Hi guys! Thank you for your great support and here's the next chapter :)
I am sorry it took so long but for my defence, English isn't my first language, so I take my time to create all the sentences I need for the story. Then I read them over and over again, checking for mistakes, then I re-read them again (oh yeah, I'm that crazy :D), then again, again, and then I finally send the chapter to my awesome beta (all praise Skalidra!).
As a peace offering, this chapter is longer than the first one :)
To a guest reviewer Whatsmynamebro(love the nickname): Thank you so much! You totally made my day! I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot after reading your review :) Hope, you enjoy this chapter as well.
CHAPTER TWO
"A stripper," Dean repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time. He still had trouble processing the fact.
Benny rolled his eyes.
"A stripper," Dean let out once more, making sure the conversation was really about what he thought it was about. "You went into a strip club and declined a stripper? Dude, you can't visit a strip club and refuse a stripper when she comes on to you. That's against the rules!"
"Against which rules?" Sam snickered.
Dean threw out his hands. "Against every rule! It's like going to Burger King and not ordering a burger."
"Who's Burger King?" Benny asked.
Dean groaned. "You're killing me, man."
"It's a chain of fast food restaurants serving hamburgers that Dean enjoys. I believe he favors 'The Big King sandwich," Castiel offered in explanation, his undeniably happy tone suggesting the pleasure of being able to contribute to the conversation.
"Nice," Sam chuckled, "walking Deancyclopedia."
The angel frowned, confused. "I do not—"
"Don't listen to him, Cas," Dean said. "He's pulling your leg."
"He's not—"
"Not that I don't enjoy the cutely domestic thing that's gonna melt all my teeth, but can we deal with the small and insignificant problem of mine first?" Benny interrupted impatiently, the words interlacing together as they drawled lazily through his lips, ruining their chances to confuse Castiel more thoroughly. Pity.
"Oh, right." Dean turned to the vampire with a sly smile. "Your refused burger."
Benny sighed in resignation. He was giving up, Dean noted delightedly. Good. The vampire deserved a little tormenting for taunting Sam and Castiel, for encouraging their antipathy toward him, and for that all causing Dean's upcoming headache. "I wanted to… buy a burger, only not a familiar one."
Dean grinned more maniacally, reaching behind over his seat, and clapped Benny on the shoulder. "You stud! I knew there was something hiding under those suspenders of yours."
Their Scooby-Doo team—how Dean secretly called them in his mind—were sitting in the Impala, Sam riding shotgun, which had left Benny together with Cas in the backseat. The angel had started a staring contest with the vampire somewhere after the first mile of their journey, and hadn't ended it till they pulled over onto a parking lot in front of the strip club, their unexpected final destination.
Dean had asked Cas to fly them to the place, but the angel very maturely refused to touch a vampire, thus they'd ended up in a car on the longest drive of Dean's life.
Castiel's mouth formed a thin, displeased, line. "Can we focus on our task?"
Dean smirked, looking back toward the monster they were about to kill. The witch was, in one word, hot; lean body, long legs, and boobs that screamed breast implants or, well, magic. Scrunching up eyes to view her like Benny would, the hair color kind of resembled Elizabeth's, but Dean doubted he'd even think of Benny's great-granddaughter while being with this chick. However, that was probably solely his fault. For him, nearly all the women were alike, so he'd never noticed a few small similarities between two of them.
Dean sweet-talked the women, slept with them and forgot them. That was it, no-brainer.
The witch was currently flirting with some guy at the entrance to the club, and pretty soon, the dude was eagerly nodding and letting himself be pushed into a backside deserted alley.
The choice of rendezvous played in their favor—out of sight, and private; perfect for killing.
Since Benny confirmed he hadn't found any hidden hex bags or coins, the curse had to be something deeper that stuck directly onto the victim. The only way to break this kind was to either destroy the creator, or make them cancel it. Negotiation wasn't an option. First of all, it was hard to achieve when the other is trying to tear you into shreds, which was how every monster they'd ever met reacted to an attempt for small talk, and secondly—let's face it—killing was way easier than reasoning.
"Okay, let's go," Dean said, getting out of his baby.
A familiar thrill tingled low in his belly, announcing the first spikes of adrenaline always preceding a fight. Usually, the more dangerous the situation they were about to get in was, the more intense the tingling became.
This time, it was a light, almost gentle sensation, meaning Dean wasn't afraid of losing. After many months, years, he was confident in their winning, and it had an incredible, warm effect on his whole person, easing the ever-present tension down a bit. Sam's sharp but calm eyes mirrored Dean's state of mind, adding to the lightness. They had an angel and a vampire on their side. The witch didn't have the slightest chance. Even the powerful Roses would have a hard time taking them down, and Dean doubted even they would be able to. Benny, they could beat, but Cas?
What was sprawling inside him wasn't cockiness or over-confidence, it was the feeling of an assurance Dean was experiencing alongside his friends, a certain sense of safety. It was something he'd nearly forgotten, and he basked in it, the taste welcomed.
He had to smile unconsciously because Benny gave him a raised eyebrow. Together with a man passing them on his way inside the club, and nearly colliding with him, it pulled Dean back to now and here. He became aware of all the tiny details of his surroundings, the unstable joy quickly giving way to a prickle of uneasiness. The exchange was quick, unexpected; just like it had always been. One minute, he was good, really good, the next second, bang! It went down; one endless rollercoaster.
The night breeze felt suddenly chilling against his skin, not caressing it but rather stinging like thousands of needles would. Loud drums penetrated through the otherwise still place, drunken laughter could be heard in the distance, and it was all too familiar to cause coldness to creep up Dean's spine. Like a noose, it twisted itself around his neck, making every gulp for air difficult.
Dean shook the tightness off. It had happened before. He knew how to cope.
It was still annoying.
They rounded the corner and stepped into a dark, filthy alley. Dean didn't have much time to assess the place before freezing. He had prepared himself for every possible outcome, but he honestly hadn't expected the witch to be facing them, holding the poor bastard before her like a human shield, a small silvery dagger to his neck. She had either known they were coming, or had spotted them.
They hesitated. A mere two, three seconds, but it was still enough. The witch grinned, showing her perfect white teeth, and didn't do anything more than wink at them. An invisible energy struck Dean like a massive wall, tossing his body through the air. He crashed against a wall, his head making a nasty cracking sound. Instead of gravity taking him down, his hands, legs and body were pinned to the hard surface behind, leaving him helplessly hanging, back to the wall. His bones were cracking under the pressure but he managed to turn his spinning head to see Sam and Benny were met with the same fate on the opposite side.
Castiel—unaffected by the fierce power—stepped forward, ready to fly over to the witch.
But then, he stopped.
The witch's smile turned brighter. "Smart choice, angel," she purred in a sweet voice. The dagger in her hand pressed firmer against the man's neck, drawing a trickle of blood. The guy wept like a child but didn't try to escape; mind, body, or both paralyzed.
Dean wiggled against the unseen grip but it didn't ease a bit. He hated being unable to move. "Cas?"
"You see," the witch addressed them, shaking with the man in her arms. She was either somehow really strong or was using the same power on the guy as on them. "I've provisionally bound my life to this idiot's soul. I die, he dies. Or, your angel tries to touch me, and I snap your lovely necks in a second... all… at... once." She waited for the words to sink in then smirked. She was enjoying herself. "Yep, I'm that good."
That at least explained Cas' hesitation. He was able to read minds, see into people. He had to sense the bond, or her intentions.
Benny should have mentioned the witch was so powerful… although considering his low experience with modern monsters, he probably didn't realize. It wasn't his fault. That didn't mean Dean wasn't gonna scold him later for the fatal mistake.
He could have kicked himself now for his earlier thoughts. He'd let his guard down. They had all underestimated her just like he and Sam had done with the Roses. One would think they'd learned from their mistakes.
"What do you want?" Sam gritted through his teeth, struggling against the force holding him in place.
The witch raised an eyebrow. "For one, I don't want you to kill me. For two…" She paused, pretending to think hard. "Hmmm… Nah, that's it. I just don't want to get killed."
"Then let the guy go and we won't follow you," Sam offered, like they were talking business, like they were in a position to make any demands.
Dean wanted to protest, remind his brother of Benny and his curse, but the witch was shaking her head before Sam even finished. "I don't think so. No offence, honey, but I don't believe you. You're hunters after all… the Winchesters, right?"
Wow, they were really famous. Dean squirmed again, trying to set his limbs free. Of course it was futile. He felt like a damn bird in a cage, smashing into the walls, thinking the metal would give way. He was just as stupid.
"You wanna signed autograph?" he bit out, immediately regretting he'd opened his mouth, when all eyes turned to him, scrutinizing, unwished for. They were seeing him in such an exposed state, while he couldn't defend himself, stuck against the wall, left at the mercy of everyone who would want to hurt him. He wanted them gone.
He put more effort into his struggling against the invisible bonds. Nothing happened.
The witch's eyes were the ones making him most uncomfortable. It was like with Cas sometimes, like she looked into him and saw.
The piercing brown orbs ticked a few times between him and Sam. The witch grinned widely. "Oh my, this is just too perfect," she chirped, making Dean's blood run cold. He should have just shut up and made Sam deal with the situation. Little brother had demanded a more dominant role in the hunting. Dean should have given it to him.
"What is—" he started but his mouth was snapped shut.
"Sammy," the bitch told his brother, "you're going to love this and it'll get me the time I need to get away. It's up to you then what you'll do with my gift. You run the show now, sweetheart."
She raised her empty left hand. The man remained in front of her, unmoving, the dagger cutting a bit more into the skin of his throat. Energy crackled through the air, making it heavy. The imaginary noose around Dean's neck, always there, restricting, tightened to the point of pain. He couldn't breathe, his lungs tried to uselessly take in fresh air. They couldn't, and his head felt dizzy. If the force wasn't holding him straight, he would have toppled over.
A white light burst within the alley, pain erupted inside Dean's head and, his mouth finally able to open, he screamed as if his life depended on it, and maybe, it did. His name was being yelled with a desperate urgency. From all three voices, only one clear like always. Cas' baritone pierced through his fogged brain, and the angel's voice was the last thing Dean heard before he lost consciousness.
Sam startled as, after the intense light, blackness surrounded his whole body and mind. It sucked him in and spat him out in seconds that lasted an eternity.
"You run the show now." echoed in his ears. He whipped around, trying to take in his surrounding as fast as possible, before something would jump up on him from the dark corners of the alley. Thoughts hazy, he forced his eyes to focus, to work, to search for Dean.
His heart was beating heavily, thumping as if it planned on tearing through his ribcage. One distinct image was burnt into his eyelids, and every time he blinked, Dean was there, screaming like something tore at the insides of his body, trashing helplessly within the unyielding grasp of energy holding him against the wall.
He still heard it, the scream. It was roaring in his ears.
Sam evened his wheezy, panicked, breaths. He had to think.
He really looked around. The setting was the only thing right, but it seemed to be another alley, not the one in which they'd been held by the witch. What the hell had happened?
"What is this?" Benny's voice asked from behind. Sam's head spun in the direction of the sound, spotting Castiel as well. It was dark, darker than before, and thus hard to make out the angel's expression. No street lamp was here to bring a light onto his features. Despite that, Sam made out the narrowed eyes, the angry clench of jaw. Whatever storm was stuffed inside the angel was hanging by a thread, on the verge of exploding.
Sam took a look around one more time but everything stayed the same way. The dumpsters remained on their places, stinking of decayed food and whatever people had thrown into them. Together with the reek of vomit and urine, it made his stomach roll.
That's where the similarity with the former alley ended.
Drums of a heavy music from behind a black door—nearly merging with one of the dark buildings—were muffled, though still shaking the foundation of the street and an opposite house. It was the sort of club where people came to get drunk or laid, possibly both; big, offering anonymity, and loud because one didn't need to hear what the other was saying as long as they were willing to get out with them.
"I'm not sure," Castiel replied for him, thank God, because Sam had other problems to deal with than answering Benny. For example, where the hell was his brother?
"Where's Dean?" he asked, keeping his tone calm, not allowing fear to seep through. "And the witch? What happened?"
He felt like breaking down. He'd lost his brother somewhere, or more likely the three of them got lost because he didn't recognize this place. Panic was rising within him, threatening to steal his last coherent thoughts. He willed it down with sheer force. Freaking out would not help in finding Dean.
"Great questions," Benny growled. "Don't know if ya noticed but this feels weird."
Sam brought his eyebrows together. "What'd you mean?"
Castiel reached out with his hand toward one of the dumpsters. It went through the solid metal sheet like he were a ghost. Or the dumpster was a ghost, but that seemed improbable. Sam watched the motion, horrified. Did that mean they were dead? How else could it be explained?
No, Sam shook his head. He needed to calm down, to look at this rationally. Castiel and Benny were here with him, so death couldn't be the cause here. Angels and monsters didn't just die like that, with souls wandering around. More importantly, angels didn't even have souls. But then, how else could this be explained?
Sam stroked the denim of his jeans. They were here. He was here. The fabric between his fingertips wasn't imaginary. He smelled the alley, the stink enveloping it. It wasn't his mind playing tricks. It was a reality… a reality excluding him, Castiel and Benny.
"Holy hell," the vampire let out, and went to try to poke the dumpster as well. Sam was tempted to join them, when the backdoor from the bar opened with a loud bang, bringing the thrums of the music to them with more intensity. The guy—kid in Sam's mind—that stumbled out of the club seemed to be around twenty, head hung low, and drunk out of his ass. He tripped over the threshold and nearly fell down. Sam reached out to steady the kid only to realize he couldn't when his hand went through the clothes, right into the kid's body. Sam shrank away like he'd been burnt.
The kid steadied himself against the wall, muttering, "Fucking asshole." and with that, Sam understood with a painful clarity.
"What is it?" Castiel neared him, followed tightly by Benny who took a place on the other side of Sam.
Sam ignored them, his heart gaining frantic speed again. He was too stunned to react. Because—because if he was right… no, this couldn't be possible, could it? It was absurd. The witch had been powerful, no arguing about that, but no one could be that powerful except for the angels, maybe. She was just a witch, wasn't she?
Then the kid raised his spiky head and Sam saw the emerald green, darkened by the night. "Dean…" he breathed, making everyone, everything stop dead.
"Dean?" Benny's voice held a sliver of fear as well, masked by gruffness.
Castiel said nothing but his body tensed even more than was usual.
"Does this happen to you regularly? Is it just me who finds it weird?" Benny asked. He didn't sound amused. He sounded horrified, and Sam understood him completely. He felt the same way. It was probably the first time Sam agreed with the vampire on something—particularly on not liking what was happening.
"No, it's not just you," he replied, shooting a quick glance at Castiel. "Did we travel back in time?"
Cas tilted his head, sailing with a hand through the air. "This isn't a time travel. That is different. This feels more… like a memory," he concluded, bringing Sam to stare at him, hard. The angel had to be joking, right?
Benny rubbed the top of his cap. "Is that even possible?"
"I can think of no other explanation."
The younger version of Dean bent over and started throwing up, creating a new addition to the grossness of the street, and redirecting the attention back to him.
"If this' a memory, then kid was a wild one," Benny smirked, making purposely light of the situation, probably trying to disperse his own worry. Because this? Was not normal.
"Yeah, he was," Sam said. Playing along while figuring a way out was something like a Winchester specialty. Nonetheless, he allowed the stirring affection to warm his voice. Dean had always been a party man, and since their dad was most of the time on the other side of the continent, Dean would get away with most of his stunts. It had naturally served to encourage him more, and while he'd taken care of Sam like the proper mother hen he was, he'd often gotten himself wasted at a party or bar, got into fights, or Sam would see him promenading around with some hot girl from school. How Dean had managed to squeeze all that in his generally busy days was beyond Sam.
The Dean in front of him mumbled something close to "Gross.", furiously wiping his mouth with a sleeve of his worn jacket.
Sam couldn't help but comment, "Yeah, Dean. You drink too much, you puke afterwards. First rule you've ever taught me." Benny chuckled and Sam was again reminded of his and Cas' presence by that noise.
"I would say it was based on a personal experience," Castiel said in his deadly solemn tone and Benny laughed out loud.
"And you say ya don't have a sense of humor."
Castiel cocked his head to one side. "I've never implied such a thing."
Sam's lips twitched up in response whilst Dean paid them no attention, straightening up as much as he could with the help of leaning on the dumpster. He gripped the edges tightly, legs buckling underneath him, and Sam had to suppress the urge to go over and try in vain to help his brother. Dean, fortunately, managed to stay on his feet without any aid, and made a slow, unsteady round around the dumpster, ending on the side facing away from the main street. It effectively hid him in the shadows.
Sam went to him and knelt down. Dean was resting his back against the brick wall, staring ahead right through Sam. For him, no other people were here in the alley. Sam felt oddly guilty, like he was invading his brother's privacy. It was ridiculous, of course. He knew everything there was to know about Dean. He had grown up with the man, after all. Seeing him throwing up after visiting a club shouldn't feel like a betrayal.
However, none of it made him feel any better about watching Dean now.
It might have been caused by the strange, defeated look in his eyes. It was a look Sam had never seen before, and it made him nervous.
Sure, he'd seen Dean looking defeated before. For instance when he'd considered saying yes to Michael, or after Bobby had died. It was the same kind but yet, it differed. This one Sam was looking at was peaceful, accepting; like Dean knew he'd lost a fight but didn't care… welcomed it, even. He looked forward to the opening it provided.
It was disturbing.
Then something shifted in his brother's gaze and Sam gasped in shock, realizing what would happen seconds before it did happen. He could swear the sound echoed around the walls.
Dean naturally didn't hear it. He pulled up his shirt, revealing his old revolver tucked under the waistband. He took it gently in his hands, cradling it like something precious, as if trying to memorize every curve, every angle of the gun. Sam stared, feeling all the breath rush out of his lungs. His lips parted, eyes had to be wide. His brain tried to catch up with the events, frozen.
He realized he forgot to breathe when Benny's voice brought him back. "What is he—"
"I don't like it," Castiel stated. "I can sense an archangel here."
Sam's head would snap up if he wasn't hypnotized, watching his brother watching the gun like he was contemplating—and Sam was so not going there. Dean would never. He was just drunk and fascinated with the weapon. He had always treated guns like they were special.
"An archangel?" Benny asked instead of him. Sam was glad for it. He was unable to form a whole sentence in his mind, let alone send it past his lips. He was paralyzed just like the witch's hostage, terrifyingly transfixed by the scene evolving in front of him.
"It's a faint trace but I believe an archangel in some way affected this night's events. I feel his presence," Cas explained. Sam didn't see him but his voice was strained, and Sam would bet everything that the angel's eyes were glued to Dean as well.
"C'mon," Dean slurred, tearing himself and others from the trance. He brought the revolver up, and a strained sound escaped Sam's throat as his brother—his one true hero from childhood—put the tip of the gun right into his mouth, closing eyes, breathing forcefully evenly. In, out, in, out. His hands were the only indicator of nerves. They trembled, just like Sam's did, when he pulled the hammer back. The clicking sound of metal was deafening.
Benny let out a strangled, "Shit," and Cas took one step forward.
"Oh my God," Sam breathed in panic. Logically, he knew Dean hadn't pulled the trigger. His future self was alive after all, so this Dean would certainly change his mind. But his heart still raced like he was sprinting for dear life, and he had to remind himself to take a deep breath before hyperventilating just from the one thought that Dean had considered ending his life. He'd considered leaving him and Dad behind. He hadn't cared for the consequences, what it would do to them. That it would kill them as well. Sam shuddered.
It wasn't fucking fair.
Although…
Dean had to care because he was alive, right? He had to realize any second that killing himself wasn't worth any of his problems, and wouldn't solve anything. He had to come back to his mind—
Dean squeezed his eyes tightly and pulled the trigger. Sam fell backwards as the thunderous click resounded through the alley. Nothing happened though. Dean opened his eyes and pulled again, hammer, trigger, hammer, trigger, the exchanges fast, efficient, but followed by nothing but clicking sounds, no bullets coming out. Sam's heart quickened as Dean did it again, again, and again.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Sam flinched every time the gun failed its purpose. His mind was numb, stuck, frozen; dead. Dean would have killed himself. Dean would have left them. Dean would have—
Dean took the revolver out of his mouth and glared at it, accusing it, like it didn't work just to mock him. His breaths were now uneven, heavy, a furious energy steadily building inside his shaking body. "Fuck," he swore. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
He jumped up onto his wobbly legs and threw the gun against the opposite wall with an unexpected power. It crashed and fell.
It didn't seem enough. Sam watched from the ground as his brother turned around and hit the brick wall with a brutal force, his knuckles cracking. He did it over and over, and Sam could do absolutely nothing but stare, equally horrified and drawn to the scene. It was a raw pain that radiated out of Dean and brought his fist against the wall. The bricks turned bloody just as did his hand, and Dean didn't care, continuing in this insanity.
Sam couldn't watch. He turned his head away, afraid to witness more, panting, blood rushing to his ears like Dean's rushed to the wounds on his hand. He saw Castiel, his eyes widened, sheer dread deadening the blue of his eyes. He saw Benny, features stoic, expression closed off so no one would see the true pain for his friend hidden beneath. Two opposites, good and evil, two spectators of Dean's heartbreaking state, and Sam couldn't, couldn't become the third one. It was too much.
All the while, the one important sentence circled his mind. Dean would have abandoned them. He didn't care about Sam, about Dad. Damn, he didn't care about Bobby. He had been willing to throw his life away, not looking back.
The thought made Sam angry—the feeling caused by fear, mingling with it so every difference vanished until there was none, until anger and fear became one.
Then he heard the most wrecking sob escaping Dean's mouth. It brought him involuntarily back to his brother. It couldn't have not. Dean was crying; so much that his body shook violently with the devastated sounds. He stopped punishing the bricks and slid down the wall, getting to his knees. The loud music seemed to withdraw, giving room to the keening sounds, every one of them killing Sam just a bit more. The bloody hand rested against the ground, leaving small red smears in its trail.
Sam thought to all times Dean had cried in front of him. He remembered none. His brother had always acted so strong, his firmly built façade unwavering. When Dean broke down, he did so inside, where no one could see. It was a matter of pride, the damn fucking pride.
And now, here he was, crying his pain out, thinking he was safely hidden in the shadows. He looked so fragile, vulnerable, like he could break under a simple touch. Sam wasn't used to this side of Dean. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for this sight, for the ache of his heart. None of John Winchester's sacred rules could have taught him how to deal.
"Is this—" His voice came out raspy. He tried again. "Is this real?" He sounded like a child, he was well aware of it. And he didn't care.
Sam didn't turn his head either, letting the question hang in the air. He wasn't sure he even wanted to hear the answer, because… what if this was real? What would happen next? How could he look Dean in the eye ever again and not see this?
As predicted, nor Cas nor Benny answered.
Dean took a shuddering breath, attempting to calm down. Sam inhaled together with him, synchronizing the rise and fall of their chests. It was the only connection he was able to establish with his brother. Dean's face streamed with wetness as he lied down onto the filthy ground, his eyes dull despite the previous events, exhausted, his arms spread out.
Sam reached out desperately. He wanted to touch his brother's body, resignation written all over his beautiful face. And his brother was beautiful. Sam had only never really paid attention to it. Now though, in this moment when the time seemed to stop, waiting patiently for the humans' next moves, it couldn't be ignored. Dean's eyes shone in the dark, submitting to his fate, the stars reflecting in his eyes, creating a depth Sam could drown in. It was breathtaking.
Sam's fingers found Dean's, resting only millimeters away, and Sam was sure he could feel the electric jolts linking the almost non-existent distance between them. It was surreal.
Dean started singing; small, broken sounds that grew stronger with each syllable but never reached more than a whispering level, like he was afraid of a stranger overhearing the tones of his personal darkness. Sam's hands rooted to the ground. They pressed against the coldness, the roughness of the cement beneath even though they shouldn't be able to, the weight of his brother's pain coming to crush down, making Sam conscious of his body and of things that weren't truly there.
It helped a bit but it wasn't enough.
He wanted to dig his fingers into his legs. He'd felt the denim, he would surely feel the pain as well, and it would balance Dean's. However, it wouldn't be fair to his brother. It'd lead Sam's thoughts away from Dean to concentrate on the physical hurting, and Sam had to focus his whole being on Dean, now. He wouldn't allow any detail to pass him.
The song Dean was whispering was slow, its style nothing like his brother listened to, and Dean went through the words with an alien softness, articulating carefully, not hurrying, making it last. It was important and personal, and Sam craved to know the origins of Dean learning these words.
In the shadow of the moon,
She danced in the starlight.
Dean had always possessed a nice voice, and when he'd sometimes forgotten himself, Sam noticed the flawless and quality. Then, it had been caused by Dean's good moods. Now, it was driven by pure fundamental emotions, and it was mesmerizing though crashing with its sadness. It was so horribly beautiful. Sam wanted to sink down next to Dean and not ever leave his brother's side.
He tuned out the words and simply listened to the soft voice. Neither Benny nor Castiel said anything, had to be doing the same as Sam. It was fascinating how they stopped fighting for a moment just to participate and offer their grief together with Sam. He would have laughed at the absurdity, but he then heard the next verse and choked on it, his heart breaking just a bit more.
Feeling lonely, feeling sad,
She cried in the moonlight.
Dean's voice stayed low and slow, telling a secret no one else should listen to. He continued singing, tears running down his temples to the spiked hair. Eyes remained wide, innocent, gazing at the star-scattered night sky. Sam felt wetness on his own face and he wiped it off angrily. Here wasn't the place to break down, now wasn't the time. He should have been here when Dean needed him the most. He should have taken care of his brother. He should have done lots of things much, much differently.
Feel no sorrow, feel no pain,
Feel no hurt, there's nothing gained…
Only love will then remain—
Dean stopped abruptly, bringing them yet again from another trance. He frowned at the night. It was the same gesture he'd done before he took out the damn revolver. It meant Dean had remembered—was about to do—something vital, and Sam prayed it was nothing bad this time. He wouldn't be able to see more of his brother's pain.
Dean grabbed his cellphone from a pocket and speed-dialed a number. From his position, Sam could see it saved under number one. That had to be Dad.
A wave of indescribable relief washed over him. Sam had often disagreed with the man but he couldn't deny that their father was a man of action. He would know what to do with Dean. He would help… unlike Sam, who was doing whatever the hell was so damn more important than being here with his big brother... big… looking so small now.
Sam bent down so he'd hear the conversation. Dean waited as the phone beeped several times, licking his lips nervously, before a voice spoke up on the other end of the line with a hint of a surprise, "D?"
It wasn't Dad's voice, although it was male. Sam cast a questioning look toward Castiel, because frankly, there was no one else besides Benny he could make eye contact with, and he needed a reassurance that everything was going to be alright. That when they somehow got back, Dean would be there, smiling like the big dumbass he could sometimes be, telling them this was all just a sick joke.
But Castiel didn't return his look, watching Dean from his standing, stiff position the whole time; sadness, anger and even the same kind of guilt eating at Sam for not being here with Dean mingling across his face. The turmoil was evident on the angel's otherwise unreadable features and was hard to look at.
Dean's uncertain voice shoved him into the moment. "Yeah… hey, listen…" Another lick on his lips… a nervous and unconscious motion. "Can I, uh, come over?"
It was followed by a stretched silence, then, "What the fuck have you done?"
Dean gulped, lashes fluttering over his eyes. "N'thing, just the usual… He, he left, y'know. You were right when you told me I would… that it would…"
The usual? Who left? Who was the stranger Dean was spilling his heart to? Sam leaned closer. He needed to hear everything, was desperate for it. Why would his brother act like this? Why would he try to end his own damn life?
Only the ground underneath his fingertips started melting, vanishing. The darkness grew thicker, encircling them all, and then came the tug, the cruel pull taking him away from his brother. "No, no, no…" he pleaded with whoever would listen. He needed to know more, he needed to know everything there was to know. But the pull didn't ease. It grew stronger and began chewing him, making him smaller and smaller till there was nothing of him.
When he could breathe again, everything around him exploded. He smelled real fresh air, now being able to point out the tiny difference. There was a solid ground under his boots.
Sam opened his eyes. They were at the previous alley, the same place from which the witch had escaped. Dean was no longer a teenager, being his age again, lying unconscious a few feet away from them.
The guy taken hostage was gone together with the witch.
Castiel was the first to jump into action, getting to Dean in one fast move that couldn't have been human. Benny followed tightly, kneeling down next to Dean, checking for his pulse. "He's breathing," the vampire rasped. His voice sounded like he hadn't used it in years.
Sam watched it all like in a dream, where everything was hazy and not making any sense. He stood there, unable to move, his mind still processing the events and what they had seen, failing. It had been too horrific to be a truth, but at the same time it had felt too realistic to be a lie.
Benny looked around, checking if the witch was truly gone. "We should take him to the motel. It's not safe out here." He made a move to gather Dean in his arms and carry him but Castiel's power shoved him ferociously back.
"Don't touch him," the angel warned in a barely controlled tone. Benny merely held his hands up in a response, like he was used to this kind of treatment, and watched as Cas lifted Dean effortlessly up. Placing one arm around his back and the other under the knees, he brought him up like a newly-wed getting carried over the threshold.
Castiel cocked his head slightly, as if listening to something, then told them, "A motel Green Lantern is three streets over from here, pay for room number 29. It's vacant." A rustle of wings followed and just like that, he was gone together with Dean.
Sam stared at the empty space where the angel had been just seconds ago, his brain going into overdrive. Everything that had happened… Dean… the revolver… the strange guy on the telephone… Castiel's gentle hands on his brother…
Benny smacked him on the shoulder, squeezing softly, quickly, like he was trying to reassure him that everything was going to be fine but didn't quite know how to do so; didn't quite know he believed it himself.
"Come on, chief. We need to get going."
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