A/N: Thanks to my anonymous reviewers! :D
It's been a while since I gave a shout-out to my international readers, reviewers, and silent stalkers ^_^ I've said before, it's one of my favorite things about this site... connecting to people in other countries from right here in America over this common love for our favorite boys who save the world! :D Thanks to all my American friends, but thanks also to y'all in other countries. No matter our differences in tongue or geography, this is our collective world.
And speaking of OUR world... [spoiler alert] what about the OTHER world that we saw in the finale? I don't know what the writers have planned, but Aini NuFire and I have already decided to take a crack at it! This is our first fic collaboration and I'm really excited how it turned out! :D Stay tuned for the first chapter to go up on Wednesday, titled Into the Breach.
But back to THIS story. Let's see how TFW is doing now... o.O
Dean's blood was still racing too hot, too fast, but it was a mere aftertaste of the uncontrollable firestorm raging in his heart when the Mark had taken control. The hunter didn't dare even look in Cole's direction, lest he be consumed again by the desire, the need for violence even though the man was already dead.
Instead, he forced himself to focus his entire attention on the two people dearest to his heart, both too close to Heaven's door. Dean let Cas's weight slide fully onto the floor, away from the puddle of sick, and took quick stock of the situation.
"Okay," he breathed, running shaky hands through his hair. "Okay…" Oh god, how was he going to get them both out of there and take care of them on his own? Even with whatever Cas had done, Sam was obviously too injured to walk or even stand, and the angel was out like a light.
"Is he…?" Sam whispered, voice breaking.
Dean shook his head. "Pulse is thready," he answered as he checked again for his own reassurance. "But it's there. What the hell did that bastard do to him? To you? No," the hunter immediately changed his mind. He swallowed. The memory of that rage… god, he was terrified. He couldn't go there again. "Don't tell me until I'm under control."
Not that Sam seemed capable of telling the story at the moment anyway. When Dean turned back to his baby brother, Sammy's head was drooping and he nearly pitched right out of the seat. Dean cursed and steadied his brother, easing him back in the chair.
"Okay," he said again. Dean shook off his panic, knowing he needed a clear head. Shrugging out of his flannel, Dean pressed it against the wound on Sam's chest and tried to ignore the pitched cry of agony from his brother. "Keep pressure on that. I'm gonna back the car out so you have room to get in. Hang on, okay?"
Sam nodded as Dean hurried back to the Impala. He only vaguely registered the dents and scratches caused by crashing in as he had, but she had suffered worse than this for the Winchesters. Dean shifted wood aside and slid in behind the wheel, pulling her back out to the firm ground outside where he wouldn't have to worry about her weight crashing through the floorboards.
Jumping back out and hurrying inside, Dean looked between Sam and Cas before heading for his little brother first. Cas was already unconscious; if Sam passed out, Dean wanted to make sure it was while he was already strapped in to the Impala's front seat.
"Here we go, ready, buddy?" he asked, before pausing in dismay. Dean cursed. The bastard had made sure Sam couldn't walk… even with his knee healed, Dean didn't see how his brother would be able to put weight on either leg. And from the way Sam was guarding his ribcage, there were probably broken bones to worry about in addition to the bullet hole that was already seeping blood through the flannel.
Just the act of supporting Sam's weight or trying to carry him might jostle a broken rib the wrong way and take out a lung… assuming the bullet hadn't done that already. Dean had a nasty suspicion it had, and he had no way of treating that on his own.
"Just hang on. I'm gonna get you to a hospital. Umm… okay, let's get the jacket off. We're gonna have to use it like a litter."
Sam nodded, and though he didn't make a sound, Dean could tell it was taking everything his brother had not to cry out in pain. Working quickly, Dean tied the arms of the flannel shirt around Sam's back to help keep the pressure on the wound, then dropped the coat to the floor and helped guide his brother down on top of it.
"On three, okay?" he said, gripping the material in white-knuckled fists. "One… two… three!" Dean pulled with all his might, straining to drag Sam across the barn floor. Sam was obviously trying to help, but by the time they were only halfway out, there were already tears in the staunch hunter's eyes from the pain. "Almost there, come on… Geez, Sammy, you gotta lose a couple pounds…"
"One to… talk…"
When they finally reached the Impala, Dean was already starting to feel the exhaustion, but he opened the passenger door and struggled to maneuver Sam into it. Buckling his brother in, not even thinking about the blood he was getting on the upholstery, Dean cast a worried eye at Sammy's pale, drawn face. They needed to hurry.
"I gotta go back for Cas, okay? Hold on."
Sam didn't answer, more than for his head to tilt to the side as his eyes fell closed. Dean tossed his brother's jacket into the backseat then hurried back into the barn, still avoiding the sight of Cole's motionless form on the floor, as he knelt down by the fallen angel.
"Cas," he murmured, giving his friend a careful shake. The angel didn't stir. With a frown, Dean rolled him onto his back and pushed the trench coat aside, checking to see what injuries he might have sustained. Though Cole had indicated he'd made Cas bleed, Dean couldn't find any cuts or stab wounds. In fact, the only marks he found were the angry red lines around Cas's throat from where the son of a bitch had bound him with the harsh twine, and the same around his wrists.
Dean wondered again what exactly Cas could be sick with, to be in such horrible condition without any wounds, but for now the important thing was that he could safely move the angel without worrying about aggravating any injuries.
Sliding one of Cas's arms around Dean's shoulder, the hunter grunted with exertion as he hauled the angel's dead weight up and hoisted him into a fireman's carry. Maybe after so many years of taking care of Sam, everyone else seemed lighter in comparison, but Dean couldn't help but wince at just how fragile Cas—a freakin' angel—seemed as the hunter carried him out to the car.
Cas never stirred as Dean opened the back door of the Impala and eased the angel down onto the bench seat.
Without a backwards glance, the hunter raced for the driver's seat and mashed the gas pedal. The Impala rumbled then sped down the road as smoothly as possible so as not to jar two of her most beloved passengers.
Dean's mind raced as he focused on getting to help as soon as possible, alternately glancing over to make sure Sam was still breathing and watching the rearview to keep an eye on Cas. The Bunker was at least two hours away; too far for him to take Sam.
In the passenger seat, Sammy shifted, eliciting another shaky moan that made Dean's skin crawl because his brother should not sound so weak.
"You with me, Sammy?"
Sam grunted slightly in assent as his eyes blinked open. "Cas…?"
"In the back." Dean paused, licking dry lips. "I saw a sign for a hospital coming into town. Hang in there a few more minutes."
"What about Cas?" Sam stubbornly murmured. "Can't… can't take him to a hospital. You know that."
Yeah, but he'd been trying not to think it. "What else am I supposed to do? You're too hurt. I can't take care of it on my own, and Cas can't heal you."
"So take me to a hospital. But Dean… you gotta get Cas home."
"And leave you here?" Dean demanded as his hands clutched the wheel harder. "Forget it."
"You know it's the only option," his brother murmured. He seemed to rally some strength, sitting up a bit and pressing a hand to the makeshift flannel bandage. "Feels like… he hit a lung. I- I think it's deflated."
"Ya think?" Dean snapped back, before wincing at his own harshness. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah. They're gonna have to get the bullet out…"
"And that means surgery," Sam finished, leaning his head against the window and taking shallow, raspy breaths. "Which means anesthesia. Which means… I won't even be awake. They'll take care of me. Please… use that time. Get Cas to the Bunker. He- he needs food, rest. Clean sheets. He needs us, Dean. You don't understand…"
His voice started to fade, making Dean glance over at him.
"I'm gonna get him to a motel," he assured his brother. "That way I can keep a closer eye on both of-"
"No." Sammy semi-straightened again with a wince and a ragged breath. "No, Dean. He needs to be home."
"Hey, I don't exactly like the idea of leaving him somewhere either, but it's not like I'm just gonna-"
"Cas is dying."
Dean felt the air leave his chest as his heart stopped pumping. His gaze automatically jerked to the rearview, as though afraid by the time he looked, Cas would already be gone. The angel was still lying there in the back seat, pale but still present. Swallowing, Dean shook his head.
"I gave him a quick once over. Didn't see any wounds. What did that bastard do to him?"
"Wasn't Cole," Sam grunted. "The grace… burning out-" He cut off with a wrenched cry of pain as they went over a bump in the road.
Dean swore, trying to slow down just a little, but even more anxious now for both his brothers. His previously stilled heart was now thudding with painful intensity even as denial made him shake his head again. Cas wasn't dying. He would be fine, because he was always fine, because he was a Winchester and they had a track record for beating what couldn't be beat.
Dean clenched his fists around the steering wheel again, teeth gritting as he watched the trees flash by, drawing closer to town where the hospital was. Choosing between himself or his brother was easy. Choosing between one family member or another, however… Dean was furious to have been put in this position, to leave Sammy on his own at a hospital, horribly wounded, or to leave Cas fading away alone with the promise that they'd come get him—eventually.
The hunter couldn't do either. Especially if…
"Dean," Sam gritted out, probably seeing the battle on his face. "We can still save Cas, but not at some crap-hole motel. Take care of him, then come back for me. If you don't, I'll tell them to throw you out. I'm not kidding. I'll be fine… you and I both know I've had worse than this."
"And how is that supposed to make me feel better?" Dean demanded, though he checked the rearview again to see their angel still unconscious in the back seat. All the times Cas had protected them… and Dean knew without needing to be told that the angel had done everything he could to protect Sam from Cole. It was just what Cas did, what he'd always done.
It was time for them to return the favor.
So, when they finally reached the La Crosse hospital, Dean pulled into the Emergency Room entrance pavilion and shouted for help out the open window. Turning back to Sam, gripping his brother's hand carefully, Dean promised,
"I'm gonna get Cas home and settled, and I'll be back this evening. Maybe tomorrow we can bust you out, alright?"
Sam nodded weakly but managed to offer Dean a wan smile. Several EMTs and orderlies were already rushing towards the Impala with a stretcher between them; jumping out of the car to explain the little he knew of Sam's injuries, Dean watched them take his brother inside. Under the pretense of parking, even though it killed him to do it, the hunter drove off as fast as he could with the Impala's nose pointed towards home.
SPN SPN SPN
Castiel felt the surface of whatever he was lying on vibrating gently, almost soothingly. The smooth material beneath him wasn't completely flat, but curved a bit to conform to his weary body. It served as almost a cocoon, protecting and supporting. Occasionally, he was jostled by a bump, but for the most part this was absorbed into whatever was holding him so that the pain wasn't too severe.
It was too much work to open his eyes, but Castiel smelled leather and a faint dustiness; added to the lullaby rumble, he knew it was Dean's car. And that meant safety.
Castiel allowed the blackness to claim him once again in the solace of this shelter.
The next time he returned to semi-awareness, the rumbling was slowing to a halt. A soft squeal of brakes and the following silence told him the Impala had stopped, but this was as much as his mind could piece together at the moment. He was in and out of consciousness, but his first instinct when hands pulled him out of the seat was to try to shift away.
"Hey… hey, it's okay," a gruff voice murmured. "It's just me, Cas, you're safe."
"Dean."
Castiel had to make sure Dean didn't go too far, didn't cross the line that would separate him from the angel forever. But his eyelids were too heavy.
"Yeah. I gotcha, man."
He slid out of consciousness yet again, but the next thing he knew, a heavy door was creaking shut in the distance and he seemed to be moving. It took the angel a moment to realize he was draped over something sturdy that was carrying him down a flight of stairs. Dean, again. Vaguely, Castiel thought he should be embarrassed that he would need to be carried like an invalid, though the hunter's thoughts whispering into Castiel's mind were filled with worry and pleas to hold on.
Dean hadn't prayed in a long time, Castiel thought. He marveled at the fact that the hunter would do so now, and that Castiel could even still hear them.
Wanting to reassure his friend, he opened his eyes to see a blurry image of Dean's boots and the floor sliding by. He tried to tell the hunter that he was alright, but all he managed to get out was a slurred "Okay…"
Then he was out.
There was no way of knowing how much time had passed before Castiel woke up again, but by the time he did, his memories of the recent past had dimmed enough that he wasn't sure where he was. He remembered Cole, and how callously he'd tortured Sam, and then Dean bursting in quite literally.
Castiel's breath hitched as he opened his eyes and swiftly took in his surroundings; a bedroom, a soft blanket, and Dean sitting beside him with a magazine.
The hunter looked up, crossed feet jerking off the bed Castiel was lying on. "Cas?"
Dean had been beating Cole so ferociously, which was little more than what the soldier deserved, but the Mark… Dean's eyes… the violent rage choking the very air around them, emanating from Dean himself…
"Dean," Castiel whispered, eyes locked on his friend. "Are you… you? You're not… you didn't…?"
Biting his lip, Dean looked away for a second before glancing back at the angel. "I'm fine," he replied, gruff and oddly vulnerable. "And yeah, I'm still me."
Offering a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever might still be out there listening, Castiel let his body relax again into the soft pillow. He looked around again, realizing that this didn't seem like one of their usual motels. Then he remembered the careful arms carrying him down the stairs of the Bunker.
"Yeah, you're home," Dean assured him, seeming to realize the angel was still a little disoriented.
The word made Castiel's throat tighten. He was too tired to be embarrassed when his eyes flooded with moisture as he caught Dean's gaze. He didn't know quite how to respond, but the next memory to return drove out all other thoughts anyway.
"Sam!" Castiel gasped, jolting upright in the bed. The movement proved too much and his breath caught in his throat. Castiel coughed, and then he couldn't stop coughing. His body jerked repeatedly with the violence of it, hacking and wheezing in between until he felt something wet on the back of his hand.
The angel looked down: blood. Damn it, it was this exact thing he'd been trying to protect Sam and Dean from seeing, the very reason he'd gone off to die alone. There was no hiding it now. As the wracking wet coughs subsided, Castiel avoided Dean's eyes.
For a second, neither said anything. Then, Dean shifted closer to Castiel, holding out a handkerchief that he used to carefully wipe the blood off of the angel's hand.
"Sam's at the hospital in La Crosse," Dean said simply. "They're gonna patch him up. I'll head over there in a while to check on him."
Castiel closed his eyes against a spasm of pain—not in his body, but in his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I… I wish I could have done more-"
"Cas, no."
The angel couldn't bear the anguish he heard, competing with his own devastation that he hadn't done a better job protecting his charges. Every choice he'd made that had led him here, powerless and dying, had been no one's fault but his own. And now Sam and Dean were paying the price.
"You did more than enough," Dean finished, voice rougher than usual. "I'm the one who- look, Sam's gonna be just fine, but meanwhile, you need to rest. I'm gonna go heat up some soup, and you're gonna eat it."
"But-"
"No, no buts. Don't give me that crap about how angels don't need to eat. You look like hell, man. So humor me. Eat some soup and then take a nap."
Castiel couldn't pretend that didn't sound as good as it did. Wanting to make Dean feel better, the angel nodded and closed his eyes. He heard his friend stand up and walk from the room, and only then did Castiel grit his teeth and allow himself to respond to the aching deep in his bones. The stolen grace crackled, the spurts becoming more intense.
Maybe when Dean left to see Sam, the angel could sneak back out, he thought dazedly. As nice as Dean was being, it didn't change the simple fact: all the soup and rest in the world wasn't going to be enough to save Castiel now.
SPN SPN SPN
On the floor of the barn, Cole's eyes flew open and he inhaled with a sharp, pained gasp. Shit, he hurt all over… he could barely breathe, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. By a bullet. At close range. Lying as still as he could, the soldier stared up at the wood ceiling.
Fury and humiliation coiled in his stomach, working their way up like bile. He'd lost, and lost badly. All that time preparing, and Dean had swatted him down like he was nothing. Cole's face turned dark and deadly.
With a groan, he raised a hand to his chest and unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers. The Kevlar vest close to his skin had saved his life; good thing Dean had stupidly targeted him at center mass instead of going for a head shot.
That would be Dean Winchester's last mistake.
No blood; just one hell of a bruise, he was sure, though the pain was equally matched by the throbbing in his face.
"Damn it," Cole growled under his breath, touching his cheek with a ginger prod. He gasped when fire flashed through his face. A broken nose, probably his cheekbone as well. He'd have two black eyes, undoubtedly.
Not that it could hope to compare with the agony of knowing he'd lost and Dean was still out there somewhere.
But not for long. Dragging himself up painfully, Cole forced himself to his feet and stumbled towards the door. A wave of dizziness left him leaning against the splintered wood with his eyes closed. The sensation passed, and the soldier took a deep breath.
Fortunately, Cole hadn't survived so long in the darkest places on earth by being unprepared. He never did anything without a contingency plan. He'd taken the necessary steps in case of this very possibility, from the very second he'd knocked Sam out in the middle of the road.
Stumbling out to his waiting car, Cole pried the door open and painfully slid behind the wheel. One glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror confirmed what he'd thought about the current state of his face—he was a bloody mess, barely able to see through his left eye that was swollen shut and dripping blood.
Didn't matter. If it was the last thing he did, Cole was going to end Dean, and his brother, and the monster, once and for all.
A/N: I mean, guys, you had to know it wasn't really gonna be that easy... ;)