Thank you so much Gredelina1 for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 for all the help and support. Thank you all that are reading and supporting the story.
Chapter Eight
Sam did sleep. When Dean finished patching up his wounds, he lay down again on his side, drew his knees up slightly and fell asleep almost at once.
Dean didn't want to watch him, that was creepy and wrong, but he couldn't help his eyes drifting over every few minutes to check on him, even though he could tell from Sam's breaths that he was peaceful. Castiel had no such compunctions about watching. He took a seat at the small table by the window and fixed his eyes on Sam.
Dean snapped his fingers in front of his face and said in a harsh whisper, "Hey! No staring. Thought we broke that habit."
Castiel shook his head slowly and turned his stare on Dean. "Someone should watch over him."
"Someone is me."
"You will be asleep soon, too." Castiel said.
Dean stifled a yawn tempted out by the word sleep. He was exhausted. He wasn't even sure when he'd last slept, but it had been a while. He definitely couldn't remember the last time he'd slept really peacefully. It was before the cage and Lucifer, possibly before the Mark. There were always things in his dreams ready to disturb his attempts at rest.
"I won't," he said doggedly. "Sam needs me."
"He does," Castiel said solemnly.
Dean frowned at him. It wasn't like he was expecting Castiel to argue, but the weight he gave the words worried him. Sure, Sam needed help. He needed it from both of them, Dean and Castiel—what was left of their family. He had been to, and through, hell with Lucifer. The wounds were just the start of the problem; they would heal. It was the psychological scars Sam was left with that worried Dean most. How were they going to get him through them?
"What are thinking, Cas?" he asked. "Are you getting something from him that I'm not?" He wondered if Castiel's angelic insight had tipped Cas off to something that he'd missed.
Castiel shook his head. "No. I am just thinking of how things have been before."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Are you lying to me? Because this is Sam. If there's something I should know, and you're not telling me…" He allowed the threat to illustrate itself in his silence.
"I know nothing that you don't already," Castiel said.
Dean's eyes drifted over to Sam again and his brow furrowed. Sure, Sam looked peaceful enough now, but who knew what the morning would bring? Dean had no choice but to wait it out. To see how Sam woke and what followed.
Dean hadn't intended to, but he fell asleep anyway under his exhaustion. He woke in slow increments, as if he was pushing back against a wall of weariness. Thoughts came to him—Sam. Lucifer. Hell. Amara. Castiel. Crowley. Rowena. Help—and his struggle against sleep became more desperate.
"Sam," he moaned.
"He is here," Castiel said.
Dean's eyes flashed open and fell upon the angel by the window. "What?"
Castiel looked past him to the second bed, and Dean's gaze followed his. He breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was there. Curled into a ball under the bedclothes, his eyes closed and his breaths steady. Sam was sleeping.
"Sam." The name was a reassurance and confirmation. He was out. Of course he was out. They'd got him out. Amara, Dean, and Cas, they'd gone into the pit and the cage itself together to free him. He was back. He looked back to Castiel. "He sleep okay?"
Castiel considered his answer. "He stirred a few hours ago with a nightmare. I helped to dispel it and he has slept peacefully since."
"Thanks, Cas." He swung his legs around to the edge of the bed and eased himself to his feet. His muscles felt stiff and uncooperative. "How long was I out?" he asked.
"Approximately ten hours."
"Damn," Dean said quietly. For someone that usually got through on four hours a night that was a helluva lot of sleep. Still, he had apparently not missed anything Castiel couldn't handle. He had to remind himself that he needed to do that—let Castiel help. As little as he wanted to admit it, there were things Castiel could do that Dean couldn't. Reassuring Sam, being there for him, talking him through a nightmare, Dean could do. Actually dispelling that nightmare wasn't on Dean's skills set.
"I'm going to shower," he said. "You think you can watch him a little longer?"
Castiel raised an eyebrow and Dean almost smiled. After ten hours watching Sam, he could handle another fifteen minutes.
Castiel must have left them for at least a moment in the night, as Dean's and Sam's duffels were on the table. Dean wanted to be pissed about that—What if Sam had needed him?—but the lure of a shower and clean clothes was more powerful.
He grabbed what he needed from his bag and went into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly open so he could hear if they needed him.
He showered quickly and then hesitated with his wash kit in his hand, wondering whether to shave or not. It had been a while, and he had a healthy scruff, but he wanted to get back to Sam. He listened for a moment, checking to see if he could hear anything from the room, but all was quiet, so he figured they would be okay a little longer. Also, it would serve a dual purpose. As well as cleaning him up, it would show Sam that he hadn't spent the night staring at him. Showering and shaving were normal daily actions. They would reinforce the fact to Sam that things were okay. They were going on as usual.
He was half done when he heard voices in the room. He almost rushed straight in, half finished, but he held himself back. Racing in there with a half shaved face wasn't going to do anything to show Sam things were okay. He forced himself to finish before packing up his kit and leaving the bathroom.
Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, the blankets pooled around him as if to ward of the nonexistent chill of the room.
"Hey, Sammy."
"Hey," Sam said casually. "Hope you left me some hot water."
Dean grinned. "May have left you enough to shower, but you're going to have to go without your girly shampoo and conditioner masque routine."
"You're a jerk," Sam said.
It could have been any other morning in any other motel in the country. It was normal and familiar. It was good.
"Yep," he said with relish.
"I think I will need to help you, Sam," Castiel said.
Sam looked amused. "No offence, Cas, but you're not coming in there with me."
Castiel's lips quirked into a smile. "I meant your wounds."
And the perfect bubble of normality was burst. Sam couldn't shower when he was still cut the hell up. But he would need to. He was bloody and could probably smell the sulfur clinging to his skin from his time in the pit, strong only to his senses.
Sam peeled back the edge of one of the makeshift dressings and frowned. "Oh."
"I can perhaps close them enough that you can clean up if you're careful," Castiel said.
"Yeah? That'd be great."
Castiel moved to stand in front of Sam and said, "This may sting a little." He pressed his hand to Sam's forehead and light spilled from his palm. It was over in a second, but Dean saw Sam's wince and Castiel's strained look before he stepped back.
Sam peeled back the dressing all the way and Dean saw scabbed, healing skin beneath. It looked like the wound was a week old at least.
"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, standing and setting to work removing the rest of the dressings.
Dean let him get his chest cleared and then he made him lean forward slightly so he could uncover his back. He hadn't noticed it the night before, too stressed and eager to hide the wounds from his eyes he supposed, but they were in patterns in places. It was as if Lucifer had used the blade as a paintbrush and made art of Sam's skin.
He had to swallow down bile.
"Okay. You're done," he said, balling up the last pad and gauze. "Get yourself beautified, but remember, soak don't scrub. Some of these look really fragile still."
Sam picked up his duffel and carried it through to the bathroom, clicking the door closed behind him.
Dean sat down at the table and smiled, satisfied. All in all, things were better than he could have hoped for the night before, when Sam had been pressing down on that scar, trying to make out whether what was happening was real. He seemed okay. He was talking and joking, and smiling. There was no wall this time, no buffer between Sam and the memories of what he'd been through and he was acting like it was a normal day. Maybe things were going to be easier than he'd thought after all.
As soon as Sam got into the privacy of the bathroom, he let his smile fade and the frown take its place. It had been hard to stay normal with Dean and Castiel, to act like it was any other day, even though it had been more than worth it. Dean had needed it, that was obvious from the relief in his eyes when Sam had played along. He would do it every day until his mind finally calmed and accepted that he was okay now, Lucifer was gone, and he was never going back. It wouldn't last forever. He just needed a little time to wrap his head around freedom again.
He gripped the sides of the basin and stared into the mirror. He looked okay, despite the frown. A little pale maybe, pallor that accentuated the shadows under his eyes, but without view of his chest wounds, he could get away with looking like he was recovering from flu. That was better than it could have been. When he was dressed there would be no physical signs of Hell left. Unless you looked deep into his eyes. That's where the real shadows were. He curved his lips into a smile again. That was better. It didn't even look like he was faking it, and it drew attention away from his eyes. He was practiced at it. A few years ago, when Bobby was dead, Castiel gone and Leviathans wreaking havoc, it had been that smile that had reassured Dean he was still clinging to sanity when it was long gone.
Shaking his head, he turned away from the mirror and set the water to running. Though he wanted it scalding, to burn away the feeling of what had happened, he knew that would just rip apart Castiel's work on his wounds. He set it to tepid and stepped under the spray. It felt good, even at the pathetic temperature. He watched it wash away the blood from his chest. He felt better, cleaner, less tainted by Hell and Lucifer. It almost felt as though he was washing away some of the…
Sam gasped back to the moment. His hands were pressed flat against the tile of the shower wall and his head was bowed. He had no memory of the movements that had brought him to that pose. Something had happened, and he didn't know what.
"Sam! Are you okay?" Dean's voice was harsh, worried, and just outside the door. He had heard something. Had Sam moaned? Cried out? Or was it just the sound of his hands slapping down that had alerted him to something being wrong?
"Yeah," Sam said automatically. "I'm fine."
"What happened?"
"Skidded on the soap," Sam lied easily. He didn't want to, but it was better than admitting that he had no idea what had happened to him.
"Okay," Dean said slowly, doubtfully. "Be more careful."
"Sure."
He heard Dean's footsteps moving away from the door and he huffed out a breath. His mind wanted to linger on what had happened, to make sense of it, but he refused to let it. He didn't want to examine it too carefully for fear of what he might learn.
When Sam got out of the bathroom, Dean and Castiel were talking about where they could get some food.
"You need to eat," Dean said to Sam as he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a towel through his wet hair.
"You both need to eat," Castiel said pointedly. The way he looked at Dean made it clear he hadn't been taking care of himself while Sam was gone. Sam understood.
Dean leaned back in his seat and rubbed his stomach. "Yeah, I could eat."
Sam wondered how long it had been between meals for them both. He frowned. He had no idea how much time he'd missed. Weeks had to have passed, years of Hell time, but how many?
"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked.
"How long was I… there?" Sam asked.
Dean's eyes tightened. "Two months altogether."
Sam nodded, as if Dean had reported the weather forecast not the length of his sentence in Hell. Twenty years of Lucifer.
"I'm sorry," Dean said quietly. "We started looking for a way out as soon as we knew you were gone, but it took us that long to find her."
"The Darkness," Sam said. "It was her, right?"
Things about his actual rescue were vague, but he thought he heard a woman's voice, and a face tangled with Lucifer's in his mind.
"Yes. It was Amara."
Sam closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. The way Dean said it, like it was nothing that he had made a deal with the most powerful force they'd ever faced. What was this going to cost them? What was it going to cost the world? How many were going to die because of Sam this time?
God, how much blood could he stand to have on his hands? And whose? Kevin's had literally been put there by Gadreel. Charlie's was all on Sam for dragging her in. Hell, he'd even killed Castiel. Lucifer had snapped Sam's fingers and killed him. Just because God had brought him back, it didn't excuse what had happened. They were people he loved that were dead. How many other nameless, faceless people were there from the apocalypse?
"Sam!" There was a hand on his shoulder and Dean was in his face. "You okay?"
Sam pulled back and Dean's hand dropped to his side again. "Dammit, Dean," he growled. "Why did you do it?"
"No!" Dean said harshly, stepping back, away from Sam. "You can't be pissed. You don't get to be pissed about this. I got you out, Sam. You were in Hell with the Devil, and I got you out!"
"Yes, I get that," Sam started, but Dean spoke over him.
"After what happened last time, what it did to you, I had to do it. Maybe there was another way. Maybe given enough time I could have got Rowena on side to help us. I didn't have time though, and I couldn't see a way to do it without letting Lucifer out, too, so I went to the biggest badass I knew, the one I thought had a chance at doing it clear, and I got you out!"
"At what cost, Dean?" Sam asked, getting to his feet and advancing on him. "What was the deal this time?"
"Nothing!" Dean said quickly. "There was no deal."
Sam scoffed. "You telling me The Darkness wanted nothing in return?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."
Sam looked at Castiel, ready to get the truth from him instead of his brother, but Castiel was nodding. "It's true, Sam. She didn't seem to want anything."
"Then why did she do it?" Sam asked.
Castiel shrugged. "We do not know. Let's be grateful she did."
"So she hasn't come up with anything yet," Sam said. "We still owe her, and I guarantee she's going to come to collect. What are we going to do when she does?"
"Don't pretend you would have done anything different," Dean said quietly. "Remember what you did when I was in the Pit."
"That was a long time ago. We've learned since then."
Dean laughed harshly. "Using Rowena and The Book of the Damned was learning, was it? Face it Sam, not six months ago you were willing to do anything to save me from the Mark. I did what I had to do and I did it without a deal of any kind."
Sam wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn't. Dean was right. He had done stupid shit to save his brother, and he would do stupid shit again if he needed to. He couldn't blame Dean for what he himself had done more than once.
"Fine," he said, slumping down on the edge of the bed again. "But when this comes back to bite us on the ass…"
"You can say I told you so all you like," Dean said with something close to a smile.
Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired, miserable, and just about done with it all. He wanted to eat then head back to the bunker where he could rest and come to terms with all this in peace and something close to safety.
"Are you okay, Sam?" Castiel asked solicitously.
"Yeah, Cas. I'm fine," Sam lied.
In the back of Sam's mind he hear familiar, cold laughter.
Lucifer.
So… A little chat, a little Satan laughing in Sam's ear. All good, right?
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx