Three

One moment he feels like he's suffocating, like someone is squeezing every single part of his body through a tiny pipe. His feet can't find ground and he thinks his skull is going to shatter with the amount of pressure on it. It's excruciating, the worst thing he's ever experienced. He's dying. He knows. He's dying, dying, dying…

There is a sharp jolt along his spine as his wheelchair crashes onto a solid surface. His chair spins and unable to maintain balance, it topples over as he crashes onto his side, sprawled on what feels like concrete.

He gasps for air, vaguely hearing Dean by his side, cursing and sputtering. His vision tunnels, black spots gathering until he can catch his breath, and he has no idea where they are. He looks around and tries not to get dizzy. It looks like they're in a vaguely familiar alleyway. He can hear the hustle and bustle of people chatting away their day and occasional honks from impatient drivers.

They aren't far from the main road, which makes this the alleyway behind their home. He remembers now. He used to come here with friends, back when he was in school.

And in front of him, standing over him and Dean, a man. He's tall, well-built, and he's wearing a tan trench coat, a curious expression dotting his face.

Sam gathers his bearings, shaky and weak, but instinctively curling away from the man in front of him. Dean gets to his feet and Sam doesn't miss how Dean steps in front of him. It's familiar, and if Sam's being honest with himself, he expected it. But he can't understand why. Dean's never done that before, not unless he counted that one time in eighth grade where Sam was bullied mercilessly for choosing dance as an extracurricular. Dean had not been happy and seeing his brother stand up to them had given Sam the strength to start standing up for himself. But they've never been in situations to warrant this.

Oh well, big brothers.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean snarls as he rights Sam's wheelchair and helps him into it. Sam grits his teeth through the various aches and pains make themselves known when he settles down.

The man before them sighs, eyes sad, and Sam peers around Dean to get a good look at him. He frowns. He recognises that trench coat, he thinks. Maybe this man had wings. And that's a weird thought in the first place.

But… Lucifer.

No, nothing is weird.

But this man. Sam knows him. Doesn't he?

"Castiel?" he asks, squinting into the sunlight at the man's face. He's surprised the next moment. That was not what he'd meant to say at all.

The man seems to not have expected it either as his brows furrow in confusion. "Do you remember me?"

"I don't know?"

Seeing his brother's waist twist, Sam looks up to see Dean staring at him. "How…?"

Sam shrugs. I don't know.

"Please tell me there's a reasonable explanation for this." Dean turns back to Castiel. "You," he nods, "start talking. What the hell did you just do to us?"

Castiel ignores Dean. "This isn't the safest place to talk," he says, instead. "We could be attacked. Do you have anywhere more private?"

"Oh hell, no! You will answer—"

Sam interrupts Dean's threat. "Yeah, we can get out of the alley that way," he points behind him, "our place is like five minutes away."

"Are you kidding me, Sam?! First, we get teleported, fucking teleported from the hospital by this complete stranger. We could die any second and you want to invite him up to our place?" Dean argues, chest heaving and glaring daggers at Castiel.

"Look I know it's stupid, but we know him. I don't know how. We know him. Please, just trust me on this," Sam pleads. Some part of him thinks, no, knows, that this Castiel guy has answers.

Dean takes a bit to reply. "All right," he says, at long last. "And you," he nods at Castiel, "any funny business and I'm chasing you out."

Sam isn't sure but he thinks Castiel actually smiles at that.

~o~

"So, what I saw wasn't just me making things up?" Sam asks.

The last hour had gone by with Castiel telling them that their world wasn't real, that he had spent days looking for them. That their real world involved angels and demons and everything that they thought didn't exist, and not Sam's shoes and tights and the stage and the audience and ballet and Jess and Jess and…

He'd snapped out of his reverie when Dean had tried to interrupt. Sam kept a firm hold on Dean's arm, a silent plea to let Castiel finish.

Sam looks out of the window as Dean tries to figure it all out. He can believe all of this. He knows. His mind was always telling him. He knows about Lucifer. And Jess. It fits. But then…

He watches the little, dingy apartment complex in their neighborhood. Thinks of all the people there, who are all living in this reality, this place, that was always real to everyone, and yet, not. Sam can't imagine not being a dancer. He remembers his childhood, working his ass off to live his dreams. The pirouettes. The splits. The leaps and bounds. The nights he had been up from pain. The nights Dean and Mom had been up with him, his legs on their laps as they tried to help him through the agony. He can remember it, remember them breathing, as real as anything.

Then how could it all not have happened?

And why would he and Dean ever choose to kill things that are not even supposed to exist?

Even as he thinks of these questions, the word 'hunters' and 'supernatural creatures', as Castiel calls them, flow easily through Sam's mind and conscience. He'd completed a lot of Castiel's explanation without realising.

"What did you see?" Castiel asks Sam, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"Well," Sam hesitates, looking at Dean before turning back to Castiel. "Before you came and got us out of there, I was talking to my physical therapist who sort of, morphed? She turned into… I… just knew he was Lucifer. I kinda remember that bit."

Castiel isn't surprised. "What else do you remember, Sam?"

"The… I know I was in a motel room and he came to me. He wanted me to say yes. And… and Jess…" he swallows, glancing at Dean, "Jess is dead."

"Yes, I'm sorry," Castiel tells him. He moves to take a chair at the dining table beside Dean, and Dean's alert now, narrowing his eyes.

"Jess what?"

"She died," Sam says, trying to stop his voice from breaking. "It's been a few years. Mom too."

"Mom?"

"And…" Sam sees fire, a blast. A young, blonde woman namedJo, and…

That bomb.

"Ellen's gone," he whispers.

"Ellen?"

"She… she—"

"She died recently," Castiel supplies, his voice quiet.

"I just met her," says Dean, incredulous. "Dammit, just yesterday."

"But have you seen Jessica or your mother of late?" Castiel asks them. "I think whatever is doing this to you might have been able to reproduce her illusion because her death was recent…"

"Please, man, give us a moment," Dean whispers to Castiel.

"I'm sorry."

Sam looks up at his brother's distraught face, taking in the pain. When he thinks of Castiel's words, he realises that he or Dean actually have not seen either Mom or Jess…

… for a while now.

He… can't even remember his last date with Jess.

Oh God.

"Sammy." Dean sounds broken, and Sam can't face him right now.

"Dean, I'm sorry, I…" He folds his arms and rests his head on the table, trying to shut his mind down for a bit. He takes a deep breath and looks up at his brother and Castiel, both illuminated by a sun ray as they sit side-by-side, and he sees two soldiers, great friends, fighting together for what is right.

Just like him and Dean.

Castiel, however, is nothing but sympathetic as he turns to Dean, laying a hand on his shoulder. Dean flinches for a moment but he lets it stay.

"I am sorry," says Castiel. "I am aware these revelations are rather harsh."

"Yeah." Dean washes a hand down his face. "It's been a rough day, I guess."

"Sam," Castiel begins, "you have not said yes yet, have you?"

"Yes to what?" Dean asks him. He stares at Castiel for a moment, then back at Sam. "Can you guys actually explain this shit to me, instead of talking in codes?"

Sam sighs. "Yes to possessing me, Dean. He wants me to give up my body to him."

"What, no way on earth—"

Sam holds his hand up to silence Dean, and continues, talking to Castiel, mostly. "There's been other things too, like dreams and…fragments. I don't know if they're memories, but I think they're real. That's how I knew about Lucifer anyway. He's using my injury to try and get me to agree to him. Things just haven't felt the same for the past few weeks."

As he finishes explaining, Dean twists his hand out of Sam's grip, glaring at him.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean asks him, confused and scared, eyes big and wide. "What the fuck are you on?"

"Dean."

He shakes his head. "Fuck no. I have been patient this whole time. I have listened to this guy's bullshit story. Hell, he calls himself an angel. Angel."

"But, I am an—"

Dean acts as if Castiel never spoke and continues, the confusion morphine into pure betrayal as the lines around his mouth deepen. "And you know, that's all fine. Angels. Demons. The stinkin' Devil, apparently. But you. You somehow know a lot about it, which in all honesty, is freaking me the fuck out, Sam. Why didn't you ever tell me about these dreams or whatever?"

"Dean—"

"No, Sam. I deserved to know. After all this shit we have been through, I deserved to know." Dean gets to his feet.

"Dean, I didn't know what to do, okay? It's been freaking me the hell out too. And you were just here with me when Castiel told us. I swear I didn't know anything about it! And how the fuck was I supposed to tell you about this? Oh, Dean, no big deal, but some strange dude whispers to me in my sleep?!"

"Don't joke with me, dude," Dean tells him. His eyes flash and he looks just about ready to bolt.

"Okay," Sam replies, placating. He raises his hands, surrendering. "Listen to us now, okay? Castiel is here he's given us the gist of things so far. And Dean, they make sense. So can you stop cursing at both of us and just listen?"

"Look, I'm willing to give this guy the benefit of the doubt, okay? I am," Dean says. Sam frowns as he notices an expression he can't read cross Dean's face. However, it's gone before Sam can figure it out. "I just don't understand that if none of this is real, then how come you seem to be remembering and I don't."

Castiel gets up and walks toward Dean, who apprehensively backs away. "There is a way to make you remember, if you allow me."

"How?"

"Sometimes just hearing about the truth isn't enough. It varies for different people. Some people need physical proof of the reality they actually belong to."

Dean whispers something inaudible for Sam, but Castiel seems to understand. Sam sits up, curious. "Do you know what he's talking about, Dean?"

Dean turns around, his face a mixture of uncertainty and confusion. "You aren't the only one going crazy, I guess," Dean says wryly. "Last few days, every time I look in the mirror with my left shoulder facing it, I see a..." Dean trails off, looking uncomfortable.

"A handprint," Castiel answers.

Dean's eyes widen in surprise and he turns around to face the angel and their gazes connect, Cas tilting his head slightly, apparently reading Dean. A glint of silver from Dean's ring catches the sunlight and Sam averts his eyes to that, Frustration wells up inside of Sam. How could Dean blame him for hiding stuff when Dean himself apparently has been hiding something from Sam?

Dean, however, doesn't notice what Sam's feeling. He's still looking at Castiel, perplexed. His mouth opens for a moment, then he clears his throat. "How did you know that? About the handprint?"

"Because that's my handprint."

Sam raises an eyebrow as Cas proceeds to intensify his stare at Dean, like he's looking at Dean's soul. But Dean doesn't seem to be very enthusiastic about it.

"Your handprint," he repeats.

"That is correct. If you will let me, I can—" Cas raises his hand towards Dean's left shoulder, but Dean moves away.

"The fuck—dude, don't touch me! Who asked—?"

"I need you to listen," Castiel tells him, firm, and for the first time, Sam feels power radiate off him. Angel, he thinks. Castiel is an angel. A powerful being.

"Dean, just listen to him," Sam whispers, at long last.

"Sammy—"

"Shut up and do it," Sam snaps. He wheels himself away from the table, to the other side. He would normally pace but he can't exactly do that now so he's just doing whatever he can. God. Fuck.

"So, so…" Dean hesitates, "why did you give me a handprint? I get you're an angel and all but there are better ways to leave autographs, dude."

Castiel is unperturbed. "It was branded into your arm when I raised you from perdition."

"Raised me from what, now?" asks Dean. Sam chuckles at the tone of his brother's voice.

Castiel smiles as well. "Would you allow me to touch that shoulder?"

"Would it help?"

Castiel shrugs. "I'm not sure but there is no harm in trying."

Dean seems to be thinking about it as he runs his hand through his hair. And he's reaching to get his shirt off, when Sam has a thought.

"Am I like this in that world too?"

Castiel squints at Sam, perplexed, just as Dean takes off his flannel to expose his undershirt. "I don't understand."

Sam sighs, suddenly wishing he'd never spoken. He fiddles with a loose thread on his jeans, staring at it. "Am I…disabled?" he clarifies. "Am I stuck in a wheelchair in that world too?"

"No," Castiel replies. "You are not bound to a wheelchair."

Sam feels his spirits lift a little. He smiles to himself, bittersweet emotions springing up. He wants his legs back, but he also wants Jess back. And Mom. And Ellen. If things hadn't been so shitty, he'd still be performing. It was a big break for him as the Nutcracker Prince and Jess as Masha the Princess. The pretty stage and the music and just those people who really loved them.

"Sam?" Castiel's voice is gentle, and Sam looks up at him. "May I ask how this happened to you?"

Sam waves it off, shrugging. "Car accident, it's a long story. Not important."

"Can we please get on with this?" grumbles Dean, lifting the short sleeve of his undershirt over his shoulder. "I feel like you wanna strip me naked here."

"I assure you," Castiel replies. "I harbour no such intent. Although when I raised you from perdition—"

"That's enough," Dean's ears grow pink and he stares at the table. "Just get on with it."

"This might sting," the angel says and goes forward to palm Dean's shoulder.

The minute Castiel's hand touches Dean's skin, Dean jumps in his seat with a yell of pain, clutching tightly at his shoulder. "God, fuck!" Sweat blossoms over his temples as he grits his teeth and rests his head on the unpolished wood of their table. But then a moment later he relaxes, letting out a sigh.

"Dean?" Sam scoots over to his brother, who still doesn't rise. He carefully pries away Dean's hand and gasps at the mark on his brother's shoulder.

Hellhounds, blood, oh god so much blood, dead green eyes.

Hell.

Sam's eyes widen as Dean slowly straightens to get a look at it himself.

"Dean," says Sam, "this was after he—"

"Raised me from hell," Dean finishes, gazing gravely at Sam. "I remember."

He moves his shoulder around, wincing. "Crap, that hurt."

"Apologies," Castiel replies, and Sam moves back to let Dean talk to him.

Dean shakes his head. "Nah, it's fine, Cas. It only hurt when you touched me. Doesn't hurt anymore."

"Cas?" There is so much familiarity in that nickname, Sam smiles. "You're calling him Cas, Dean!"

"What?" Dean whines, defensive. "I call him that, don't I?" he adds, looking to Castiel for reassurance.

"Yes, you do."

"You remember all of it, then?" Sam asks his brother.

Dean shakes his head again. "No just bits and pieces. But enough to say that I believe you now. What about you?"

"Same. Bits and pieces." He turns to Cas; there's a horrible doubt niggling at him, and he wants to know the truth even though he's already kind of dreading it. "Cas, can I ask you something?"

"You already did," Cas replies, completely straight-faced.

"No, I mean… why are we in this reality? Why did someone…or something go through so much trouble to create this world for us?"

"Simply put," Cas gestures to Sam's legs, "he was trying to coax you into letting him possess you. But you are an intelligent man. I think you might have already understood that much."

"But that's it? For the yes?"

"If you remember everything about the Apocalypse, then you know that it is of import."

No, Sam doesn't remember everything about the Apocalypse. White light, Dean fighting with him, mental asylum, anger, regret, anger, regret, anger, regret….

Come on, Sam, whispers a voice in his ear. You know what I want. You know it quite well.

He looks around the room, but there's ringing in his ears. He can't hear anything but that voice in his ear. He clutches as his chest through his shirt, gulping, struggling to breathe as everything around him tunnels. No. Not again. Not again.

Sam. You know what to do.

"Stop," he whispers, his hands covering his ears. The ringing gets louder. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain banging away at his skull.

I can make it all go away.

"No!" Sam screams. He feels hands gripping his arms and twists away from them, feeling his elbow connect with something hard.

Sam.

"Sam! Sammy! Stop! It's me, goddamn it," Sam opens his eyes, the ringing suddenly gone. He looks around, and his gaze falls on Dean who's pale and concerned. He is also clutching his jaw, and Sam can see a bruise forming there..

He realises he hit his brother. "Sorry, shit. I…don't know what happened. I heard him. I…I heard Lucifer."

"Hey, it's okay. We'll figure it out. We always do," Dean assures him, his hand leaving his jaw to cup the back of Sam's neck. "Right now, I need you to breathe."

Sam doesn't realise he's breathing too fast, until Dean mentions it. The rooms swims some more, Dean's face being the only thing that is clear to his eyes. He closes his eyes, concentrating on his breath. In, out. In, out.

"We can fix this, right?" he asks Cas when he can catch his breath again. He opens his eyes and turns to his gaze to their apparent friend. "We can find a way back?"

Cas seems unsure. "If I was at full power, I could get you both out of here, but I am not. It took all of my strength to get here to find you. However, if we find the thing that did this, there is a chance we can break the spell and get out."

Sam sits up, determined. "Then let's get to work."

~o~

"Cas, take a break. It's all right."

This is turning into a highly eventful day. If Sam had still been nursing tiny slivers of doubt about the whole 'this world isn't real' thing, every bit of that doubt flew out the window when Dean did a similar flying of his own.

Sam hates hospitals. After spending a large amount of his time recovering from his injuries and then some more having to come back for physical therapy, Sam's come to despise the stark white walls and the constant smell of disinfectant. But here he is again, in this same damn place with its death and its doctors, for Dean this time.

God, Dean, you idiot.

He looks at his brother on the hospital bed, worry poking at every inch of him. Sam is sitting on a chair next to the bed, his wheelchair a few feet away. He'd felt embarrassed at having Cas help him onto the chair, but he hated sitting in the wheeled contraption. He wishes he didn't need it. And people tell him, he'll adjust, he can adjust. That it becomes the new normal after a while. But… how?

He can't wait to get back to whatever realm they belong to, if just to regain the feeling in his legs.

Dean, in the meantime, is unmoving, his breathing even, eyes closed with his hands by his sides. Cas is sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite Sam near the foot of Dean's bed, a large mouldy book in his lap.

"Books are evil," Sam mutters under his breath, looking at Cas holding his head, pain lines evident near his eyes. He frowns. "Cas, if I could walk, I'd rip that book out of your hands. Give yourself a break, man."

"If you touched the book, you'd probably fly like Dean did," Cas throws back.

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but closes it immediately. Cas isn't wrong.

After deciding that they were going to find out how to get back to their reality, Sam had suggested going to the library. If he wasn't dancing, he would be spending his time in the library. He knew therewas a section related to myths and lore, and neither Dean nor Cas were opposed to checking it out. They had headed down a couple blocks from their apartment to the library, and upon making their way towards the shelf they were looking for, Sam had started to feel a slight pounding of his temples. He'd ignored it, chalking it up to lack of sleep.

After that, the only thing Sam remembers is the titles on the books not making sense. He felt like he didn't know how to read them. On picking a book out of its shelf, Sam remembers blinding pain shooting through every part of his body, like being burned alive. He'd heard screaming and it had taken him a moment to realise it was his own voice.

He tried to stop Dean from touching the book but he was too late; the minute Dean's fingers made contact with the book, it was as if something invisible had yanked him backwards. He'd crashed into Castiel who got flung into a bookshelf, toppling it over while Dean soared through the air and crashed out through the glass window on the opposite end of the room.

Sam remembers using his remaining strength to wheel himself out towards the exit to see Dean sprawled in the parking lot of the library, motionless, blood forming a slowly growing pool near his head.

Oh God.

He shudders at the memory, gaze falling back to his brother. The doctors said that it was a nasty fall (they'd told the doctors that Dean had tripped and fallen out the window and onto the pavement outside) but he wasn't in any immediate danger.

"Please wake up," Sam quietly pleads. He sighs, closing the laptop he'd had open. "Hey, Cas. Can you go ask the doctor if we can take him home? He hates hospitals just as much as I do."

Cas nods, setting the book aside gingerly. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he walks out, swaying slightly.

"I'll get us out of this, Dean, I swear."

~o~

"Abas," Sam explains to Dean who's just woken up from a nap. "He's this…demon, according to the lore. Quite an old one too. He's known as the master of trickery and illusion. He is basically in sole control of the world he creates. Now, this is just a guess but I think that's why we couldn't read those lore books without getting hurt. Even Cas can't read them without trouble. But he's an angel so I guess he was better off as compared to us."

Dean palms his head, and Sam can clearly see his brother is in pain. "Okay," Dean finally says. "Well, Mr. Comatose For A Second Time is out doing what then?"

Dean had woken up due to Cas having slammed his door on the way out, after which he had demanded that Sam explain what he had missed in the few minutes he'd decided to get some shut eye after Cas had blacked out. Cas hadn't listened to Sam's heeds of taking breaks in between trying to read the few lore books they'd managed to get out of the library with the angel's help. He'd passed out from the strain of reading them.

"He was excited about something he read in the book after he woke up; said he needed to get some things. Talked about a spell, I didn't really catch much. He kind of left really fast." Sam shrugs, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness of hunching over his laptop at their small side table.

They're sitting back at the apartment now. Sam remembers not having a real home in their actual world and wonders if he'll ever get used to hopping around motels again.

"Huh," Dean mutters. Sam looks up and follows Dean's eyes to the clock.

"What?"

"Technically, I'm supposed to be at work right now."

"Well, do you want to go?" Sam asks, not knowing how to respond. When you find out that your life has been a lie, how do you deal with it? What would be the point of going back to a job you know doesn't exist in reality?

"Not really." Dean smiles. "I mean, I love the cars, but I hate the people."

Sam nods along, eyes now focused on the open web page in front of him. He'd never figured himself to be good at research but somehow, it seems to be ingrained in him. He groans, shutting the laptop, stretching his arms above him. He wheels himself over to the coffee table near the couch, picking up the bottle of water he'd left there. The doctors had let them leave with orders for Dean to rest for the first day or two and take it easy.

Dean keeps staring while Sam drinks the water.

"What?" Sam finally says, setting the bottle down.

"Nothing. I just hope you're right."

"About?"

"Abas. And everything. I mean, how can you be so sure it's him?" Dean asks.

"To be honest, we can't. I can't. But it's the closest thing that fits. And some parts of the lore even suggest he's faithful to Lucifer, and that would make sense considering the situation we are in right now."

Dean nods, looking reassured. "Okay, I trust you. It's worth a try, right?"

"Yeah, worth a try."

The door clicks that moment, and Castiel walks in with a small cloth bag. He sets it on the coffee table, knocking over the water bottle. He pulls out a mortar and pestle, a horn of some sort and—

"Holy shit, is that a finger?!" Dean exclaims, flinching away from the table and clutching his head due to the sudden motion.

Cas nods. "Sorry I left in such a hurry. I found a spell to summon Abas."

Sam blanches, suddenly feeling a sense of dread. "Cas, we agreed to figure out what was going on. Not summon the creature responsible for all this."

"It's the only way," Cas says, putting the finger and horn into the mortar.

"Cas, stop," Dean says, pulling the pestle away from him. "Even if we summon him, what is the plan here? If we summon him here, he has all the more power to play around with us, did you think about that?"

Cas hesitates. "No," he admits. "I didn't. But what other choice do we have? This world was created to get Sam to agree to being Lucifer's vessel. We know that much now. If we don't do anything, he's just going to make this worse for him, try and find ways to mess with him, trick him into say yes."

Sam sees the logic, albeit flawed. "He's right, Dean," he says, resigned. "Well, what's the plan?"

"The book has a sigil that is made out of a paste that requires the items I just brought. It also has an incantation. We draw the sigil, and recite the incantation. We try and persuade him to reverse whatever he did to you two." He holds up the cloth bag. "I have extra ingredients as well and I am keeping them in your room for the time being, Sam."

"Fine." Sam nods.

"Persuade a demon, Cas? Are you crazy?" Dean calls after Cas as he disappears into Sam's room.

Cas comes back and casts a disagreeing glance at Dean's crossed arms. "You and Sam, in the other world, would be more enthusiastic about this ritual. And I am aware that persuading him might not be a possibility. Which is why I will conceal my blade. If things start to get worse, I'll kill him and hopefully it will destroy this reality."

Sam raises his hand, pursing his lips. Castiel looks towards him. "Two questions. One, how are you so sure that the blade can kill him? And two, if it works and this reality is destroyed, will we be destroyed with it?"

Cas frowns. "Well, my blade has killed every demon so far, so while I cannot be sure, I have no other solution in mind. I also cannot be sure about your next query. This reality exists because he created it. So if he ceases to exist, by logic so should this reality. However, you two are linked to the other reality as well, the one where you belong. So, by that, theoretically you two should be safe."

"Theoretically," Dean echoes.

A tense silence fills up the room as the weight of the outcome of their situation dawns upon them. "Okay then, no one seems to have a better idea so, let's get to it. Cas, walk us through," Dean finally says.

He hands back the pestle to Castiel who picks up the horn from the mortar and crushes it with his fist, turning it into powder and letting it fall into the mortar. He then smashes the finger with the pestle into the powder, turning it into a chunky paste.

Sam watches Dean gag and works to keep his own food inside his body.

"Not that I want to know, but where did you get the finger, Cas?" Sam asks, wary.

"I needed the finger of a dead man according to the book. So I went to the first place where you can find a body in any human world."

"Cemetery?" Dean asks, shocked.

Castiel shakes his head. "That would have taken too much time. I went to the morgue of the hospital we were at earlier."

Sam sees Dean gag once more. "Yep," Sam groans. "Didn't need to know. Pretend I never asked, Cas."

"But you did ask."

Sam sighs, not responding, waving at Cas to continue what he was doing. "So, not that it would work, but having a Devil's trap might be a good idea, just in case, you know? And…I can't draw it," Sam gestures to his wheelchair.

Dean nods. "Do we have anything to draw it with, though?"

Sam points towards his bedroom. "There's probably a marker in my dresser somewhere."

Dean heads off towards the bedroom and Sam turns to Castiel as the angel calls his name.

"Sorry, Sam, but the spell asks for a few drops of human blood."

Sam rolls up his sleeve without hesitation. "And you need mine, I get it."

Castiel hands over his angel blade. Sam sets the blade to his forearm and makes a smooth cut, vaguely surprised at how easy and practised the action feels.

Castiel bows his head in thanks and works on mixing the blood into the paste while Sam takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and hastily wraps it around his arm. Dean walks out with the marker just as Castiel finishes mixing the paste.

Dean and Cas work together on moving the couch and coffee table to make space for the Devil's trap. Castiel then moves to the wall in front of the Devil's trap and dips his fingers into the paste. He draws a circle and a cross inside it, touching the borders. Next, in the four quadrants that are now created, he traces intricate little symbols.

Sam watches with mild interest, feeling himself trying to commit the shape to memory, again, like a practised ritual. Maybe he used to do it in their world.

Dean finishes drawing the Devil's trap and stands up just as Castiel sets aside the mortar. He walks over and picks up one of the smaller books they'd brought back and opens it, scrunching his eyese. Sam can see the pain lines forming again.

Dean walks over to stand next to Sam.

"Okay, so I'll start reciting the summoning spell. If you think things are starting to get dangerous, don't worry about me. Get yourselves out of here. I'll come find you again."

"But, Cas—"

Cas cuts Dean off. "This is non-negotiable, Dean. I need to protect the two of you."

Sam sees Dean steel himself, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Fine," they both agree. It goes against everything Sam believes in, but he agrees with Castiel.

Cas places one of his hands on the sigil, the other holding the spell book, and he starts speaking in Latin. Some words Sam vaguely recognises, and the rest completely escapes his head.

The room starts to shake and rumble, cracks forming in the ceiling. Sam's hand immediately latches onto Dean's sleeve. A part of him feels like something's off, something's wrong.

Before he can voice it however, a loud bang resonates around the room. Sam is thrown back and his wheelchair topples over, his head smacking onto the hardwood floor underneath him. Stars dance in his vision and there's a constant ring in his ears. He groans, blinking to clear his vision as he struggles to sit up. His hand rubs the back of his head and he uses the other one to support himself and keep him somewhat upright.

However, what he sees before him makes his heart jump into his throat. The room is a mess, furniture pushed to the walls, papers and parts of books littering the floor, debris everywhere. But worse; Dean and Cas are also nowhere to be seen.

"Guys?!" Sam yells, dragging himself around his wheelchair. Every part of his body aches and he feels like his chest is being bound by a rope.

"Cas? Dean?" he calls out again.

No. Nonono. They can't be gone. This was supposed to work. They were supposed to get back home. This is not happening.

"DEAN!"