Disclaimer: All characters belong to Kripke and the CW, darn them to heck.
A/N: I had several requests to say "What Happened Next" after I posted the original drabble, and truthfully, after a while, I wanted to know, too. Then it wanted to be set in Season 4, which is just like having a tooth pulled. So, expect spoilery for S4, and angst. Loads and loads of angst.
A/N 2: This story takes place between Wishful Thinking and IKWYDLS. Beta'd by the fabulous Merisha and Muffy Morrigan.
"I have to go … I, I can't … I did … I can't take the noise." Dean walked out, slamming the door.
Sam felt tears start. He looked at the woman, on her knees, keening softly over the body of her dead child.
"We're sorry. Bobby told you what might happen. That exorcism is the safest one we know." He closed his eyes. "We did everything. Dean did CPR for an hour. Demons use up the body, they hurt it …"
She choked out, "I know. Thank God, at least she's free."
Sam wondered if Dean would ever be.
Sam stayed as long as he could, long enough that he could almost hear the sirens. It couldn't be much longer before the police got involved, and he and Dean needed to be long gone before that happened. It was easier than he thought to leave – the girl's mother wanted nothing more to do with him, just held her child, and nodded. He backed up, thinking she might change her mind, but when she didn't call him back, he turned and bolted.
He dried his face with the back of an arm and set out for the car, parked five blocks away. After a block, he called Bobby. He had to let him know what had happened. Bobby didn't need any of this coming back at him anymore than they did.
"She's good people, Sam. She knew the risks." Bobby's voice was tinny through the cell. "She won't send anyone after us. I'm just real sorry to hear what happened. Where's Dean?"
"He left about ten minutes before I did. He's probably at the car."
"Well, you'd better find him. You know how he gets around kids."
Sam stopped for a minute. "Why kids, Bobby?" There was just silence for a long minute.
"And here I always thought you were the smart one, Sam, and damnit, if you aren't as much an idjit as that brother of yours."
Sam heard the click as Bobby hung up, and tucked his phone back in his pocket. He started toward the car again, letting his long legs stretch out to eat up the distance. He was almost running by the time he caught sight of the Impala. He slowed to a walk to catch his breath, and then almost hyperventilated when he realized he couldn't see Dean anywhere. He reached the car and checked inside, even though he knew it was empty, then pivoted around one foot, looking up and down the street. Nothing, no one, anywhere. He fought the urge to get down and look under the car, like Dean was some kind of stray pet.
He cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, "Dean!" When he heard nothing in reply, he yanked his cell back out of his pocket and thumbed speed dial 1. When the call rolled over the voice mail, Sam disconnected and tried again, this time holding the phone away from his ear, but he couldn't hear Dean's phone ringing.
He breathed through his nose loudly, and rubbed his temples. Where the fuck did his brother go? And why couldn't he just 'feel' him? If his shining was coming back, or had never left, why wasn't it good for some practical angelically approved things, like finding his brother? The sound of laughter, children's laughter, distracted him. He looked across the street, in the direction of the sound, and spotted a sign marking the entrance to a family park. He loped forward, not one to believe in coincidence, especially in matters Winchester.
He followed the path as it looped through some picnic areas and around a small lake. He looked for his brother back in the trees, near water fountains, but reached the other side of the park without spotting him. He turned back to take another path, and this time, half jokingly, ducked down to look under tables and benches, like Dean really was a lost pet, or at least a lost brother.
The sound of children playing grew stronger, and Sam found the playground around a bend, and then found Dean over by the jungle gym, helping a little one hold on to an overhead bar. The kid was laughing, smiling, and a few other children were gathered around, and Dean was … smiling, and hell, his face was just glowing.
Sam was surprised all over again by how children seemed to respond to his big brother. Dean had tossed his coat over a bar, and was wearing just a tee shirt and jeans. He looked relaxed, and barked out a laugh at something one of the kids said. And suddenly Sam was struck again by how stupid he must be, still, because this surprised him every single time, and he should know by now, know by heart, know in his heart, that kids loved Dean. They felt safe and secure around him. And Sam knew that, like he knew how to breathe, because that's how he felt as a kid, and, honestly, still did.
Sam had a momentary flashback to a neglected playground in some nameless town long ago, equipment rusting and weeds growing around the metal struts, but it had been theirs that summer, just his and Dean's. He could almost feel his brother putting him on the slide, holding him up while he tried the hand over hand, and pushing him for what seemed forever on the swing, sending him so high he thought his feet would touch the sky. It was a great memory and where it had gone until just then, he didn't know.
Sam shook himself and stepped forward. He may not be great with kids, but they didn't scream in terror when they saw him. They were far more likely to try to climb him as if he was a kind of ambulatory tree. He'd just tell them he was an Ent. He called out as he approached and saw Dean start to turn toward him, but before he completed the movement, Sam's attention was caught by something – someone – appearing at the far edge of the playground, a couple of dozen yards past where Dean was standing. The man must have said something that only Dean could hear, because Sam saw Dean start, then swivel his head away from Sam and towards - Castiel.
Sam was a little surprised he could see the angel, since he'd only seen him the one time at the hotel, but he knew it had to be Castiel pulling Dean's attention away. Dean walked to meet the angel, and Sam watched as they put their heads together. He didn't move at first, hesitant to interrupt Dean and an angel, because dude, Angel, but also hesitant to find out if he even could approach them. After Castiel called him 'the boy with the demon blood' and almost refused to shake his hand, he wasn't sure how welcome he would be.
He propped himself up against a slide, and the tears that started in the house were starting back in his eyes. God, he was just so jealous. Jealous and angry and despairing that Dean, who wondered why Sam was 'down with the God thing', who never prayed, who never believed, now had private conversations with angels, while Sam, who prayed every day for redemption, for salvation, who needed saving as much as his brother, who was an innocent baby when Azazel infected him, was standing by himself, ignored by both of them.
It was crazy talk to think it was wrong for an angel to have precedence over a little brother. Dean should give precedence to Castiel, had to give precedence to an angel, but standing there it was impossible not to feel dismissed, and not just by Castiel, but by his brother.
And maybe that was the crux of the matter. Maybe he wouldn't be so jealous if Dean hadn't taught him, day in and day out, year after year, that nothing mattered to him except Sam and Dad, that life was Sam, Dad, Sam, Dad, and Sam.
He snorted. Right, he was making this Dean's fault. Maybe if he had ever actually listened to one of his teenage tirades, when he screamed that he didn't need his family constantly hovering over him, suffocating him with concern, he wouldn't feel left out now.
Maybe if he'd meant what he said when he'd patiently and slowly explained to his brother, in that insufferable teenage way, that a normal, smart person would want their own life as much as Sam wanted his … maybe then it wouldn't be such an excruciating wrench to get his wish now.
Well, screw this. He wasn't a child, and wasn't a teenager. He was going to go join the angelic confab. As he walked through the playground, the kids smiled at him, and he wasn't too surprised to realize that the kids and their parents seemed oblivious to Dean and Castiel.
Sam stopped before he was close enough to hear what they were saying, but close enough for Castiel to see him, see the 'demon boy', take note of him - to either ignore him, dismiss him, or invite him in, now that Sam wasn't hiding or holding back, instead, he was waiting, right where Dean needed him to be.
Dean's back was to him, and Sam wasn't at all sure that Dean knew he had arrived. Dean was gesturing, and Sam could make out frustration and anger in the tone of Dean's voice but not much else. Castiel spoke but looked cold and aloof. Dean shouted, and stepped backwards, and Castiel followed him, taking one step forward to Dean's two steps back.
Sam thought his heart had stopped entirely when Dean suddenly shouted, and he heard the agony now in Dean's voice.
"No, no, no!"
Castiel didn't move, didn't speak, and Sam almost ran up to talk to Dean for him. Dean always tried to pretend he was so stoic, so tough, and then cried by the side of the road, cried with him, with Sam, not with some fucking impassive dick of an angel. Sam looked up for a minute, wondering if he was about to be fried with lightening from above. Then with a start, looked down, wondering if he should be equally worried about what's down there.
He walked forward, determined to enter the dynamic. After a few steps he could hear Dean clearly.
"I told him not to do the brain whammy. I told him – told him it was God that wanted him to stop. And he agreed. He didn't do it, and he wanted to, I know he did. And a little girl died."
Sam could only make out a murmur from Castiel but Dean's reaction was enough.
"God's will? God's fucking will? You sanctimonious, heartless … it was a BABY. A demon possessed a little girl. God wanted her to be possessed and die? God wanted her mother to suffer the loss of a child?" A beat while Castiel's lips moved. "You can't be serious. You're an angel, Cas, so don't say to me what every street corner whack-job preacher does."
Dean leaned forward, and his voice went deeper and rougher, raspy, like it had been since September. Like there was still grave dirt in his throat.
"Screw God's plan if it includes shit like this. Fuck you and fuck the horse you rode in on."
Sam took a hasty step forward before Castiel's eyes flickered to his, and this time it was angel mojo, because he couldn't move, couldn't speak. Castiel looked back at Dean, his eyes blazing, imploring him 'have faith'. He said a few words in reply that Sam couldn't quite make out before Castiel leaned forward and whispered in Dean's ear again.
Dean bellowed. "All right. I'm glad she's in heaven – that's only right." Castiel leaned in again to whisper more secret angel stuff, Sam figured, but this time the effect was immediate and brutal. Dean's head jerked back and Sam could see the tension in his back and shoulders from where he was standing. Dean said, "I understand. I won't. You don't have to say that."
And then to Sam's horror, Dean sobbed, and he pulled in air as if he'd been stabbed in the gut.
"Don't you understand? I'm sick of decisions right now. I'm sick of your weight on my shoulders along with everything else.." Dean heaved in air again, and his voice steadied. "You're just like Dad. You are, aren't you, you son of a bitch? And it'd better be you that's like Dad, and not God, because that would be the fucking biggest, sickest joke ever on this planet if God was like John Winchester."
Dean straightened and rubbed the tears off his face. "I hadn't made the connection until now. 'Here, Son, you're responsible for your brother.' 'Here, Son, let me put the weight of the family on your shoulders.' 'Here, Son, let me make the salvation of mankind your responsibility, your job, since it's too fucking heavy for me'."
Castiel spoke, still too quietly for Sam to hear. Dean's response was a despairing laugh. "I'm trying to get this, Cas, I promise, I'm trying, but if you're trying to tell me we only get what we can handle, you'd better stop. People break all the time, like that little girl's mother. We just don't talk about them when all we want is fluffy clouds and harps playing."
Sam struggled and fought, but he still couldn't move. Then, like Sam was a beacon on a dark shore, Dean turned unerringly to face him, because Dean was always aware of Sam, always knew when Sam was nearby, angel or no angel.
Dean said over his shoulder to Castiel, "I want you to go away. It doesn't have to be long. I don't want you right now. I don't need you." Dean's voice dropped again. "I want Sam. I need my brother." Dean sounded a million years old. Castiel stepped forward and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and it looked like Dean was collapsing into himself. "Please, Cas, just, please. I don't need you. I need Sam."
Sam held his breath, terrified of what might happen next, and when something did, it was anticlimactic, quiet, and almost serene. Castiel took a step back and, with what looked almost like a bow towards Dean, the angel evaporated.
Sam almost fell forward, the hold on him released with Castiel's disappearance. He could move, he could step forward, he could call to Dean, he just wasn't sure what to do first. He held his arms away from his side, palms up, and just said his brother's name.
"Dean." His breathing hitched. "I'm here. I need you too. I always have, and I always will."
He held out his arms and to his amazement, Dean walked into them. Sam wrapped him tightly, as tightly as he could, feeling Dean hug him back, hard. Sam remembered all the times he had hugged his brother, and knew, no matter how many times, it would never be enough.