A/N: I thought I'd put up all of this story on here but apparently not /o\.

I am so sorry. Please enjoy the rest and please leave us feedback!

11. They Learned to Fight, Learned to Get Up

Sam doesn't know why his heart is thumping so hard when Dean pats him on the shoulder at breakfast and tells him to get ready for training. He nods at his brother, takes a bite of toast, and braces himself. Because he knows it had to start at some point. He hasn't fought in a long time; hasn't trained, and he needs to be at the top of his game if they're taking Azazel down.

It was Sam who suggested making use of whatever he has in him against Azazel anyway. If he shows any kind of fear—if Dean ever finds out, Dean will refuse to go ahead with it and Sam can't let that happen. He has promised himself that he'll comply with everything Dean says and even if things get bad, Sam will remember that Dean would never want to hurt him.

He doesn't want to let his family down, and he'll push himself as hard as he can to do this. He'll do whatever Dean asks him to. Because he owes Dean that.

"Hey."

Sam snaps out of his reverie when he hears Dean's voice. He takes another bite of the toast and looks at his brother. "Yeah?"

"Just checking that you're with us," Dean replies. His eyes meet Sam's. "You okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You know, right, that when we train, anytime you want me to stop…?"

"Yes, Dean."

"And you don't need to learn to do much anyway," Dean continues. "Just practice some hand-to-hand, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And I'll spar with you and anytime you wanna stop—"

"I know."

"Sorry." Dean looks back down at his breakfast, and Sam feels a nervous flutter tumble down his belly again.

"Don't worry about it," Sam manages to say, even though he feels like his throat is clogged from all the uncertainty. He takes his empty plate, washes it at the sink, and goes over to pick up his jacket. "I'm just gonna take a walk, okay?"

"Sure, man."

Sam smiles, pulls on the jacket, and tucks his hands into the pockets as he takes the stairs up. He thinks of Dean and Cas's tired faces and remembers hearing them entering the cabin late last night. But, well, he understands. They just got married, after all.

Wedding night. The thought alone makes Sam cringe a little and chuckle a lot more.

He walks along the guardrail, feeling the warmth of the sunrise on his face. He doesn't know what training is going to be like; doesn't remember much of the tame kind of hand-to-hand, because for a while, he'd just been breaking necks and running blades through people and defying them by using his size as an advantage. However, it's going to be different starting now because he'll have to use his cunning too, think some more before attacking. And the way Dean says it, it sounds like Sam had plenty of cunning before Azazel took him to Hell.

The metal on the railing is slightly warm and Sam finds solace in running his hand over it. He hopes Dean will not try to bring up the mirror thing because, although Sam wants to get rid of it, he doesn't think he can bear to go into that realm again. He hasn't slept well in nights from all those terrible dreams and he doesn't want to be haunted anymore. He knows Dean will not push if he asks, but there is also this intense burn in him to get rid of that terrible fear that Nick put in him.

Sam watches the sun come up some more and clenches his fists. Dean and Cas would have finished breakfast by now and will be getting ready for the training. If they start and finish early, they can all sleep some to make up for last night, and Sam doesn't want to delay that. So he makes his way back to the cabin, hoping to God that he won't walk in on Dean and Cas doing something bad enough to scar him. And then he chuckles at how they're such big morons and how it took so long for them to accept that they love each other.

But, oh well, at least they finally accepted it. That's gotta count for something.

~o~

"You think Sammy will be okay?"

"Of course, Dean." Cas touches Dean's fingers with his, watching him shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth. "He is very strong. I told you that. You've watched him fight too."

"Yeah, man, but he's been having a lot of nightmares lately, and I don't want…"

"You are nothing like any of those demons," says Cas. "You treat him well. With compassion. You will not push him. He trusts you on that."

"And what if I do?"

"You won't. I trust you too."

Dean forks some more of the eggs. He really hopes he won't get driven and scare Sam… because he knows he does it sometimes, has done it in the past when he's trained people at the bunker. However, like Cas says, Sam is strong. Sam might have fucking nightmares every moment that he spends sleeping, and panic attacks in ways that Dean can't even guess their triggers anymore, but Sam is tough son of a bitch. And even though Sam was the one who suggested going headfirst into a fight with Azazel, he's apprehensive about the actual training.

The bastards broke Dean's brother for good. Now Dean will be sure to fucking break them all.

His fork suddenly clatters to the floor while he's busy with his thoughts and Dean rolls his eyes at the utensil. "Don't even fucking know where my mind is at these days," he sighs, bending over to pick it up from the floor.

"It's very simple," he hears Cas say from above him. "It's on me and Sam, primarily. And then our marriage too; yours and mine, and our continued gallivanting these past few days and—"

"Cas?"

"Yes?" Cas peeks over at Dean from over the table, blue eyes blinking at him innocently, and Dean feels his mouth go up in a half-smile.

"C'mere," he says, getting down on his knees and dragging Cas's chair forward, towards him. He reaches for Cas's belt buckle.

"Dean…"

"Shhh."

"I believe Sam will—"

Dean grips at Cas's knees and kisses the inside of his thigh. Cas shudders.

"Still don't wanna do it?"

"Dean—"

He kisses Cas again, on the other thigh, rests his mouth on Cas's crotch, lips wet, nose touching Cas's mounting bulge. "Tell me you don't want it," he whispers, breaths blowing hot on old denim. "Tell me."

A full-blown shudder passes though Cas. His fingers are in Dean's hair, pulling at the short strands. "D-Dean…"

Dean kisses him, right there on his crotch. "Shut up."

Cas doesn't protest again. Dean is half-hard already as he gets the belt to loosen and unzips Cas's pants. Cas is tenting, rising through his boxers and Dean adjusts himself on his knees to keep his balance as he pulls at the waistband to grip Cas. His breaths hitch and Dean grins, using his fingers on Cas, before he finally leans in.

Cas grunts, twitching and quivering as Dean palms his waist, his hands clenching. Cas moans. The fingers in Dean's hair tighten when he pulls Cas off the seat a little and yanks him forward. Cas stutters, hands going down to Dean's neck, thrusting as Dean grips his waist to help him. He pulls in and out, Dean's tongue dragging against sensitive skin, moans and gasps everywhere. "Oh, Dean, right there… God…"

Dean hums, goes on relentlessly, triumphant as Cas comes with a gasp and, "D-Dean!"

They finish, Dean gasping himself and feeling Cas slide off of him. Cas is still moaning, grunting gutturally as he relaxes with his pants half-down, and there's something incredibly sexy about his voice and the gasps right now.

Dean sits back on his haunches to catch his own breath and starts to crawl away from the table. He gets to his knees again, pulls Cas forward, and kisses him, and grins when he pulls back. "Made it worth your time, didn't I?"

Cas, the bastard, refuses to acknowledge it as he collects himself. "I…" He takes a breath, then starts again. "We should get clean before Sam sees us like this."

"Prude."

He gets to his feet and is starting to put the food away when Cas's hand grips at his wrist. Looking down, Dean watches Cas's lips shift into a grin and bends over to kiss him again. "We'll do it again soon, okay?"

"I would really like that."

"I know. You're still a prude, though."

They're clean by the time Sam walks in, and Dean can see his slumped shoulders from where he's doing dishes in the corner. He wishes he could say something to soothe his brother's nerves, make him believe that everything will turn out fine. It's awful to see Sam like this.

Sam takes a seat at the table and eyes the duffle full of guns that Dean's placed on the couch. "You know," he says, "I kinda didn't expect you to be decent by the time I walked back in."

Dean's raising an eyebrow as he turns at his brother. "You sneaky son of a bitch!"

"Hey, not like that!" Sam blushes. "You're just not concerned about being private, Dean!"

"It's a natural process, and—"

"Shut up. You do it to embarrass me."

Dean shrugs. "That too."

"Just warn me, okay? I don't want any more scarring."

"No-can-do, Sammy. You know, Cas and I," Dean says, winking at his husband, "we're the definition of spontaneity."

"No, you're horny and you keep wheedling him."

"Same thing."

Sam's bitch face is so extreme that even the breaths he's letting out are kind of bitchy. "Slut," he mutters.

"Hey! Cas gets horny too!"

"I do not, Dean. My body composition technically does not allow me to feel sexual arousal unless someone externally stimulates me."

Dean whips his face at his husband. "No one asked you!"

Cas crosses his arms. "I believe I was the subject of discussion and I wanted to give you my input."

"Yeah?" Dean asks. "So you don't get horny, is that why you undulated everywhere when I gave you that little quickie blow job?"

"Undulated?"

"I learned it from Sammy."

"Okay." Sam gets up from his chair and he's so red, Dean thinks he can substitute for a traffic light somewhere. "I'm leaving," he says. "If you guys can finish discussing all your quickies and let me know when you're ready to start training, I'll be out to join you."

Dean runs the dishtowel over the plates and puts them in the cabinets. "We're practising," he calls out to Sam. "I'm done with the dishes. Are you ready?"

Sam stops on his path to the bedroom and takes a deep breath. "Yeah, Dean. I'm ready."

~o~

Dean touches the stem of a small tree that sits with its branches twirling around the guardrail, and turns to Sam. "This is gonna be your punching bag."

"Really?" Sam swallows, eyeing the tree. Sometimes he feels like he's ready for this, and sometimes he doesn't, and God, that's an unmoving, vulnerable little tree and he shouldn't be so fucking nervous about this. Shit.

"Yeah, really." Dean stands on guard, facing the plant. "The branches don't break that easy. You just gotta hit it like you would a punching bag. You know your moves? Remember the names?"

"A little."

"I'll tell you." Dean nods at Sam, and begins punching at the tree. "Straight punch. Side punch. Hook. Uppercut." He demonstrates each one and Sam watches the perfect coordination and angles and is in awe of his brother by the end of it. He knows that he must have been just as good at some point but right now, he aims to get back to what he was, and he fucking will. He just needs to learn combinations and brush them up.

He's seen Dean fight—of course he has, but this, what his brother is doing now, is perfect. He's never actually just observed Dean before and if he has he can't remember, but Dean is meticulous and knowledgeable. He knows exactly what stance creates maximum impact and what part of the fist makes the most painful hits. Sam absorbs every single thing that his brother teaches him.

When he's done demonstrating, Dean stands back. "Go on," he says. "Let's see what you've got."

"Okay." Sam comes forward, clenching his fists. He wants to prove to his brother that he still has it in him. So, so badly. He stands on guard, grunting as he starts to punch, ten of each type, skin coming in contact with rough bark over and over. By the time he's done his knuckles are throbbing, and the skin over them burns something awful, but doesn't care, because Dean didn't say he was wrong, and if he didn't, that means Sam did it all right. He's satisfied.

"That was good," Dean says at long last. "Now I'll show you the kicks and we'll practice all these today. Then we can move up in a couple of days."

"All right." Sam rubs his palms together, standing back for Dean again.

Dean comes forward and starts demonstrating the kicks. He's fast, well balanced, and he knows about all the best spots to kick at. He uses the bow of his legs to his advantage, displaying triangular chokeholds with utmost ease on Cas (though Cas isn't too happy about that).

Sam starts with the kicks, trying to manipulate them to suit the length of his legs and hence the actual force that he can use as he judges the bark. He tries them as Dean told him to, carefully, remembering everything his brother did and trying to get better with each turn.

"Use your muscle strength," Dean tells him as Sam aims a roundhouse, shaking the leaves off the branch. "Harder. Come on!"

"Is… that…" Sam pants, aiming a better kick, "what Cas… says to… you in… bed?"

Dean comes forward, boot colliding with Sam's knee. Sam's foot gets tangled in the branch and he falls down, landing on his ass. "OW!"

Dean has his arms crossed. "Shut up, bitch."

Sam grins up at him. "Hit a nerve?"

"No."

He dusts off the grime coating his clothes. Above him, Dean is smirking. Sam scowls at him. "What was that for, asshole?"

"For being a smartass."

Sam snorts. "It was a genuine question, man."

"Yeah?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "You really wanna know what I say to Cas while we fuck?"

"… Uh…"

"That's what I thought. Now on your feet, Sasquatch."

Sam puffs out an annoyed breath as he obeys Dean, trying think of ways to get back at him. He absolutely can't let Dean win this time… not so easily.

"Okay, so if you're done with that prissy revenge plan of yours, can we move on, my prince?"

Sam pouts, scrunching his nose. "Not fair, dude."

"What, the fact that I fucking know you, and everything that goes on in that jumbo-sized brain of yours? Now get kicking, time's a-wastin'."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam stands on guard, and Dean eyes his position for a moment.

"We start with fifty of each," he says when he's approved of Sam's stance. He throws an arm around Cas's waist. "You finish those, and I'll have a quickie—"

"Dean, you should stand watch over your brother," Cas says to him, voice and eyes earnest.

Sam laughs as he watches the two of them locked in that awkward side-embrace. "Like I said," he says, aiming a punch at the poor, abused branch, "you're the horny one, Dean."

"Yeah, you keep at it," Dean replies, letting go of Cas a little dejectedly and going back and finding a large-enough rock to sit on.

Sam laughs again, aiming another punch. "You can go back, do your thing. I know that's what you want to do."

Dean picks up a twig, Cas joining him on the rock as he begins to drag it in the dirt, making a light, scraping noise. "What I want, Sammy," he replies at long last, "is to give you some company here while you practice. That cool? Or you still want us to go have a quickie, 'cause I can totally do that."

Sam continues to punch at the tree. "Thanks," he mutters at long last.

He concentrates on his task after that, trying to remember how Dean did it. He's got one leg in front of the other and wide apart, bent a little at the knees, exactly like Dean had shown him. He clenches his fist, tightens it, and throws another punch at the branch.

"Good. One… two…"

Sam punches to his brother's count, concentrating on each, knuckles painful, but he goes on.

"Ten. Eleven…"

He needs to do this. He has to be perfect. He has to fight. He won't allow any of those assholes to have an advantage over him ever again. He'll never let them kill anyone else. He has a tiny, absolutely tiny family, and there's no fucking he's letting them die.

"Good one, Sammy! Thirty-three…"

Sam bites his lip and punches harder. He wants to break this branch off. He knows it's difficult because it's supple, but he will… he will…

"Forty-two…"

More. More. More.

"Very good, Sam. Very good!" The voice is different, and Sam flinches. What?

"You know, Sam, I quite like your perseverance. You're a stubborn bastard, aren't you?" He knows this voice… knows it, and it's not Dean.

He looks around. No, no, no. This can't be. He's with Dean… with Dean.

"Oh, but you're with me!" Yellow eyes flash at Sam from the corner of the room. He's lying supine on a familiar table, leather straps holding him down as he watches those menacing eyes.

"So, you know, Sam, if you want to be strong, you have to let me do this." Azazel is hovering over him with a metal syringe, the barrel filled with the demon blood that he drew from a vial a minute ago. "It's for your own good."

"No," Sam whispers, clenching against the restraints on him. "No, I won't, I won't—" He cries out when the needle hits his arm, plunging into his biceps and draining the burning substance into him. He's struggling, twitching, choking, but hands are on him setting him free and a bald angel is grinning at him like he's entertainment.

"I'm Zachariah," he says, "and I'm going to make you fight."

"N-No…" Sam is freed from the table and pushed forward. His vision blurs, head spins, and he watches a young slave being unshackled before him.

"Fight him," says Zachariah. "Fight, you filthy maggot!"

"Sam?! Sammy, come on, one more."

Sam aims a punch at the tree. Azazel grins before him. "That's my boy."

"D-Dean…"

"Go on, Sam, big brother isn't coming for you!"

"D-Dean…"

"What? What?!" The voice is closer, hands shaking him. Sam's head is spinning.

"H-Head…"

"That's the effect of the little something extra we gave you."

"Sammy, fight it, man. Just a few more."

"Fight, you maggot!"

"Sammy…"

"Sam, you're a hero, aren't you? Always trying to do the right thing?"

"Sammy, here, stay with me!"

"You are a freak of nature. You don't have a family. Know what Dean will say if he finds out? He'll dump you at my doorstep because he won't want you. Because you're a monster. Just like me."

"N-No…"

"Sam, Sammy, come on, lie down, lie down."

He hits hard ground, and Azazel smiles. Someone turns him on his side.

"Dean is not coming, Sam," says Azazel. "Dean is never coming."

"Deeeaaann…"

"Here, here."

"D-Don'… pl-pl's…"

"Not going anywhere, Sam, breathe now. Breathe. Please, man."

"Dean hates you."

"D'n…"

"Yeah."

"Dean doesn't want to be your brother."

"N-No!"

"That's right, you tell him. You tell him, Sammy."

"D'n… D'n, pleaaase…"

The faces are blurring together, Zachariah and Azazel and Dean and there is more laughter in his ears. Think you got out of here, Sam? Nick asks him. Because you never did. We still have you. You're our lab rat for a new experiment… a new kind of taming exercise. And you just loved that part of the day, didn't you?

He laughs again, and Sam coughs, tries to sit up, but he can't, he can't, and it's all going black and he's dying, and…

"D'n… D'n…"

"I'm here," a voice whispers, and that's the last thing Sam hears. I'm here.

The blackness consumes him before he can think further.

~o~

Dean is sitting on the sofa, Sam's plate on his lap and his brother on the other side, leaning against the cushions. Sam's been still for a long time now, with eyes half-mast and breaths erratic. It's been three hours since the disastrous training, since Sam freaked out and never really came back. Dean and Cas had carried Sam into the cabin and laid him on the bed, but even when Dean woke him up for lunch, Sam was unresponsive.

"You gotta eat," he says gently, shifting a little closer to Sam. "Sammy."

Sam raises a shaking hand, fingers trembling too much, and Dean tears off a piece of chicken for him. "Here."

He guides Sam's hand to get into his mouth, and looks beseechingly at Cas, even though he knows there's nothing Cas can do about this, either.

"Sam," Dean says as gently as he can muster, "Sammy, look at me."

His brother's breath hitches, and Dean grabs him closer with his free arm, heart sinking to his chest when Sam looks up, eyes glassy and lost. Dean sighs, turns to Cas. "Give us a minute?"

"I'll be outside."

"Okay, I'll call you back in."

Cas gets to his feet. He comes close, bends forward, and kisses Dean's forehead, the warmth of him making Dean shudder. "It's going to be all right, Dean," he says softly. "It's going to be fine."

Dean nods, throat too clogged up to respond, and watches him leave the cabin. There is silence, terrible and daunting, and he's feeling all kinds of horrible because maybe he should have started easier… just ten each today, not let Sam strain when it's been so hard for him to shake off the consequences of whatever he went through in Hell. Maybe Dean should have helped him some more. Maybe Dean should have understood… realised what his brother needed. He takes off his amulet and puts it in Sam's palm, hoping for some reply.

"Sammy."

Sam's breath hitches as he touches the necklace. "'S jus'… th-the brand," he slurs in a whispered voice, head lolling against Dean's shoulder. "G'nna b-be fine."

Dean blinks, takes a deep breath. "Yeah, Sam. You will—"

"Z'zel, he caan'… no' my dad and br'thr."

"What?"

"Dean," Sam says, clearly, clearer than he's been in hours, and Dean leans closer to listen.

"Tell me."

"Th-They burned… br'nd…"

"Yeah, I know, man," Dean replies bitterly. "That bastard put a brand in you. But it's better now. You're gonna be okay." The wound is healed, but Azazel's name remains on Sam's back, bringing Dean's anger to homicidal levels whenever he sees it.

"'S… hurtin'."

Dean's eyes widen at Sam's frankness. First, because Sam never admits to pain and second, after all this time? He loosens his grip around his brother and pulls him closer. "You eat and I'll have a look at it. Just get something into your stomach, okay?"

"Don' feel g'd."

"I know."

"D'n…"

"Yeah, it's me. It's me, dude. You've asked me a million times today but I ain't gonna be mad. It's me, in the flesh." Dean rests his chin on Sam's hair, hoping to calm him down before getting him to eat.

"I w'nna… w'nna practice…"

"What?"

Sam seems to loosen up, head lolling, and Dean shakes him. "Hey."

"W'nna tr'n… fight." The last word is a determined, lucid whisper. When Dean turns to look at Sam to see if he's serious, Sam's already fast asleep on his shoulder, having slipped into his own world again with the amulet clutched tight in his hand.

~o~

Sam wakes up to a haze and a headache. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, body stiff and heart starting to race. He can't see Dean around, and he can't remember anything after the time he started punching at that tree. What on earth happened? Why does he feel like someone ran him over with a truck?

"Mornin', sunshine."

Sam starts at Dean's voice and runs a hand over his eyes. "Dean?" His own voice is hoarse, throat sore. He watches his brother emerge from the corner of his vision in boxers and a tee, coffee mug in hand and the dark circles under his eyes telling a story of their own.

Sam swallows down the goo in his throat from the sleeping. "How long was I out?"

"More than a day." Dean takes the chair that Sam notices is right beside his bed, and wipes a hand down his face. "Want something for that throat of yours?"

"How do you—?" Sam shuts up before he can complete his own question.

Dean just grins. "Dude, if I just knew you wanted to be a banshee so bad…"

"Screw you."

"Yeah, that's what I wanna say to Cas too. Literally. I didn't have time for it last night, because I was taking care of your screamin' ass."

Sam turns away from his brother, guilty all of a sudden for having snatched away his time with Cas. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean mutters, and Sam knows he was kidding when he said that earlier but continues to feel guilty all the same. Dean stands up again, the chair scraping back as he stretches. "I made pancakes. Want some?"

"Cool."

"Good, can you walk?"

"Uh…" Sam pulls his blanket off, tentatively placing bare feet on the wooden floor as he attempts to stand up. His legs are shaky and he feels weak but he's able to do it, so he smiles at Dean and gives him a thumbs-up.

"Good," says Dean. "Now brush your teeth, because it stinks like something died in there. I'll get your pancakes ready."

Sam heads to the bathroom, pushing his hair out of his eyes, watching Dean pull out a plate and the butter dish. However, he stops at the doorway and turns to his brother, clenching his jaw. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I was serious yesterday. I want to go back to training after breakfast." He doesn't wait for Dean to reply as he shuts the door behind him.

~o~

Sam doesn't let Dean's pity or his own bodily suffering deter him from training. He's decided he wants to defeat Azazel, and Cas says he can do it—that the demon blood in him gives him extra power, so why not? And, if he keeps postponing it because of how he feels sometimes during and after, he'll never be ready. He'll never be able to do it.

Dean doesn't like it. Dean doesn't like it at all, but he tries to hide it. He tries to push as much as Sam wants to be pushed; help as much as he can. Sam remembers waking up from hazes and excruciating headaches with a hand on his shoulder and a gentle voice: "Sammy, snap out of it, man."

He recognises the feel of Dean's amulet in his fingers, grounding him when the nightmares hit. Of Dean helping him hunch over when he can't catch his breath. Of Dean marathoning Star Wars and Chuck Norris movies on the nights that Sam can't sleep, the two of them ultimately waking up with stiff backs from snoozing on the sofa with their feet on the table.

Castiel will wake them both up, cook them breakfast and help them train, teach Sam how to fight with knives and daggers since that is what he knows best. When Dean can't open his eyes from exhaustion, Cas is the one who brings Sam back from his nightmares. He's the one who covers them in blankets when they fall asleep during one of their movie marathons and he's the one who's literally their guardian angel.

Sometimes, Sam will wake up from a nap to find Dean and Cas missing, only to discover them sitting at the guardrail after a few minutes of panic. He watches their silhouettes in the beautiful sunsets, calming down as he watches them hold hands, talking. They have no idea Sam's seen them, Dean would probably be embarrassed if he knew, but Sam is extremely happy they found each other. He watches a little bit of beauty each and every day; something magnificent growing in the ugliness of his life. And he lets himself smile as his heart jumps in happiness.

~o~

Dean hears someone enter the bathroom while he's in the shower. The warm water feels really good to his aching muscles and God, he so tired. He's been up two nights in a row because Sam's nightmares have just gotten worse, and it's a task getting him to believe, sometimes, that he's not actually still in Hell. When Sam's lucid he's constantly asking Dean to go back to sleep, but Dean just can't find it in him to want to sleep.

He has barely seen Cas in the last few days; barely kissed him, touched him, or spoken to him; and Cas has stayed in the background all this while. Dean misses him; misses him so, so much. God.

The door shuts, and he grips the yellowing shower curtain, blinks water out of his eyes. "Cas, is that you?"

There is no reply. Instead, the curtains are ripped apart and Cas steps into the bathtub, naked. Before Dean can question him he puts a tube of lube on the soap dish and grips Dean's waist from behind, planting kisses on his back and shoulders. The water is warm and Cas slurps and sucks, a sexy, unbearable white noise and oh God, oh Jesus, oh fucking fuck. Dean sighs, shudders, leans back in Cas's grip. "God, I missed you. Fuck."

Cas grunts, fingers circling on Dean's upper thighs and tracing his groin to the inside. Dean feels something swoop into his stomach, his entire body shuddering when Cas's hands wander in. Cas kisses his neck, thumb brushing and rubbing at Dean, fingers moving rhythmically and slowly, teasing and this fucking bastard, this motherfuck—

Dean moans. "Cas."

Cas hums, bulging against Dean's ass, and that's all Dean can take.

He turns around, shoves Cas against the wall, feeling his knuckles hit tile. Dean kisses him, biting, sucking at his lips, tongue dashing and licking Cas's because he's so hot, so fucking hot and ohfuckgod this is too much. He reaches for the lube, dabs some on and grabs Cas's ass to haul him up, sliding him against wet tiles. Cas's legs circle Dean's waist, mouth on Dean's neck, shoulder, nipping and bruising and kissing Dean in frantic gesturs.

Cas moans. Dean thrusts, shoves them harder against the wall, thrusts again. Cas is breathing heavily against his neck, sending tingles up his spine as he pushes again. "Dean."

"Yeah, Cas."

"Dean… yes, oh…"

They climax one after the other. Blood rushes up Dean's head, making his ears pound and he's warm and cold, goosebumps everywhere, gasping in sync with Cas. He gets off Cas, rests his head against the wall a moment before letting him down.

Dean's knees are buckling with the stress and lack of sleep and he blindly reaches to sit down but there are arms around his waist again when Cas pulls him into an embrace. He sighs, places his forehead on his husband's neck and tries to forget about Sam's nightmares and panic attacks. When he can't forget, however, he steels himself, gets out of the shower, and takes up on Sam's offer to train extra today.

~o~

Sam starts to get better during the third week of their training. Dean's staying up less and so is Sam because they're both actually sleeping at night, instead of dealing with Sam's bouts of insomnia. They still make it a point to marathon some old movies, though, because, and Dean will never say this to his brother, the time spent with Sam makes him feel safe. Comfortable. Like old times, when things were less shitty at the bunker.

Sam spars with Dean every day, mastering each move with relative ease and starting to work his cunning and intelligence into the fight again.

"Good boy," Dean encourages, blocking a punch, shuffling back as Sam continues to aim them at him. They're sparring again today and Sam's doing really well. Dean wouldn't even be able to block himself, if he didn't intuitively know what moves his brother used and he's proud of how far Sam's come.

Sam grins at him, kicks, and Dean raises his knee to receive it on the shin. He turns, blocks an uppercut, and fails to do the same with a hook that lands on his cheek.

"Fuck," he whispers, tonguing the inside of it, checking for a cut, as Sam moves forward to pull Dean ahead. "You're getting good."

"I was always good, jerk," Sam mutters in a rare show of self-confidence, bending Dean forward in a headlock.

Dean goes to grab Sam's face, fails, and elbows Sam's belly, gripping his brother's arms to free himself. He watches Cas emerge from the cabin and stiffens a little, knowing what is coming, although Sam is clueless enough to use his temporary lack of response to his advantage, locking a leg around Dean, straightening him up to make it a chokehold.

"S-Sam!" Dean gasps, straining. Cas is coming closer and he knows Sam will loosen up any moment now but Dean is afraid. He's very afraid. It doesn't help that he feels like he's a fucking traitor. They do need to get ahead with their training, though, and there's one thing Dean is aware of, that affects Sam more than anything else.

The mirror.

He's not spoken to Sam about training him using that. Sure, Sam had told Dean when he'd asked to be trained, that he wants to overcome the mirror thing but Dean hasn't really told him they'll actually be doing it because he isn't sure if anticipation reduces the effect on his brother. He wants to train Sam to be able to fully combat whatever it is that the mirror does to him. And the training has to start today. They don't have all the time in the world before Azazel somehow finds them, but Sam needs to get out of whatever it is that clams him up when the mirror is used.

Feeling guilty and terrible, Dean had already told Cas that morning about how they're going to start training Sam with the mirror, too, and with a heavy heart, Cas agreed. And when Dean looks at him standing outside the cabin, eyes sympathetic, he knows.

He head-butts Sam, turns around, and, heart racing, nods at Cas. Cas nods back, and reaches for his pocket.

It all happens in a split second. For a moment, Sam's coming at Dean with a kick, and then a silvery shimmer flashes on his face, near his nose. He freezes, eyes rolling up as he falls down, hitting the ground with a thud.