Chapter Five
Sam knew Dean had been far from well enough to have been released from the hospital, and that they had only left because John had insisted they get the hell out of dodge, before someone noticed the mess they had made of the harbor back in Brooklin. Dean had slept most of the 6 hour drive, but hadn't looked remotely better when he had woken up.
It had taken almost 10 minutes for Dean to get up the 3 flights of stairs to the unit in an old abandoned apartment in New York City, where they were currently staying. Dean had refused any help on the way up and had instead held on to the cold railing with both hands. If he hadn't looked so pathetic Sam would probably have thought of some way to tease his older brother, but when Dean slipped for the fourth time he forgot about all the insults he had made up in his mind.
At first Dean had tried to look down at his feet to make sure he walked straight, but the sickly yellow and green check pattern on the floor had only made him feel even dizzier.
"We're almost ther-"
"Shut the fuck up, Sam," hissed Dean. He looked up after John who was standing with his hand on the handle of an open door and tabbing his foot impatiently, with the duffel bag under his arm.
They entered the unit. The people who at some point had lived there appeared to have tried to shine the place up a little with some flower patterned wallpaper, but now it was discolored and peeling off in most places, revealing the cold, gray, concrete wall behind it.
Dean flipped a switch, but as expected nothing happened. He looked up and noticed that instead of a lamp, two ripped off cords hang from the ceiling, "well, that's just awesome," he whispered. Dean eyed a lonely refrigerator standing in the corner but decided it was probably best not to open that. Instead he went over to a green single sized bed, tried his best not to think about anything that started with the letter 'b' and ended with 'edbugs', and sat down.
John threw the duffel over next to Dean and spread a large map of Bronx out on the table. With a focused expression he drew a couple of dots and lined them.
"What's up?" said Dean from the bed.
"Shifter activity," said John and drew another dot.
"But I thought we ganked them all last time?"
"Must be some kinda nest somewhere near". John taped the map to the wall. He looked at the connected dots and scratched his chin.
"Wait, since when do shifters nest?" said Sam and walked up next to John.
"It gotta be, there've been three suspicious deaths and 9 robberies where all the convicts say they were somewhere else when it happened," said John, "and this is just the last couple of weeks".
Dean tried his best to stay focused on the conversation but found it hard to concentrate. He had only meant to shut his eyes for a couple of minutes, but was soon fast asleep.
"-I won't be gone long," said John. He opened a box of specially made silver bullets and pocketed a handful.
"You want me to come with?" asked Sam and looked at his brother's sleeping form out of the corner of his eye. John followed his line of vision, "just stay, give him another hour, and then go earn some money, alright?"
"Yes sir," said Sam. John tied a silver knife to each angle and left with a nod at Sam.
Sam turned around and looked at Dean. Now, a day later, Dean's bruises had gotten worse to look at, they were now a dark purple and covered the most of the left side of his face. But still, Dean had been lucky. In the car, he had done some more research on draugar, they were rare, almost exclusively appeared in Scandinavia, and out of anything Sam could think of, aside from maybe demons, they were particularly nasty and strong. That Dean had gotten away from one of those without breaking a bone was really a bit of a miracle.
Dean rolled onto his side and placed his head on the duffel. Sam looked at his watch, it had already been 15 minutes since John had left, and Dean wouldn't be ready to go out in 45 minutes. He considered leaving a note and going out to get money by himself, but decided he didn't want to deal with Dean's anger if he woke up before he could get back.
Sam went over to the table and opened his backpack. He remembered having his own backpack when he was little, but it hadn't been before he had started high school that he had gotten a real bag for school. Before that, he had shared the duffel with Dean and John, left what wasn't too important in the Impala, and otherwise used plastic bags. He ran his fingers down the side of the brown bag. It wasn't anything special, and he was pretty sure it hadn't been procured in a strictly legal fashion, but he liked having his own bag.
Without anything better to do, he emptied the bag on the table and started to sort through his things. He found a couple of papers that were covered in what looked like blood, he couldn't really remember, crumpled them together and threw them on the floor. He almost missed the little blue fairy tale book that had been hiding beneath the layer of trash paper in the bottom of his bag. He opened it and scanned the contents. He still had a vague memory of Dean reading to him from this book. He flipped through the book and stopped at a poem called 'The Dying Child' and began to read, but he didn't finish, as something else caught his attention. A little shard of white porcelain lay half hidden beneath a pair of socks.
It took him a little while to remember where the shard had come from, but then he remembered the angel statue that he had picked up from the cave floor next to Dean, and how the angel had lost some of its right wing. For some reason his adrenalin fueled mind had convinced him he couldn't leave it behind.
He went over to Dean and tried not to wake him as he searched the duffel for the rest of the angel statue. He found it, went back to the table and pulled out a small tube of glue used mostly to put the old spell and exorcism books back together. He wasn't sure it would work on porcelain, but thought he should at least give it a go.
In the bed Dean started to stir. He had had a strange dream, it hadn't even really felt like a dream, he hadn't seen anything in particular, he had just felt. He had felt warm and comfortable, tranquil, almost. He had had an odd sensation that felt a bit like floating, except it hadn't been wet, but it hadn't been dry either, it had been soft, like down, like wings, yes, like being cocooned in a pair of strong wings. Memories of blue fire and just as blue eyes came to mind and Dean shook his head. He had obviously hit his head pretty hard.
Dean tried to sit up but the room started to twirl. "Wow," he said out loud. Dean blinked and looked over at Sam who was sitting by the table and reading in some book.
"What time is it?" asked Dean and ran his hand down his bruised face.
Sam put the book on US history he had started to read down and turned around, "'s just past noon".
"Where's dad?"
"Went out to do some groundwork," said Sam.
"Well he probably needs our help," said Dean and started to rise from the bed, his knees ached. He bit the inside of his lip and tried not to show the pain in his face.
"Nah, told us to get some rest," said Sam and looked down at his book.
"Uhu?" said Dean with a raised brow, "no other orders, none?"
"No," said Sam with a shrug and pretended to start reading again, "just told us to wait".
Dean walked over to the table and looked at the stacks of books. When Sam noticed his staring he started to put his belongings back in his bag.
"What do you even need all this for?" said Dean and made a gesture at the books.
"Dean, I'm graduating in like a couple of months," said Sam.
"Right… graduation," said Dean, "found a nice dress yet?"
Sam rolled his eyes and turned a page.
"Hey, thought we lost this," said Dean and picked up the angel statue.
"Found it next to you, in the cave," said Sam.
"Huh…" said Dean and turned his back at Sam with the statue in hand.
"What?" said Sam.
Dean didn't reply.
"Dean what!" he repeated.
"Nothing," said Dean and put the statue back into the duffel. "I'm hungry. Wanna go grab some pizza or something?"
Sam gave up pretending to read. "You need to sleep, man," he said.
"It's not even past curfew, mom," said Dean.
"You know what I mean," said Sam.
"Whatever man," said Dean and started to slowly walk towards the door.
Sam got up from his chair, "you shouldn't have gone down there by yourself?"
"What's that?" said Dean.
"The cave, you shouldn't have gone down there."
"And who the hell else should then?" asked Dean, "the job needs to be done, Sam, and you know it".
"Not if it's gonna cost your life," said Sam.
"Do I look dead to you?" asked Dean, "don't answer that," he added.
Sam opened his mouth, about to protest, but Dean cut him off, "alright Sammy look, if I hadn't gone down there some other poor bastard might have been attacked, and unlike me they wouldn't have stood a chance."
"Still, you should have waited for backup, you're not stupid Dean, you knew it was dangerous," said Sam, "you should have waited for me and dad to get there, or is that it? You don't think I'm capable of helping you or something?"
Dean rolled his eyes, "come on, we all just expected a regular old salt 'n burn."
"You could have died."
"Yeah, well, alright, but I didn't so would you quit being such a drama queen?"
"I just, I need you to take care alright?" said Sam.
"Always am-"
"Of yourself," said Sam.
"So are we ordering that pizza by phone or-"
"Dean."
"Cut it out, Sam. We're done." Dean turned around and walked back towards the bed. He lay down with his back towards Sam. "And if we aren't getting any grub then I guess I might as well do some more 'taking care of myself'," he said, making air quotes with his hands.
Sam clenched his jaw and didn't reply.
Dean moved the duffel a bit, trying to get comfortable, which was a bit of a feat considering it was filled with guns. He screwed his eyes shut. It took him a while to fall asleep this time.
A cold breeze raced through an open window. Dean woke up, covered in goose bumps.
"The hell?" he whispered. Dean didn't remember falling asleep, John had made it very clear that it was of utmost importance that Dean stayed awake and kept a close eye on Sam, even though he hadn't shared the particulars as to why. He looked over at the window, he was one hundred per cent positive he had closed and locked that same window. He got up, threw the blanket aside, and stepped over to the window, careful not to wake Sam. He studied the lock, it hadn't been broken and the glass in the window was undamaged. He got down on his knees and checked the line of salt he had spread in front of the window, but that too was intact. He cocked his sawed off and gazed out into the night but there was nothing to be seen. The motel parking lot was eerily silent, the only sounds being the wind and the leaves sliding across the pavement.
"Sammy," Dean whispered, "Sammy wake up!"
Sam didn't reply.
"Sammy!" Dean repeated more clearly, but Sam still didn't stir. Dean moved over to Sam's bed and ripped the blanket aside. A chill ran through his body.
"Sam." he said to the empty bed.
Dean dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. "Sam", he ran to the other end of the motel room and flung the closet doors pulled every drawer in the closet out fully, "Sam", he threw his gun away and started to tear through the spare blankets and pillows throwing them to all sides. He turned around so fast he saw stars and jumped when he locked eyes with someone across the room. His own reflection, reflected in the big corner mirror. He rolled the mirror aside, "Sam," he said out loud. He ran over to the small kitchenette, almost tripping in his own pant legs and opened the fridge. He pushed its contents on the floor, "Sam," he repeated on and on in his mind, he tossed the trash can on the floor, scattering the garbage around his feet, he opened the cabinet with so much force it fell of its rusty hinges. Sam was not in the room. He kicked the cabinet door and walked back to Sam's bed. He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat and sat down on the bed. He took a deep breath and studied it closely. He didn't smell sulfur and the bed didn't reveal any signs of a struggle; Sam might only be 6 years old but he was a hell of a kicker and would have put up a fight. The pillow was in place, his stupid little fairy tale book was even there. He appeared to have just vanished into thin air.
Dean started to pace back and forth in the room, he had no leads to go on. He put pressure on his temples with the palms of his hands and tried to force himself to think. The manager, she might have seen something, he thought. He picked up his sawed off and walked towards the door, but just as he put his hand on the door knob the phone rang behind him.
He picked it up. It was John.
"Hey Dean," said John.
"Hey," said Dean and tried not to stutter.
"Did you put Sam to bed?" asked John.
"Yeah… but dad-" he began.
John cut him off. "Did you watch out for him, Dean?"
"Yes dad but-"
"Good," he said, cutting him off again, almost as if he hadn't heard him, "I'll be back in a couple of minutes".
"Dad!" Dean cried but the line was cut off. He tried to call back immediately, but instead of his dad the off-hook tone started to blare in his ear.
He let the receiver dangle from the cord and went out the door. He tabbed on the bell impatiently until a woman in a nightgown appeared in the door behind the counter.
"Sir, it's 2am could you please-"
"Have you seen my brother?!" Dean interrupted. He couldn't care less about her sleep.
She yawned and Dean clenched his fists. "The tall guy?" she asked.
"What? No!" yelled Dean.
"Please sir, your voice-"
"He's about this tall," Dean made a gesture in the air, "brown hair, sorta brown eyes, white pajamas."
The woman arched her eyebrows. "No, I haven't seen him," she said.
"Anyone else?"
"No sir, the doors are locked after midnight, no one has gone in or out," she said, "And if you don't mind then I'd like to go back to sleep now."
"Unlock the door," he said.
She sighed and eyed him for a moment before she dug out a key from her breast pocket. "The doors won't open again before 4am". He nodded and she unlocked the door. She held it open for him as he stepped out into the chilly night.
"Sam!" he called out.
He ran towards the city and knocked on every door he passed and repeated his description of Sam everywhere he went. No one had seen anything.
"Are you drunk, son?" an elderly woman had asked him. Others had just smacked the door in his face.
He hurried down the street without any clear goal and almost stumbled right into a scarcely dressed woman. "You lookin' for anything, sweetheart?" she said and ran a nail down his chest. He blinked, "my brother," he said, trying to catch his breath.
"What he look like?"
"Small, brown hair, white pajamas," he said between breaths.
"Sorry, ain't seen him," she said. Dean let out a small noise of frustration.
"But I can show you to the station if you wanna put a search out or somethin'?" she said. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit a smoke. "Want one?" she offered. Dean considered for a moment before he shook his head. He had never smoked before and didn't think it was a good time to try it out.
"Let's just go!" he said.
"Aight," she said and started to walk.
The walk felt like forever, he kept looking around and almost walked into the woman more than once. "He ain't just out havin' some fun?" she asked.
"Sammy wouldn't run away," said Dean sternly.
"I get it, I get it," she said.
"Taking care of him's my job," said Dean through gritted teeth.
"You his keeper or somethin'? he challenged?"
"Huh? No he's 6! And he…I just have to find him alright?" said Dean.
She turned around with raised brows. "He 6 years old?!"
Dean just stared at her. "You momma sure fresh - still poppin' babies," she said.
It took them another five minutes before they reached the police station.
"I ain't goin' in there, good luck sweetie. You know where to find me," she said with a wink and a sway and turned around.
Dean went up to the double glass door and pushed. It was locked. He knocked on the glass as loudly as he could until a sour looking man came down the stairs and pointed at him with a flashlight.
"What do you want?" he yelled through the double glass doors.
"Let me in!" yelled Dean back. "I need you to put out a search warrant!"
"Come back tomorrow!" said the officer.
Dean kicked the door when the man started to turn around. "Let me in you sonuvabitch!" he yelled.
"I'd advise you to leave right now sir!" said the officer.
"Why the fuck do you keep calling me-"
"Dean," a voice behind him cut in. Dean spun around where he stood; behind him stood a blue eyed boy who looked to be about the same age as Dean.
"Who the hell are you?" spat Dean.
The boy tilted his head sideways. "You don't remember," he stated.
An odd sense of deja-vu ran through his body and it took him a while to answer. "Remember what?" he said, finally.
The boy didn't answer his question, "what do you see, Dean?"
"What the fuck are you talking about, and how do you know my name?" said Dean. "Yenno what, I don't have time for this". He ran past the strange boy, ignoring whatever he had to say.
Back in the center of the city a group of fancily dressed teenagers stood in front of a nightclub. The music blared through the open doors. They laughed loudly and pointed at him. Dean stopped in his tracks.
"What?" he yelled unafraid.
"He's probably dead," a blonde girl laughed.
Dean felt as if someone had just poured ice water down his shirt. He pulled out his sawed off from his pants and pointed it at the girl. "Where is he." he demanded, but the teenagers just started to laugh even louder. "You won't find him," said one boy.
"It's your fault Dean," said another.
"Shouldn't have taken your eyes off dear little Sammy, should you?" said a redheaded girl with freckles.
"What will dad say?" said the first girl. "You failed Dean. You had one job and you failed."
Dean cocked his gun and shot the girl between the eyes. Blood oozed from the circular wound in her forehead and down her mouth. The blood spurted into the faces of the other teenagers as she let out a high pitched laugh and took herself to the stomach.
Dean felt a warm hand on his shoulder. "We need to leave, Dean".
It was the boy from before. He was standing so close Dean could almost count his eyelashes. "I can take you to Sam," said the boy, seemingly unfazed by their closeness.
"You know where Sam is!?" said Dean.
"Yes, but we must go now". The boy placed two fingers on Dean's forehead and before Dean could protest a sick feeling of sudden weightlessness went through his body.
"The hell was-". Dean didn't finish his sentence. They weren't in front of the nightclub anymore, but standing in a dark, empty hallway. It was so dark Dean wouldn't have been able to tell whether or not the boy was still there, if wasn't because he hadn't removed his fingers from his forehead yet. Dean slapped his hand away.
"How did you-"
"Sam is in there," said the boy and nodded at a door in front of them. Dean looked down and noticed a strange light coming out from underneath the door. "Sam…"
Dean placed his hand on the door knob and raised his gun, ready to shoot whatever was in there, but before he could open the door the boy gripped on to his sleeve.
"You can't save him," said the boy in a monotone voice.
"What are you talking about - let go!"
Dean tried to wrench free of the boy's hand but he was stronger than he appeared. "It's too late," said the boy. "But if you must". He let go of Dean's shirt.
Dean barged through the door. What best could be described as a deformed, old woman in a black cloak was leaning over Sam's still body, sucking some kind of white air out of him.
Dean didn't waste any time and shot the woman, thing, several times in the torso and head. The thing let out a deep yell and fell over backwards. Dean had almost forgotten about the blue eyed boy before he walked around Dean and touched the now dead thing. He seemingly made it disappear in a brief flare of bright light. Dean didn't have time to wonder about that though, he fell to his knees beside Sam and shook him.
"Hey, Sam, you okay now," he said, stroking Sam's bangs to the side, "just wake up now," he said.
"I got here in time, I killed the thing," he rambled, "I saved you alright, it's gonna be fine". He tried to lift Sam, but his body was strangely heavy. "We're gonna go back to the motel and I'll read whatever you wanna hear, okay?" Dean clenched his teeth and tried to lift Sam with all his might but he was heavy as rock. "I'll make you peanut butter sandwiches and dad will roll down the windows on the highway - come on Sam wake up". Dean slapped Sam's cheeks but the boy still didn't stir. Dean went quiet for a moment and placed a finger on Sam's wrist, searching for a pulse. When he didn't find one he started to speak again, "you can't do this Sam," he said. "You-"
"Dean-" began the blue eyed boy.
"Get the fuck out!" yelled Dean and violently wiped away the tears that had started to fall from his eyes down onto his cheeks.
"He will not wake up," said the boy in a way too calm voice.
"How the fuck do you know, he's been through worse!" Dean pushed the boy, or tried to anyway. The boy placed a solid hand on each of Dean's shoulders, preventing him from turning back to Sam. "Get off-", Dean tried pushing the boy again but it was as useless as last time, the boy stood firmly in place. "This is not real, Dean. Look closely," said the boy.
"Look at what?" said Dean, choking on the words.
"Look at Sam. Look at yourself."
Dean slowly lifted his hands. They were big and calloused with scars in places he didn't remember getting hurt. "What the hell…" he said. He turned his face towards Sam's body, except it wasn't Sam. Where his small little brother had lain seconds before lay a teenage boy with messy brown hair. Dean blinked a couple of times and looked back at the blue eyed boy, who wasn't so much a boy anymore either. In front of him stood a man with a serious, unreadable, expression dressed in a suit and a beige trench coat. Behind him Dean thought he could see two dark shapes moving slightly, in sync with the man's breath. The man removed his hands from Dean's shoulders, but didn't step back. Dean cleared his eyes with the back of his hand and that was when he noticed that the black shapes weren't shadows, they were wings.
"What the fuck are you!" yelled Dean and raised his gun at the man.
"We've been through this. I'm an angel of the Lord." The man lifted his hand the same way he had done in front of the nightclub. "Remember," he said, but before he could place his fingers on Dean's head Dean moved away.
"If you're really an angel then heal him," Dean commanded.
"Dean I can't-"
"Prove it," he said roughly.
The angel let out a sigh. Its wings curled up tightly against its body and it looked up at him in what Dean thought was light annoyance. "I can't heal Sam, as this is not the real Sam".
"Quit playing," said Dean.
"You must wake up now," said the angel.
Dean stepped forward and gripped on to the lapels of the angel's coat. Having seemingly managed to catch the angel off guard Dean slammed it against the wall with a thud. "If you don't heal him I'll kill you," Dean hissed.
The angel, although slightly shorter than Dean, tilted its head upwards and looked down at him with raised brows. "This is a memory. It has been warped due to the damage your mind took during the meeting with the draugr."
"Draugr…" said Dean slowly.
"Remember," repeated the angel.
For a brief second he wasn't in the dark room anymore, he was in a cave, soaking wet and bleeding from various parts of his body. He was running from something… from a ghost, expect it wasn't a ghost it was a draugr and he was in… Maine… or at least he was the day before because now he was… in New York… and Sam was…
"Sammy is… not dead?" asked Dean.
The angel nodded.
"This is a… this is a memory?"
"Partly."
Dean blinked and more images flooded into his mind. He remembered falling, and being caught, he remembered blue fire and a creature insisting it was an angel.
"I'm dreaming ain't I?" asked Dean.
"You remember." As soon as the words had left the angel's mouth the world around them broke into pieces. Dean braced himself for it to be like last time, but he didn't fall. The room or… the space they stood in wasn't pitch black like last time either.
"Your mind is healing," said the angel.
Dean looked back at where Sam's body had lain but he wasn't there anymore. He turned his face back around and locked eyes with the angel. He looked from its clear blue eyes to its pink, slightly parted mouth in wonder.
"If you don't mind…" said the angel and made a gesture towards Dean's hands that were still holding on tightly to the angel's lapels.
"Uh, shit, right," said Dean and let go. He looked away.
"Never had a dream that seemed this real before," said Dean.
"No. I've been trying to heal your mind but… there is only so much I can do from my current location."
"And where's that?" said Dean sharply.
"Heaven," said the angel with a frown and a tilt of its head. Dean thought it would sprain something soon if it didn't stop doing that.
"Right. Naturally. Where else would you be," said Dean. "And why are you even doing this?"
"Doing what?" asked the angel.
"Healing me or whatever"
The angel looked to be considering its answer, "I'm told it is needed."
"So, what, this is some kind of job?"
The angel squinted at him. "Alright, let's say I believe you. What exactly did I do to get a 'guardian angel'?" said Dean, adding pressure to the last part, "pretty sure it wasn't something I earned in Sunday school. What's in it for you, huh? What's the catch?"
"In it for me?" the angel stared at him in confusion.
"Yeah, what's your end game?"
"What game?" said the angel.
Dean rolled his eyes, "cute. You know what I mean."
"I do as ordered"
"So you're a servant".
The angel looked slightly offended at that, "I am a soldier," it said.
"Alright, soldier, so what are your orders?"
"To follow God's will"
"Which is?"
"I… am not told in detail," said the angel.
"You gotta give me more than that," said Dean. They stood in silence for a while, Dean waiting for the angel to elaborate, but the angel didn't seem to have more to say.
"Right. Whatever," said Dean. "So what's your name anyway?"
"Why do you ask? I'm a messenger of God," said the angel.
"Just answer the question, goddamn it," said Dean.
"I'm Castiel," said the angel finally.
"Right, Castiel, why'd you change the get up?"
"The…what?"
Dean snorted, "the toga thing you wore last time".
"I did not change," Castiel took a break, considering the words, "my get up."
"What? I'm pretty sure-"
"This is your dream. Your will is law."
"Huh…", Dean said, impressed. "Wait, so if I wanted, let's say, if I wanted you to be Caroline Munro in Dracula A.D. you would?"
Castiel blinked, "your will, Dean, not your word."
Dean opened his mouth to protest but before the words could come out a throbbing headache hit him. He screwed his eyes shot and when he opened them he opened them for real. He was back in the cold abandoned New York apartment. He was awake.
He looked around. John wasn't back yet and Sam was sleeping in his chair by the table, with his head in one of his books.
Dean unzipped the duffel bag and fished out the white angel statue. He looked at. He remembered his dream perfectly clearly. More clearly than what could possibly be natural. It hadn't felt like a dream at all. He licked his lips, went over to Sam, stuffed the statue into a pair of socks that were lying on the table, and carefully slipped the statue into one of Sam's big coat pockets.
_
Author's note:
My life would have been a whole lot easier if English was my native language and i didn't get sick all the time. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.. please uhm do the review thing.