"I'm telling you," Dean muttered, "I can't die. I got shot in the head and it didn't kill me."
Sam rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dean to try so desperately to change the subject. "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work. We're gonna have this talk."
"It's not about the talk," the elder said, walking up to his bed and sticking a hand under his pillow, "it's about this." He turned back around, a recently-sharpened hunting knife held firmly in his hand.
"What are you going to do with that?" Sam asked, taking a step closer to his brother.
"Prove that I'm not avoiding whatever cruel punishment you might have hashed out for me," Dean smirked, plunging the knife deep into his heart.
It took almost a whole second for Sam's brain to process what he was seeing, another second for him to realize that he was, in fact, awake. After that, time just seemed to slow down.
Dean's eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids closed as his hand fell slack, leaving the knife wedged in his chest, and he fell back on the bed, still as death. Blood trickled down his side and began pooling on the bedspread.
Sam stared at his brother, trying to process what had happened. It had looked like Dean had plunged his favorite knife into his heart to try and get out of having the whole 'with great power comes great responsibility, idiot' talk. But that couldn't have really happened, right? Dean might have been a little slower than most, but he wasn't stupid enough to stab himself in the chest. Or was he?
Slowly, the younger hunter crept towards his brother's still form. It had to have been a joke. Yeah, there was no other explanation. The knife was a fake, as was the blood. Dean had obviously anticipated the lecture that would follow his arrival after the news got out, and he'd wanted to avoid it. What better way to get out of an uncomfortable position than the scare the shit out of your little brother?
Sam reached out and grabbed the knife. He pulled it out of his brother's chest and inspected it for a moment before tears began to well in his eyes and he threw it to the ground. The damn thing was real. It was pure silver, covered in his brother's blood, and still warm. And Dean was dead.
Yeah, there was that.
Moaning low in his throat like a wounded animal, Sam sank back onto his bed and stared at his brother. He'd always known Dean would die someday, but the knowledge hadn't prepared him for the shock of the actual event. He'd never in his wildest dreams imagined that his brother would be capable of committing suicide, either. And he'd definitely never thought that his less-than-angelic guardian would wind up being buried with wings.
Not that he would be buried. No, he had to be burned. It was best if he was allowed to move on.
Sam hung his head, watching as warm tears stained his jeans. He realized that he was being awfully rational about everything, but figured that once the shock of the fatal stabbing had worn off, he'd be in hysterics.
"Man," he muttered, "how stupid can you get?"
The room was silent, his brother unmoving. That was to be expected, though, wasn't it?
The young hunter sighed and looked up at his brother's body. Dean was covered in blood, save a small circular space in the middle of his forehead about the circumference of a bullet. He shook his head.
Suddenly, Dean's eyes snapped open and he rolled over onto his stomach, gasping and coughing. He shuddered, stretching his wings out behind him as he shook his head and turned to face his brother. "These stupid things keep getting in the way," he complained, "don't know how I'll get to sleep tonight."
Sam felt his jaw drop, his eyes traveling to the sickening, bloody hole in his brother's chest. "You-"
"Told you I couldn't die," Dean smirked, inspecting the wound, "damn, I shoved that mother in deep, didn't I?"
Sammy just gaped.
"You know, Sam, that's a good way to catch flies."
"There's a hole in your stomach."
"And there was another one in my head until a few minutes ago. Went all the way through, too."
"You think it just healed by itself?" Again, the shock was too great to let any panic through. That would come later, hopefully after Dean had gone to sleep.
"No, it didn't happen quick enough."
"You think you did it yourself."
Dean shrugged, walking up to the mirror and checking out his reflection. "Just my luck, huh? First these sissy-ass wings, then the Whitelighter healing thing, now I'm freaking Wolverine. This week can't get any worse."
"Week?" Sam asked, smiling, "dude, it's only been a day."
"Don't remind me," the elder groaned, shoulders slumping and wings following suit. He placed a hand over his heart and watched intently as it began to glow. "That is just not right."
"What's not right is you being able to stab yourself and then stand up and laugh about it," Sam pointed out, "and you said someone shot you in the head on your way back here?"
Dean nodded, sitting down on the bed and running a hand over his flawless skin. "Yeah. That girl I saved, Holly, lived in a neighborhood near the city, so I walked her home. I asked her why she was trying to kill herself, and she said she's different. She's different like you."
"She's psychic?"
"Yep. Pyrokinesis. She's a firestarter."
Sam sighed. Wings, healing, immortality, and now spontaneous combustion. Dean had been right. One hell of a day. "You think they've gotten her?"
"If by 'they,' you mean the cult, no. She just didn't give off that evil vibe. Plus, she was trying to off herself because of her powers. Those hooded freaks seemed to be all right with what they were and what they could do."
"I guess," Sam muttered, "but it's still possible that she was tricking you. I mean, you walk her home and end up getting shot in the head? That's just not normal. Nebraska isn't exactly the drive-by capital of the world, Dean."
The elder man grinned. "That's exactly what she said." He stood up and headed toward the bathroom, grabbing his duffel back off a chair as he went.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked, standing up.
Dean spun around and sighed. "To take a shower. In case you haven't noticed, I've been shot and stabbed tonight. Those two particular kinds of injuries tend to produce a lot of blood. Blood is bad, because when people see it, they automatically think you're dying. Lucky for me, water has the magical ability to wash blood away. The shower sprays water. See the connection, Sammy?"
Sam grinned. "No offense, dude, but that's just not possible right now. I don't think you'll fit."
"How else am I gonna get cleaned up?" Dean asked, scowling, "you gonna take me out back and hose me off?"
"Spread 'em."
Grumbling, humiliated, stripped to his boxers, and freezing to death, Dean Winchester spread his arms. "This has got to be the most embarrassing thing I've ever done," he muttered.
"Now the wings," Sam grinned, checking the nozzle on the hose that he and his brother had found out behind the motel. It seemed to be in proper working order, and was the only plausible way to get Dean cleaned up at the moment.
Mumbling curses under his breath, Dean flared his wings, cringing as Sam turned on the hose and a blast of frigid water hit him, washing the blood off.
The spigot squealed in protest as Sam turned the water off, smiling as he turned to look back at Dean, who was dripping wet and shivering, water cascading from his body in rivulets that sparkled under the moon.
"Can we go inside now?" Dean shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm.
Sam nodded and followed his brother back to the bright warmth of their little room. Immediately, Dean had grabbed a towel and started drying off. He stopped, however, when he noticed Sam staring at him.
"You know," he grinned mischeviously, "I'm aware that I'm a sex god, but that staring's making me uncomfortable. Incest is outlawed, you know."
Sam shook his head, face turning red. "Sick, man. I wasn't staring at you. It's those things. I don't think they can get wet."
Dean looked generally surprised and twisted to get a better look at the wings that were sprouting from his back. He ran a hand gently over a few of the feathers and shrugged. "What do you know, I'm part duck, too."
Sammy rolled his eyes and plopped down on his bed. "Whatever. Look, I think we should pay a visit to your little girlfriend tomorrow, see if she's got anything to do with that cult, huh?"
Dean nodded, pulling on a pair of jeans and flopping belly-down onto his own bed. "Whatever floats your boat, just as long as we find a way to get me back to normal before leaving town. I saw a little old church on the way here the other day. Maybe someone there'll have answers."
"Sounds good." Sam agreed. But he wasn't so sure. With what they did, everything they faced, all of the close calls they'd had over the past couple of years, maybe a little immortality was just what his legally dead brother needed.