A/N: Thanks for all the response and sorry I'm late. Exams going on haha.
7. But They Slipped Further Away
Dean sits in the car for all of two minutes before curiosity gets the better of him. He doesn't want to watch this; no, he doesn't even want to know; because, really, what's it going to be? Does Sam hate him, or does Sam not know who Dean is at all? Both scenarios are equally unappealing to Dean and he doesn't want to know… doesn't want to know.
Or maybe he does.
He feels the resentment for Sam grow inside him. He wasn't trying to do anything but help, but Sam doesn't seem to care. And, okay, Sam was in a fucking cage, but he can't act so fucking self-righteous all the time.
Dean puffs a breath of air and opens the car door, hearing it creak as he shuts it again, and then goes back to the porch, finding a spot outside the door so he can listen without being seen. He doesn't know how Sam and Cas are sitting, but he imagines Sam perched on his bed as always and Cas sitting beside him.
"Sam, I hope you know you're hurting Dean," Castiel says in a low voice, and Dean fists his hands, listening further.
"You know that?" Castiel asks again, and then— "If you do, why are you still doing it? He's been through a lot, and—" a pause, "yes, I know, Sam, but…"
Dean leans the back of his head against the wood.
"Do you recognise him?" Castiel continues. Dean's heart starts to beat in a frenzied thump at that; as he realises this is what he's wanted to know. About whether Sam knows, and why he's angry, and…
"You know. You knew when he made you the pasta?"
Dean bites the inside of his cheek. You know. Sam knows. Sam knows who he is. Sam is well aware, and…
"When did you start to recognise him?"
Dean waits for a minute before rushing into the cabin. Sam and Cas stop talking, Sam in the middle of gesturing to something behind Dean. When Dean turns, his heart skips a beat. It's his leather jacket.
Castiel starts to get up from beside Sam. "Dean."
Dean ignores him and makes his way towards Sam who is looking at him, eyes narrowed, throwing out his anger in palpable waves. Dean puts his hands on his hips. "So all this time, you were figuring out who I was, huh?"
Sam just glares at him and turns away, but before he knows it Dean is on his knees, shaking Sam by the shoulders. "Fucking look at me, dammit! You knew?"
"Dean, he…"
"Cas, go out and sit in the car. This is between me and him."
"Dean, please listen."
Dean grits his teeth. "Cas. Out. Now."
Castiel hesitates beside him but eventually starts to walk, taking his warm presence away from beside Dean. Dean's hands are still on his brother's shoulders. "Sam," he says, "I gave you a fucking order."
His brother flinches in his grasp, and Sam is turning around, eyes suddenly scared, even though Dean can still see the rage in them. "So," he says, "you pissed at me? For what, Sam? What exactly have I done?"
Sam's jaw clenches, but he doesn't answer. Dean shakes him again. "Answer me."
Strong hands are on Dean's the next moment, prying his fingers away from Sam's shoulders and before Dean can react, Sam lets out a growl and gets down on his knees, cold, hard fingers circling themselves around Dean's neck.
Dean gags, grasping at Sam's wrists and trying to pry him away, but Sam just squeezes tighter.
"S-Sa—" Dean coughs and struggles, and Sam pushes him to the floor as he gets up and starts to walk away.
Dean takes a deep breath, throat aching and swollen and in utter agony. "We fucking mourned you for years, you son of a bitch!" he says, emotion clogging up his chest. Sam stops in his tracks, but doesn't turn around. "I know you tried to call. I tried to look for you. I looked for you in Texas. I looked wherever I could. Everyone told me you were dead and I finally had to believe them. We fucking had a funeral for you, man. And then Dad…" He swallows, and he can feel the backs of his eyes prickle. "Dad up and bolted one day and the next time I saw him six months later, he pointed me in your direction before bleeding to death all over me.
"So I know your life's been shit and mine's been great in comparison. I came looking for you the moment I knew, but…" Dean lets out a small chuckle, trying not to let the tears take over. "And I'm sorry, man, this is the best I could do. I know that wasn't good enough…" He takes a shuddering breath and falls quiet, watching, as Sam starts to walk away again, without a backward glance.
~o~
"Dean."
"Go away."
"Dean."
"Leave me the fuck alone, Cas."
Castiel doesn't obey. Dean tries to turn as the angel crouches before him, his thumb reaching for a tear on Dean's cheek and wiping it off. Dean bats his hand away. "Stop touching me."
Castiel withdraws his hand and sits down. Dean's still on the floor where Sam left him. He doesn't want to move. He's just so, so fucking tired.
"So, I was thinking," he says, swallowing at his shaky voice. "I'll drop you and Sam off at Lebanon first thing tomorrow."
Castiel blinks. "Why?"
"Azazel's obviously looking for us. So you have Bobby train you and stay there with all 'em hunters. It's safer. Sammy will feel better too. He remembers. He tell you that?"
"I believe he did, Dean."
"Good, good." Dean feels a couple more tears trace wet tracks down his cheeks and swipes them away. "Guess I'm the loser, then. Fuckin' never figured out how to live by myself, and…"
"You mustn't blame yourself for this."
"You and Sammy pack your shit," Dean says. "The earlier we leave, the better. I'll rest up at the bunker for a night and get back here." He picks himself up off the floor, feeling sick at how pathetic he sounds, and brushes off some of the dust that stuck to his clothing. "So what do you want for dinner?"
"I will cook today," says Castiel. "Please talk to Sam."
Dean snorts. "You kidding me? You can't cook, man."
"You should talk to Sam."
Silence. Dean sniffs. "No. He doesn't wanna talk to me. I don't wanna upset him anymore." He reaches for the fridge and pulls out some chicken legs from the tiny freezer. "Think I could fry some of this for ya. If I could just soak 'em in—" He flinches at a hand on his waist, and then grits his teeth. "Don't touch me, Cas."
"Dean."
"Go away," Dean tells him. "Please. I'll call you when dinner's ready."
Castiel backs away slowly. "Okay. Okay. Sorry."
Dean shuts his eyes to regain his composure, and starts working on dinner.
An hour later, he's sitting on the bunk bed, ignoring Cas's glances while he and Sam eat at the dining table. Dean tries to finish his dinner as quickly as he can, so he can get to bed early and screw consciousness for a while because God, right now he just wants to forget.
He pulls a strip of meat absently with his fingers, thinking of how he'd done this for Sam at the cage. He chews on it for a minute. He needs a plan of action now, because he has to bring Azazel down. Once Sam and Cas are back where it's safe, Dean needs to carry this out. That's the only way he'll get peace. The fucking bastard killed Dean's parents and ruined his brother. He tore apart Dean's family, and now he's going to see a bit of payback.
Dean's gonna ruin that asshole.
His toes curl in hatred and anticipation as he moves for another piece. He can hear Cas talking in a low voice, and he stops, and Dean doesn't look there, doesn't even want to see the hatred in Sam's eyes. He is tearing off some of the flesh, concentrating on the stringy softness between his teeth, when he feels his mattress sink beside him.
"Cas—"
"Dean?"
It's not Cas.
The voice is hoarse and small, almost alien to Dean's ears, but he knows it's because he hasn't heard it being used in a fucking lifetime.
"Dean." A whisper. He feels a hand on his knee, and Dean's looking up, up at Sam who just… who just fucking talked after all this time, and he can't believe it, he can't fucking believe it…
Sam's eyes are filling up as his chin trembles. "How did Dad die?"
Dean's plate is out of his hands, shattering down on the floor as he meets Sam's gaze, taking in his little brother—all of him, from the fading scars to the watery eyes and the thin-stretched mouth and the furrowed eyebrows and the stupid hair, and…
His arms are around his brother, pulling him into a hug. Sam doesn't ask any other questions, doesn't talk about anything else and Dean doesn't, either. It's an eternity in a minute, holding Sam, feeling his face burrow into his shoulder for a reason other than Dean just being kind, and the soft, floppy hair against his chin. Sam and his broad fucking back and his familiar warmth and just Sam. All of Sam.
Sam.
That night, neither brother talks at all.
~o~
Recognising Dean was like a slow haze lifting off Sam's mind. He'd thought Dean was familiar the first time he'd seen him at the cage, but then Sam's always known not to trust anyone; no one apart from Jess, Andy and the others like him. However, when Dean helped him that night, with his wounds and to eat and just generally around the cage, Sam thinks he intuitively already knew.
Coming back to the cabin brought back a couple more memories. The black, purring car which smells something like home and Dean's leather jacket which smells like comfort; they pinpointed things that Sam thought he remembered. He began to trust Dean some more. Dean never said how he knew Sam, but Sam was aware that he was either a very good friend or his brother.
The latter was confirmed when Sam went through withdrawal from, what Castiel said, was angel grace.
Dean refers to Castiel as 'Cas', though, and Sam had found that strange.
Sam knew exactly who Dean was after the macaroni and cheese. He'd rushed away, the memories shocking him and paining him because, really? All these years, and no one had even come for him? No one had even known where he was? And his family, which never gave up, was suddenly giving up on him? He'd remembered Nick's words, each time he'd had to endure all those hours in that godforsaken room.
You are a monster, Sam. Just like me. Monster.
He'd thought his family had chosen not to save him because they reckoned he wasn't worth saving. Although he agreed with them; completely agreed after everything he'd done at Azazel's camp, his family's dismissal had made it all clear to him.
However, as he eases himself into Dean's arms now; Dean—the person who's been more important than anyone else all of Sam's life—he wonders how he could ever suspect that. He wonders how he could ever doubt his big brother.
Sam's not spoken for three years because he didn't see the point in it. No one at camp, except for the angels and demons, has spoken for a long time. However, for his heartbroken brother, Sam thinks that words are worth everything. And worth more than all that, is Dean.
Sam chooses to talk to the only person he's cared about more profoundly than anyone else, by speaking the very name that's mattered to him more than the whole universe.
Dean.
~o~
Sam reminds Dean of when they were both children and Sam was just about two, toddling after Dean and calling out his name perpetually.
"Dean," he says, voice still hoarse from disuse, and he says it when he's confused and happy and sad, and like its fucking treasure and the most important thing to him on this planet. Dean can't deny the jump of happiness in his heart whenever he hears it. It's not that Sam really remembers the entirety of who Dean is; but he recognises him; knows that Dean's his brother.
Sam actually doesn't remember much of anything. He has vague memories, all mostly repressed, and often, he'll ask Dean to tell him stories from their childhood and before he was taken away to Hell. Dean obliges because it brings a smile to Sam's face every time, and it's the least he can do for a flash of his brother's stupid dimples.
Sam also struggles a lot with himself and Dean realises that he needs compassion and care. The smallest thing can set Sam off about all the shit he's had to live through at the camp. One day, Dean cut himself while cooking, and the swollen, red cut later set Sam into hysterics and a full-blown panic attack because he'd thought Nick had gotten to Dean too.
On most nights, Sam is plagued with horrendous nightmares. He wakes up screaming and crying out to Dean, trying to catch his breath, sometimes gasping for air and, on the worst nights, heaving up the contents of his stomach.
"It's okay," Dean finds himself whispering to his brother once he's rushed from his bed to Sam's on one such night. He pulls out a wad of Kleenex and swipes it over Sam's mouth, helping him lean against himself while he pants. He glances at the mess on the floor and readies himself to clean it. But first, he needs to ask Sam a question.
"You done there, or should we take this to the bathroom?"
Sam coughs, shakes his head no, and buries his face into the crook of Dean's neck, who lets him rest there until the breathlessness and the nausea taper off. Once Sam's sagging sleepily in his arms, Dean hands him his amulet, letting him lie back down on the bed. Sam clutches it and falls back asleep, snoring away contently.
The next day, Dean tells Sam to keep the amulet to himself, but Sam refuses. He wants Dean to wear it, at all times, and Dean obliges, except in the times of said nightmares. And by then, Sam doesn't really mind if Dean's amulet is with him either.
Cas continues to go on supply runs. He won't let Sam or Dean do it even now, and Dean thinks his friend just needs to do the chore to make sure he's doing something. God knows Dean can identify with that feeling, so he lets Cas do his thing. They watch old movies together; him and Sam and Cas, on an obsolete TV, and Dean, more often than not, finds his brother's big, shaggy head rested on his shoulder by the end of it as Sam drools away to oblivion. And Dean feels stupid when instead of kicking Sam's ass for drooling on his shirts, he just smiles at his little brother.
"I think it is perfectly normal," Cas declares one day when he realises what Dean's thinking. "You have missed him."
"Shut up," Dean snaps at him, and then has to look away from the stormy-blue eyes boring into his. He has to admit; Sam is his brother and will always be special to him, but Castiel has moved up lots of places in the list of people who Dean likes. Cas is strong and silent and always there with his daily supply shopping and his pies and his earnest remarks, and Dean finds himself being thankful to have him around.
He finally feels like he and Sam have a guardian angel watching over them. And that is the best thing he can ask for, given the circumstances of his life. He thinks of this new little family he has, every day, and of the possibility of not being able to see Bobby or Kevin or Jo or Charlie ever again, and then he thinks of how that might have killed him, had he not had these two morons by his side.
And just like that, Dean's thankful for this messy, terrible part of his life.
~o~
"Tell me a story?"
"Sure, Sammy. Cinderella? Snow White? Little Mermaid?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
Dean rolls his eyes at his little brother as he perches on the side of his bed. "What are you, a baby?"
"Please?" Sam puts on the lethal puppy dog eyes, and before Dean knows it, he's sighing.
"Dude…"
"I don't remember, Dean," Sam says dejectedly. "I can't remember."
"I know."
Sam opens his mouth reluctantly, then shuts it. "Forget it."
Dean raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"They help," Sam replies. "They help me to…"
Sleep.
"I know." Dean nods. "I'll tell you a stinkin' story."
Sam beams at Dean. "Thanks, man."
"Yeah, don't thank me yet. I'm gonna embarrass the fuck out of you."
Sam's grin is wider. "Thanks."
"You're such a bitch."
"Jerk."
"Ugly."
"Slut."
Dean frowns. "I'm not a fucking slut."
"Dude, you tried to sleep with a lot of girls."
"Oh, and that's the part you actually remember?"
Sam shrugs. "What can I say? Even Azazel couldn't scrub that trauma away."
"Fucking bitch, talking like I did it in front of you."
"No, but you painted some gross pictures, Dean."
"Really? I fucking caught you and Maddie trying to go at it in the—"
Sam frowns, struggling to remember Madison, and then relaxes when he seems to have located a couple of her memories. "Shut up," he retaliates. "At least I didn't undulate all over her like some fucking cat."
"Undulate?"
"Yeah, Dean, it means—"
"Forget it. You're a fucking geeky pain in my ass." Dean swallows, Madison's memory bringing an ache inside him. Sam doesn't know. Jesus, Sam should know.
"Sam, about Maddie…" he begins, and his brother tenses, flashing a glance at him.
"She okay? How's she doing? I don't really remember her, but—"
Dean shakes his head. "Sammy, that assault at Texas… she… she didn't make it." There is complete silence when he pauses, watching Sam's widening eyes. He sighs. "I'm sorry, man."
"Oh God." Sam blinks a couple of times, clearing his throat as he starts to look away. "Oh God… Dean…"
Dean's hand is reaching for his brother's shoulder, gripping it. "S-She uh… she wasn't in pain, so…"
"She was so young, Dean," Sam whispers. "Why did we even take her along?"
"She was an adult and she came along. It was her choice, and we can't tell people what to do, Sam."
"But I survived. I might have not been okay, but I'm alive. She wasn't even that old, Dean. We never took along people that young, and—oh God," he whispers again.
Dean bites his lip and scoots closer to his brother, throwing an arm around him. "Sam, she was a kickass girl. She went down swinging and she wouldn't want to go any other way. You might not remember, but she was pretty stubborn at training. She loved to fight and be out there."
"Maybe," Sam replies hoarsely. "And I can't remember but I just… she could have lived longer and swung some more, y'know."
"I know, Sammy." Dean gives him a squeeze. "But you of all people know, man, that life isn't fair."
Sam grits his teeth, lets out a shaky breath. He dashes a palm under his eyes. "We got any beer?"
"Plenty."
"Good, I wanna get drunk."
Dean nods, and lets his arm drop from around Sam. "Whatever you want." When he gets up, Sam's hand circles his forearm. He turns around to see a faint smile on his brother's lips.
"Will you still tell me, Dean? A story?"
"Yeah, bitch, I will."
~o~
"Surprise!"
Dean blinks once, twice, and tries to register that he's actually seeing the three people standing for real before him, in the doorway, and that he's not hallucinating them or something. Because, God, It's been so long… so fucking long…
Charlie pops inside, a flash of red hair and arms and he hugs her, grinning at Kevin and Jo, who are at the doorway, smiling just as widely.
"Aren't you going to invite us inside?" Jo asks him, briefly hugging him once Charlie's gotten off.
"Of course." Dean stands to the side and gestures for them to enter. "What are you guys doing here?"
"We wanted to help," Charlie replies. She looks at the single bed where Sam's asleep, blankets drawn over his face. "Is that—?"
"Yeah," Dean tells her. "He won't wake up for a while, though. And I don't wake him up 'cause he's… he's been through a lot, you know?"
"We get it."
Kevin, Jo, and Charlie nod one by one, eyes sparkling with wistfulness as they continue to look at the Sam-lump. Dean thumps a hand on Kevin's back and gestures to the chairs at the dining table. "You guys wanna sit down? Sasquatch sleeps the sleep of the comatose." He glances back at Sam as he says it, and sniggers. "He's not the crazy insomniac we once knew."
"He deserves his rest," Kevin mutters, taking Dean's invitation to sit down, pulling away his backpack. Charlie and Jo follow his lead, and they sit there in silence for a while.
Dean clears his throat. "So you guys want some coffee, or…?"
"Coffee," Charlie says, rubbing her eyes with her palms. "Man, was the drive long."
"I'll have some coffee too," Kevin echoes, and Dean looks at Jo, who shrugs.
"You got any beer?"
"We always have beer," says Dean, heading to the fridge. He pulls out two pints and goes on to grab the pot from under the old coffeemaker, pouring the coffee into two chipped mugs that he and Cas had just drunk from before Castiel headed out for his supply run.
Charlie hums as she inhales her coffee and Dean pops the cap off his beer, dragging the fourth chair out to sit with them. Kevin and Jo are engrossed in their drinks, too, and Dean checks his watch, wondering when Cas will return. He knows they've been doing this for a month now, but it always makes him nervous when Cas has to go, because of the uncertainty of their situation.
"So where's that angel you gushed to Bobby about?" Jo asks Dean suddenly, making him sputter on a mouthful of beer.
"I d-din't—" He swallows it down, chokes, coughs, and puts a hand on his chest. "I don't gush, and he's outside getting some supplies."
"Dude, you totally did," Charlie tells him, leaning her head in lazily as she runs her fingers through her short hair.
"He helped me and Sam."
"So you just fell in love with the guy?"
Dean's face is warm. "Shut up, Charlie."
She smiles. "Just kidding, man, don't get worked up like some eight-year-old who's been told he likes a boy."
"I don't like a boy," Dean says. "I d-don't like boys. You know that!"
"Uh-huh, cool." She stretches, Kevin and Jo trying to hide smiles behind their drinks, and Dean begins to down his own beer in big gulps.
"How's Sam been?" Kevin asks him, keeping his coffee mug down, and Dean's never quite been so thankful for a change of subject. "You told Bobby he can't remember anything?"
"They're still with him," Dean says, "the memories. He needs reminding sometimes, but sometimes he can't remember no matter what."
"Does he know who we are?"
"Vaguely."
"And…" Jo glances back at him, lowering her voice, "Maddie?"
"I told him. He's doing better now." He pushes his empty beer bottle on the table, making a wet trail on the wood. "How have you guys been? How long you planning to stay, 'cause it's not very safe here, and—"
"We're staying as long as you're staying, Dean," says Kevin. "We came here to help. You called Bobby a month ago and then we had no news… and we just thought—"
"Yeah, I'd told Bobby I'd call again if something drastic happened," says Dean. "You guys didn't need to come here. It's risky."
"We're okay with that," says Jo. "We're adults and we're hunters and we know what this involves. Plus, there's a safer cabin that Bobby and Rufus had built together back at Virginia. We can all relocate there and we seriously just wanna help."
"I'm sure you do, but—"
"We're with you, Dean," Jo concludes, "and we're not leaving, okay? That douchebag is doing scary things in that fucking camp where they had Sam, and we think dealing with him needs more than just you three."
"How do you know what he's doing there?"
"Word about Hell got out when you escaped. Azazel pretty much had to put a sum on your heads."
"So when you can sell us and get rich, you're sitting here, risking your lives instead?"
Jo glares at Dean. "Shut up, Dean. That asshole killed some people back at that camp, okay? And you're not exactly as funny as you think."
Dean's gut clamps up. "At Hell? He killed people? More slaves?"
"Yeah, at Hell. And not the slaves. Some of the prisoners who were like Sam," Charlie tells him sadly. "It was on the papers—to warn us against rebelling, I guess, and he also promised immunity and money to whoever found you and Sam and Castiel."
The bad feeling in Dean's gut gets worse, and he swallows. "Who did he kill? Did they say?"
"Well, he didn't directly say he'd murdered these people… but… what was Sam's cage number again?" Charlie asks him, bending over and rummaging her backpack for something—probably the newspaper clipping.
"S-Seven."
"Got it." She pulls out a paper and smoothes it, and Dean watches as her shoulders slump. "The fire was in cages six, seven, and eight. Two people, Andrew Gallagher and Jessica Moore, were killed in it." Before she looks up, though, Dean's thrown his empty beer bottle against the wall, smashing it and sending the glass pieces scattering all along the floor.
~o~
Dean can't seem to find a good time to tell Sam about Andy and Jessica's deaths and when he does, Sam just gets up and exits the cabin without a word.
"You should go talk to him," Charlie says to Dean softly, watching Sam's retreating back. "Aren't you gonna follow?"
Dean runs a hand through his hair. "He wants to be alone, kiddo. I can read the signs."
"I know, I know, but he shouldn't be out there by himself."
"He's a fucking terrifying fighter," Dean scoffs. "He's gonna be okay. He needs his space, and I want him to have it 'cause I know he'll end up feeling better." He puffs his cheeks, blowing out a stream of air. "And believe me, I don't wanna sit here and wait, but I think… after all he's been through, he deserves this much, you know? He deserves to know himself as much as he wants to recall all of us."
"So you're just going to give him some time?"
"Basically? Yeah."
Charlie smiles at him. "You're a fucking awesome big brother, you know that?"
"I know."
"And are you going to introduce us to this Cas, or…?"
"He should be back soon," says Dean. "You can meet him in a bit."
Charlie's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Can't wait."
~o~
"You wanna come back to the cabin?"
"No."
"Wanna talk?"
"No."
Silence. "Wanna get drunk?"
"N-No."
Dean watches Sam run a sleeve over his damp cheek, and tries not to let his heart sink into his stomach. "Sammy…"
Sam sniffs. "I'll be okay. You go back. You must be hungry."
"And you aren't?"
"No."
Dean scratches his temple, and pats at the place beside him. "C'mere."
"Just go away, Dean, please."
"Sam," he says, "it's not your fault, okay? I know you're beating yourself up for this, and—"
"No." Sam looks up at Dean, making eye contact for the first time since Dean found him in the woods. "No, Dean. It was my fucking fault."
"No, man," Dean repeats. "We sedated you and grabbed you out of that place. If anything, it's my fault, okay?"
"No. Shut up."
"Really? You're gonna make a pointless argument about this?"
Sam takes a breath and shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. "I loved her, Dean. I fucking loved her. And Andy was my best friend."
"I'm sorry, Sammy—"
"On the worst days," Sam continues, interrupting Dean, "when Nick was pissed and we came back barely walking, the only way I knew I'd get through the night was Jess. She was there—always there, and in that screwed-up world, she was…" He lets a tear slide down his cheek, voice breaking, "she was hope."
Dean feels his own eyes burn and looks away, reining in his emotions. "I know, Sammy."
"No, you don't," Sam mutters, another couple of tears falling from his eyes. "You know how thankful you are? That I'm alive and not dead like you thought I was?" He takes a breath. "You wouldn't have me here if it weren't for Jess."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't tell you how many nights there were that I just thought of ending it. I can't tell you how many times she pulled me back from the edge. In that first year, when I could remember…when I knew, Dean, and I thought you'd never come, she was the only one. And Andy… he was always there, and those two were the only people I could trust.
"I stopped talking because Azazel and Nick made it painful and because I'd lost so much faith that I didn't want to say anything anymore. And I didn't need to talk because the two most important people in my life didn't need any words."
Dean nods. "Yeah, I know what that feels like."
"Do you?"
Dean feels a flash of anger at Sam's words, but takes a deep breath. "Did Dad never tell you…? About the time after Mom's death?"
"If he did, I can't remember, obviously."
Dean shrugs. "I stopped talking too. For months. Didn't see a point in it… didn't wanna."
"What?!"
Dean looks at his brother and smiles. "Guess you do take after me in some ways, Sammy."
Sam doesn't smile, but shifts closer, burying his face in his hands. "You think she's in a better place, Dean?" he asks in a small, muffled voice.
"Yeah, Sam." Dean picks at a loose thread on his jacket. "That place was literal hell, and I can see why Azazel called it that. We escaped and there's already a price on our heads and we have to hide from everyone. And out there, your life was just…"
"…miserable," Sam breathes.
"Yeah."
"So she escaped this, right?" Sam asks him, looking up as more tears streak his cheeks. "You really think so?"
Dean nods at him, clearing his throat. "Yeah, Sammy, I really do."
"Good." Sam sniffs, wiping his face. "Good." He starts to get up. "I wanna meet Kevin, Jo, and Charlie. I barely remember them, you know? But I remember we were good friends."
"I know. We'll go back when you're ready, Sam. They'll understand."
Sam smiles, dimples showing, and gestures towards the trail back. "Come on."
Dean gets up and follows. They hike back down, hands in their pockets and minds full. Dean wonders whether Cas is back yet and hopes he is, because he really doesn't want Charlie pulling his leg anymore and maybe she'll stop when she actually meets him.
They're at the cabin and the door is shut, so Dean assumes the others are inside and resting. Determined not to disturb them, he pulls out his keys and slowly opens the door…
… Only to be met by a scream and a yell.
"Dean, NO!"
That's the last thing he hears before something collides with the side of his head.
Dean staggers backwards, a sharp burst of pain spreading across his head and neck. He raises his hand to the wound, feeling sticky blood start to drip from it. In the cabin are Charlie, Jo, Kevin, and Cas, struggling against a few suited douchebags, and a pair of hands grabs Dean too, twisting his arms backwards.
"So, we did manage to find the great Dean Winchester, after all," a smug, female voice murmurs in his ear as a knife comes to rest against his throat. "I'm Naomi, by the way. Strange that we should meet like this."
Dean smells grapes and apples from Naomi and struggles, only to see Sam brought forward beside him, restrained the same way by another man in a suit.
Dean grits his teeth. "So that asshole Azazel finally found us, huh?" He smiles. "Kill us if you wanna, sweetheart, but we still broke out of there. We still gave you mooks the slip."
"Oh, this is not about Azazel, Dean," Naomi whispers. "This is about you taking one of ours to keep." She leans forward, her perfume sickening Dean slightly. "Angels are not meant to do your grocery shopping and serve people like you. But the piece of filth that you are, how would you know that?"
Dean takes in a breath. "So this is about Cas."
"Who else should it be about? Were you really thinking you and Castiel could hold hands and walk into the sunset one day without us ever catching up?"
Dean casts a look at Cas, whose eyes are directed to the floor, as though he's ashamed. "You can say that," he says, "except I had a slightly different plan for our future. But you're almost there."
Naomi doesn't reply. Instead, she looks at the hulking angel holding Castiel. "Inias, bring Castiel outside."
Inias starts to walk forward and Dean struggles harder, because like hell is he going to let them take his friend, his family away from him like this. Beside him, Sam's growing increasingly ruddy as he struggles against his own guard. Jo, Kevin, and Charlie are the same, and Dean wishes, fucking wishes they hadn't come at all, because, Jesus, they've only been here for a few hours, and they're already in danger.
He can't lose another person from his life.
Dean struggles some more. Castiel takes another step forward.
And then it all happens in a blur.
"NO!"
It's Sam, face beet-red now, as he finally battles against the grip on him. He pushes back an elbow into the angel's stomach, freeing himself. The knife clatters to the floor and Sam grabs it.
Naomi's hold on Dean tightens. "You shouldn't have done that," she whispers in Dean's ear. The blade on Dean's neck makes a small nick.
Dean tenses himself, taking advantage of the movement to butt his head back into the angel's chin. She staggers and he pushes back, freeing himself, but—
"KEVIN!"
Dean doesn't look, just grabs Naomi's knife, kicks her down, and goes rushing towards Inias while Sam fights with his own captor. Castiel's neck is starting to bleed. Dean aims a roundhouse at Inias, getting his knees, and Castiel falls out of his grip to crumple to the floor. Dean moves further and catches Inias with a knee to his groin, aiming a stamp at his belly. Inias falls down and Dean is over him, drawing a blade across his throat and killing him.
Sam is fighting with Charlie's captor, while Charlie and Jo tackle two other angels. Dean turns to see Castiel missing, along with Naomi and the dude who had held Sam.
"NO!" He runs out of the cabin to see them dragging Cas between them and he's reaching Naomi, fists all over her, knife nicking at her while she struggles. A pair of hands drags Dean away and a painful punch lands on his nose.
"Cas!" He pushes his assailant, breathes in warm, sticky blood. He tries to run ahead, but a kick lands on his back, pushing him forward on his stomach. Dean falls on the harsh ground and coughs as the foot comes to stamp at his back again.
He turns around a little, grabs the angel's ankle and disrupts his balance. There is a satisfying thud beside him as the man falls down. Dean rolls away, picks himself up and continues to run. Naomi, in the meantime, is pushing Castiel into a car as a small truck drives down the road. It stops, four more angels unloading from it.
Dean grits his teeth and tightens the hold on his blade. He has an eye on Naomi, who's trying to tackle a very combative Cas. He raises the blade, blocks the first angel's fist and ducks a knife, aiming a side-kick at another's stomach. Sam emerges from the cabin and rushes forward to grab one of the mooks around the neck in a chokehold. There's a sickening, cracking sound the next moment and Dean needs no explanation of what happened.
He ducks another assault and aims a kick at the angel's instep before slashing his knife against another's stomach. Sam's battling his second angel now. Dean aims another punch, knocks the knife out of one of his opponent's hands and slashes the blade across his throat again. He barely notices when the angel falls back gurgling, turning instead to the last angel that he needs to fight.
Cas is fighting too, Dean realises as he tries to block a kick and fails, a heavy foot pushing against his spleen and sending pain all through his body. He jumps back when a knife comes to nick at him. Meanwhile Cas pushes Naomi to the ground before starting to run back, and for a split second, Dean's just watching—
The blade gets Dean's side. "Agh!" Dean falls back, feeling blood drip out of the cut, and Sam's beside him, still in battle, eyes widening.
"Dean!"
Dean swallows, vision blurring in pain. He staggers up, fists raised, but someone pushes him, the knife slashing his forearm as it comes back, and he collapses to the ground again.
"DEAN!" It's Cas this time. A boot collides with the wound on Dean's abdomen. He grunts, gritting his teeth as blackness begins to creep into the edges of his vision.
"Dean!" The angel straddling Dean is pushed away, and a hand comes towards him. Dean reaches towards it, trying to move, trying to fight.
"C-Cas…"
His fingers brush against Cas's briefly, and he's reaching out to get a hold on Cas's hand, but—
"AAGH!" Someone punches Dean's stomach again. The angel is up from where he's fallen, and Dean yells out when he comes down to him, knees digging into Dean's abdomen. He grabs Castiel and starts to choke him.
Dean's stomach lurches in agony, tears falling out of his eyes and bile starting to inch up his throat. He can hear Cas struggle to breathe and…
"No! NO!"
A distant voice is yelling, probably Sam, and the weight on Dean lifts but only for a moment. There are footsteps again, a hand's on Dean's cheek, and he can hear Sam's frantic voice. "D-Dean?"
"C-C…" Dean opens his mouth, warm, sticky blood running down his side, and his eyelids are falling shut. He hears Sam yell, and more fists colliding against each other. There is a flash of something silver, and another yell.
"N-No—nn…" Dean's voice is barely there, barely a whisper. He hears the distinct sound of a falling body.
"NO, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" It's a female voice this time, and someone's running.
"JO!" Another female voice. Dean thinks he recognises them. People are fighting again, and…
Dean turns, to see a familiar form slumped beside him, the shape of his body silhouetted against the light of a truck. He can recognise this shape anywhere.
"S-S'mmy…"
Sam's not responding, just laying there. Dean needs to shut his eyes. He needs to sleep, but…
People are still fighting. He can hear it. Charlie and Jo… Charlie and Jo…
Where's Kevin?
"FUCK!" A car rumbles away somewhere. Dean blinks, the pain going from excruciating to numbing, and he thinks he's okay… it doesn't hurt anymore…
"Shit," a voice breathes, closer to him. "Shit, shit, he's losing blood!"
"Jo, I don't think Sam's doing any better, either."
"S'mm…mm…"
"Yeah, Dean." The voice is gentle, the hands are soft. Something presses against Dean's wound on his belly, and he yelps.
"It's okay," she says. It's Jo. "It's okay."
"Sam?" Another voice. Charlie.
Dean shuts his eyes.
"Dean, no." A hand slaps him. "Dean, up!"
"Jo, he's awake, but he's not moving."
"Who, Sam?"
Dean tries to shut his eyes again, but he gets slapped a second time.
"Yeah," says Charlie. "He's catatonic. We need to get them inside, and Kevin—"
Dean's belly gets pressed some more. He retches. "Shh," Jo soothes him, turning him over to his side, one hand on his back. Dean shuts his eyes again because it's too blurry to even see and he needs to sleep… just sleep.
"Jo, he's gonna freeze here and we can't lift him. How do we…?"
"I have an idea."
There are fingers on Dean's neck, and he feels something being pulled away. The tickle of string against skin… the amulet. "N-no," he whispers. "N-nn—"
"It's okay," Jo says. "Just giving it to Sam. It's gonna be okay." Her hand is on his back again and Dean's pain is gone considerably. He lets out a sigh before submitting himself to the waiting blackness and ignoring the voice ordering him to come back.
A/N: Reviews are love! :)