and now this whole thing with the kids, he seemed to have gone into a death spiral, reverting to his old habits of alcoholism and self-destructive silence. He was crashing, Sam could see that, and he didn't have the slightest idea how to help.

Dean walked back in, gulping down beer as he entered. Sam looked at him sadly. He had also been drinking more out of tumblers and mugs before, rather than the bottles that had now been making a reappearance. Sam missed seeing Dean in the mornings, wearing a robe and sipping hot coffee, sometimes even with a smile on his face as he sorted through some uncatalogued material. He hadn't seen that in a while. Sam stared at his brother, growing determined. Maybe he couldn't help with all the guilt Dean was feeling over the perfect storm that was the last few years, but he could help with something, and Dean was going to answer questions, whether he wanted to or not. After all, this didn't just affect Dean.

"Hey, uh, now that the, uh, crisis is averted, would you like to tell me?"

The feigned innocence looked slightly ridiculous, "Tell you about what?"

"What you saw. In my head."

"Come on Sam! We've been over this. Cas and I went in; he woke you up as soon as we got there. Guess he just had to find the right switch or whatever."

Sam paused, choosing his words carefully, "Look, Dean, I thought we weren't going to do this anymore."

Dean moved around the bed, barely looking at Sam in his studious attempt to avoid any and all eye contact, "Do what?"

A younger Sam might have thrown him a bitchface and snapped something snarky. This one just looked sad, "The lying thing. I thought we agreed, this can't happen anymore."

Finally Dean looked at him, a vaguely guilty look on his face and he shook his head slightly as he talked, "I'm not lying! Look, I don't know what you want, Sam. I didn't see anything."

"On the phone, in the car, you said it was mostly over by the time you got there. Dean, if it was the Cage, then it was never over, never. Besides, you just contradicted yourself. Look, I need to know, so I can help you, so I can help me."

"I can deal with it Sam. I'm fine! And how could dredging up any of that possibly-"

"Think of it this way, Dean, how would you feel if I saw you in Hell? Wouldn't you want to know what I saw?"

Dean stared at him, "No!"

"Humor me."

Dean paused, probably considering exactly what to tell him, "Uh… I saw Michael."

He was talking. Dean was talking. This was good. Sam leaned forward slightly, "What was he doing?"

"I don't know. He was in some metal cage thing, had a pretty badly broken wing."

Oh. It was that. Great. Just what he wanted a two-year-old to have to go through. Not that he hadn't gotten hurt by 'Dean' all the time down there. Lucifer knew how much more it hurt when it was someone you loved doling it out. Dean, Dad, Bobby, Jess- anyone that might hurt on an emotional level or make him feel guilt got a crack at him at some point. Sam looked down, remembering, his voice slightly distant, "He stood up for me."

"What?"

"Michael. He stood up for me. Begged Lucifer to leave me alone. It didn't go too well."

"Wait, I thought they both went after you."

Sam didn't bother looking up, "No. Michael never touched me. 'Course, after that he just kind of avoided me, pretended I didn't exist. He'd make a point of not being around when it got bad."

Dean shook his head, "Wow. I knew I hated that son of a bitch for some reason."

"Dean-"

"How can you defend him Sam?! If he did that, if he stood by, and let Lucifer torture you for a year, how the hell-"

"Look I hated him for a long time, Dean. Trust me, I did. But then, I don't know, I guess things changed."

"What things?!"

"You. Look, Lucifer had the Mark, had had it for a long time. He was completely insane, doing whatever it wanted him to. Michael was desperate. I guess I can relate."

Dean looked almost sad, "What are you saying?"

"I've been there, in Michael's shoes. You're sitting there, watching your brother get worse and worse, sliding further into the darkness until you barely even recognize him anymore. It's scary as hell, Dean, and you feel helpless, and you don't know what to do, and you feel like you'll do anything, go through anything to get him back, no matter what."

"You're not Michael, Sam. You're nothing like Michael. You didn't lock me up in a lead freaking box for the rest of eternity. You saved me."

"No, you tried to lock you up in a box, and I broke the world stopping you. Michael just didn't have the option of breaking the world. Look, just, how can I blame Michael for anything he did when I don't know that I would have done any different? What if we had- I don't know- kept Metatron in the dungeon and you just worked him over anytime you or the Mark needed to let off steam? What if that had been our solution? How is that any different?"

"Yeah except, Metatron's a grade A douchebag, and you would never have let that happen."

Sam threw up a hand and shook his head a little, "I don't know, Dean. It crossed my mind as a possibility."

"You dragged me off him."

"Yeah, 'cause you were killing him, and we needed information, not out of any noble desire to save him from you. So, if giving you a prisoner to torture could have helped you, could've given me my brother back for five minutes? Yeah, I think I might have done it. Just left him down there, and made sure I never went in the dungeon. Maybe gone out for groceries when you seemed stressed."

"Sam, it's nothing alike, okay? You are not Metatron."

"From their perspective? Yeah, I think I kinda am."

"Whatever, Sam. Look, I know you, and you couldn't let me do that."

He looked down, unbelieving, "Yeah, okay. Just- just cut Michael some slack, please?"

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but a soft moan from the bed attracted both men's attention. In a flash they were on either side, staring intently at little Dean as he blearily opened his eyes, before sitting up and looking bewilderedly from one to the other, "Wha- What happened?"

The blond man spoke, "Well, you did it. You sent 'Zeke's feathery ass right back home. You're in the bunker now. Good job."

"I didn't know if it would work."

Sam smiled slightly, "Yeah, it worked all right."

Dean spoke again, "What the hell were you thinking? You could've killed yourself."

The boy looked down, his voice small, "I was just trying to help. I'm sorry."

Sam put a hand on his arm, "It's okay, Dean. We're just glad you're okay."

"Yeah. Really glad." Said the other adult sarcastically.

Little Dean looked back up at them, "Can I see Sammy now?"

The older version looked slightly alarmed, "Uh… Sam, can I talk to you?"

"Sure." They walked out, Dean leaning back around the doorframe to point an accusatory finger at the child, "Don't move. Stay in bed. I mean it."

They went a little ways down the hall.

"So, what's going on?" Sam whispered.

"Um… Sammy's kinda, uh…"

"What?"

Dean tried to look casual, bobbing his head a little from side to side as he spoke, "He's kinda missing."

Sam stared at him, "Missing?"

"When he woke up he said he hated me, then ran out of the room. I haven't seen him since."

Sam nodded once, snarkily, "Great."


1958

Millie and Larry sat at the kitchen table, attempting to digest this new information. Everyone was dead. Everyone. Millie spoke aloud, "It doesn't feel real."

The man nodded, then grimaced as the motion caused pain in his ruined eyes.

"Do you think… anyone…?"

"Maybe some of the families. After all, no one's come after you and John."

"Right." She looked determined and stood up, "We have to get out of here. We can go to Lebanon. The bunker's well enouph warded nothing can get in, right?"

He looked confused, "How do you know about Lebanon? That's pretty high-level stuff."

Millie shrugged, "My Dad told me."

"Of course he did." He paused, forehead wrinkling, "Is there anything he didn't tell you?"

She shrugged, "Not really. What? It isn't like I was going to find out when I was initiated. He thought the whole 'no girls' thing was stupid anyway." She paused, "Are you sure you don't want an ambulance? I mean, I feel really awful about not calling one. You're hurt and-"

He chuckled slightly, "What are the doctors going to do for me, huh? Wrap a bandage around my head and tell me I'll never see again? I can do that for myself. Listen, we have to think very differently now. I don't blame you for not thinking of it. You're a civilian, or you have been. You're not anymore. Look, hospitals are dangerous. They're exposed territory, full of innocent targets. In one, Abaddon could find me. If she found me, that would put you and John in danger. I won't risk that. Until we know more, we have to assume she wants us all."

Millie nodded, "Okay. If that's true, we have to get out of here. Like I said, we should be safe in the bunker. You work there, right? You have the key?"

He looked down, almost apologetically, "No."

She moved, almost jumping out of her chair, "What?"

"I couldn't risk Abaddon getting her hands on it. Henry came in a few minutes into the attack. I gave it to him and told him to get out of there."

If this had been a movie she felt she might have fainted, "Henry's alive?"

He shook his head, "I don't know. Maybe? I think so. If Abaddon had gotten the key, I think we would know about it by now."

She had stood up as he started to talk, and was now pacing a little, "Oh my God."

"I'm sorry, Millie. I should have told you before. I just-"

She turned back to face him, "No. No. It's okay. I understand. You have other things to think about. I know now, and that's all that matters."

"He's still missing," Larry pointed out.

She remained unmoved, "Missing is better than dead." She paused, "I'm going to check on John. You need to call your wife."

He looked confused, "My wife? Why?"

"Trust me, you do not want her to find out you're blind when you show up on her doorstep. Call her. Please."

He nodded, and Mille started up the stairs, still wondering how her life could have become hell in just a few hours.

John moaned a little as she drew off the covers, yawning and rubbing his eyes with his hands before blinking sleepily, "Momma? What are you doing up here? Is something wrong?"

She managed to force a tearful smile. If she could help it, John didn't need to know there was anything wrong, "No, sweetie. Everything's fine. Just go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

The four-year-old's eyelids were already drifting closed, "Okay…" said the sleepy voice.

Millie ran a hand through his hair, kissing his forehead. He was so young, so innocent still. As far as he was concerned, monsters were only a thing that lived in one's closet. In that moment she vowed he would never know any different. She sent up a silent prayer to God, asking him to keep her husband safe, wherever he might be.