Surviving Is Just Step One
Author: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.
Author's note: Ok, so I should be wrapping this tale up….bbbbbbuuuuutttt…I had a few things I decided to throw into the mix so I've added a few more chapters to the story. Hope you're not all groaning and throwing tomatoes at me!
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Chapter 18: What Comes Next
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Rule # 18: More times than not, what comes next, is way worse than anything that's come before.
SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS
"Hope me being here's OK. I just wanted to make sure Dean was alright," Zeke nervously opens with, his eyes moving from Dean's battered form in the hospital bed to the standing statue that is Sam, all the while wholly uncertain of his welcome.
For his part, Dean looks at Zeke speechless, because yeah, in their line of work, sometimes dead didn't stay dead or mean dead…but Zeke showing up …alive, seemingly not supernaturally reanimated, it is encroaching on miracle territory. Suddenly he shoots Sam a look, hoping his brother's unrivaled ability to make logical leaps for the unexpected is kicking in, can make sense of Zeke's survival. But he finds that Sam's radiating shock worse than his.
Utterly astonished at Zeke's appearance, it's taking Sam a few minutes before he can start to process it, to come up with scenarios of how it is that Zeke's not dead. And then there's a spring of hope, hope that Zeke isn't the only survivor, until Sam remembers the clinical descriptions of the corpses found at the Wendigo lair: woman, man with military tattoos, remains of a man with blond hair, four backpacks, all fresh kills.
No, they were only granted one miracle. 'Two,' Sam firmly corrects himself, because Dean's survival, that is a miracle in itself, he knows that. Honestly, it was the only one he needed. But Zeke, here, alive, it is an unexpected gift, not just because it is one less person he got killed but because it will assuage some of Dean's self-assigned and unwarranted guilt. And that matters more to Sam than lessening his own culpability.
Zeke takes encouragement in the fact that Dean doesn't instantly tell him to get out and Sam's not charging at him, about to physically throw him out of the room, isn't even rushing to block his path to Dean. With his heart rate tacking down, he can give in to the welling relief at just the sight of an alive Dean. "You look better than the last time I saw you, thank God," he assesses because, as pale as Dean is now, it's not the bone whiteness he had sported in the woods, and the younger man's lost the look in his eyes that Zeke had witnessed too many times in the eyes of his fellow soldiers: the grim realization that they weren't going to make it, weren't going home, ever again.
With Sam seemingly not ready to question Zeke's bewildering survival and Dean not up to playing the disturbingly familiar round of 'you're supposed to be dead', Dean instead simply reacts to Zeke's statement. "Considering how bad I probably look now, that's not saying much," he wisecracks back, giving a smirk, neither tactic up to the job of disguising the fatigue in his voice or the frailty of his body.
But Zeke smiles all the same because the scene before him is more than he had let himself hope. He had coached himself all the way there that Dean might not have made it, that he would have to deal with the guilt of having had a hand in that. In letting the younger man die. "Maybe it's not, still's supposed to be a compliment."
Zeke's smile, it's like a punch to Sam's gut, tells Sam that the man doesn't know his friends are all dead, that it's on him to give Zeke that bad news. And he honestly doesn't know how Zeke will react, had never quite figured out the strength of the bond between Zeke and the others. 'You never know how much someone really means to you until they are gone.' He knew that better than anyone: Jessica, his Dad, but Dean was the worst of them all because Sam had thought he already knew how much Dean meant to him, what it felt like to lose him, but each time Dean slipped away from him, he learned it all over again, worse than before. Like Dean had burrowed even deeper into his soul each time he came back, took more of Sammy when he left leaving Sam little to survive on.
Shaking his head, banishing his thoughts to another moment, Sam knows that if he doesn't step up to the plate and do it soon, Dean will take it upon himself to tell Zeke about his friends. And that isn't Dean's place. 'It's mine. And I'm not going to let Zeke place any blame on Dean.'
"Zeke, hey, let's talk outside," he abruptly announces, starting for Zeke, wants Zeke away from Dean when the other man hears the news, not willing to take the chance that Zeke will direct some of his condemnation and possible rage at his wounded brother.
Instantly catching onto his brother's intentions, Dean commands, "No, Sam, do it here," because what happened out there is on him as much as it is Sam and he isn't going to let Sam spin some tale that assigned himself all the blame. But Sam doesn't look his way, is reaching out, latching onto Zeke's arm like he's going to drag the man from the room. Cursing, Dean growls, "Sam, no!" even as he painfully rolls to his side, pushes the sheets down with a shaky hand and starts to lever himself up on his elbow, ready to follow Sam out the door if he has to.
Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Sam nearly flings Zeke's arm from his grasp as he stalks to his brother's side. "Hey, hey, no, Dean!" he cautions as his two hands latch onto Dean, not sure if he's preventing Dean from getting up or toppling out of bed. Has a sneaky suspicion his reaction was all part of Dean's plan when his brother's hand grabs a handful of his shirt front like he's never going to let go.
"We do it together, Sam," Dean insists, hopes that Sam can't tell that he's powerless to force Sam to do his wishes, just blew whatever meager strength he had rolling over, just thinking about sitting up.
Reading the determination in Dean's eyes, Sam nearly sighs. 'Like you thought he was going to suddenly stop being your big brother, let you shelter him for a friggin' minute. Yeah, right.' Aloud he gently sanctions, "Alright, alright," because really, he has no other choice, doesn't trust his stubborn brother to not try and crawl out into the hallway to join their conversation. "Just lay back, Dean," he says even as he helps Dean do a guided descent back onto the mattress instead of a hard collapse. But he doesn't miss that Dean closes his eyes in pain for a moment before the green gaze is locked back onto him, pretending the weakness is only a fleeting thing. But Sam's not fooled, not even for a little bit, knows Dean's not up for whatever row this turns into.
Sam does worried like no one else Dean's ever met. Makes it a whole body reaction, from the pinched look on his face, the clenching of his jaw, the rigidness in his body, to the way his eyes go all intense. And Sam's so there now. Cursing himself for doing a crap job of hiding just how badly he's feeling, he knows Sam's two seconds away from sending Zeke out of the room and calling in a nurse.
Feeling like an interloper, Zeke shuffles on his feet, begins, "Hey, I think I should just go…."
"No!" Dean protests though Sam's blocking his view of Zeke. Hastily, he grabs Sam's wrist, stops his brother mid-motion from turning around, from probably dismissing Zeke. He waits until Sam's gaze swings back to him before he implores, "Sam," asks, with that one word, for his brother to not shut him out, to let them tell Zeke the bad news together.
Sam doesn't need Dean to say any of that out aloud, can read it all in his brother's expression, knows this is a step, a small one, to getting them back on track, of being closer to where they were when Dean got drop kicked into Purgatory. And there's no way Sam can pass it up. Giving a silent nod to Dean, he watches Dean's tension drop even as his own spikes higher. Hopes his concession to Dean's wishes doesn't end up hurting Dean in some way.
Turning back to Zeke, Sam feels dread for the pain he's about to cause the other man but, at the same time, he's throwing out a silent warning to Zeke to not direct any of his anger at Dean. 'Because if Zeke wants to blame anyone, he should blame me.' And as much as he's flooded with guilt, he can't help acknowledge that he wouldn't undo his actions, not if they led to a different outcome, to him losing Dean. And it makes it harder, to tell Zeke the truth, to find it in himself to stand there beside his alive brother and tell Zeke his friends didn't make it. But he's not doing it alone.
Shifting to his left, Sam gives Dean a clear view of the other man, knows Dean expects to be his equal in this, not his wounded, safeguarded big brother. Course Dean doesn't need to know he has no intention of letting Zeke get closer to him, will bodily remove Zeke from the room if the other man even starts to blame Dean for any of his friends' deaths.
Pulling in a steadying breath Sam somberly states, "Zeke, I'm sorry…the others, they didn't make it." Tries not to focus on the hand he had in that outcome, of telling them where to find the Wendigo, watching them leave the camp, without the flare gun, hopelessly unarmed for what they were about to come up against.
Shock crests over Zeke, has him stammering in confusion, "Didn't make…." before he understands Sam's statement. Then coldness seeps into his bones, freezes his blood. Dead. Mac, Ivan and Vickie…all dead.
Body humming with energy, Sam isn't sure if Zeke will come up swinging or cursing, is braced to be the object of Zeke's hatred. But he's also started to coach himself to not totally lose it if Zeke's accusations start to land on Dean, because knowing Dean, if he goes all Rambo on Zeke in the room, his seriously wounded idiot brother would be foolish enough to try and get in the middle of them to break up their fight. No, if he and Zeke got into it, it would have to be away from Dean. Hence the bodily-removing-Zeke-from-the-room plan.
Watching the realization wash over Zeke that his friends were dead, Dean feels his stomach drop. He knew, only too well, about losing people he cared about, of having little warning that that was coming. Can sympathize with what Zeke is feeling right then. But when Zeke's eyes glaze over the next moment, Dean remembers that Zeke had been a soldier, understood the uncertainty of life, especially when you put yourself in harm's way. Like his friends had.
His voice hoarse, Zeke asks, "The Wendigo?" fighting, all the while, to accept the horrible truth.
Sam gives a non-verbal nod before he forces out the explanation, "I sent some people out to the cabin to stop the Wendigo. They were too late to save Mac and the others."
Zeke shakes his head, not in denial of Sam's news but anguish. "I knew that thing….it wasn't like any animal…was mostly human, but …evil. I shoulda …" he breaks off, knows not to go down that dark path of could-have-beens. It only leads to him doing another round of Russian roulette and he had played that game once and won, didn't think his odds were good for another try.
It's Dean who speaks in the void. "You weren't with them at the Wendigo lair?" his voice pitched without judgment, only wonder. Because the last thing he remembers is Zeke heading off into the woods along with the others, promising to come back at first light and help Sam get him to the ranger's station.
But Zeke's eyes don't go to Dean but hold Sam's gaze, like he needs Sam to assess the truthfulness of his next words. "I told Mac I couldn't do it, that he could ruin my company, sue me…but I wasn't going to sentence a good man to die."
Sam's attention, however, isn't drawn to Zeke but instead to Dean. He watches as his brother's eyebrows rise in surprise at Zeke's 'good man' label. 'Yes, stupid, he means you!' he silently and affectionately directs to Dean before he contemplates Zeke a moment, puts the pieces together. "You turned around, came back to help Dean," appreciativeness in his tone and warm regard in his eyes as they hold the other man's gaze. But there is another emotion he offers to Zeke, regret for what Zeke's altruistic action cost him: maybe the small chance to save his friends.
Zeke runs a hand through his hair, sighs and nods his head. "Yeah, but you were gone by the time I got back to our camp. I was losing light so I bedded down in the other camp, the one with the protection wards. I got up at dawn, thinking I would meet up with you on the trail. But well, I didn't. When I got to the ranger's station, they said you had called in doing the night with your GPS location and search and rescue took you to the nearest trauma unit. It took them a few days before they arranged a ride for me and then I …well, here I am," Zeke finishes, looks spent suddenly, like everything is catching up with him.
But Dean heard something in Zeke's tale that Sam hadn't mentioned. Turning to his brother, he dubiously asks, "You got cell reception out there?"
Still putting together that Zeke didn't make the mysterious distress call, Sam deflects Dean's question with a "I'll tell you about it later." Dean's scowl informs him that his brother will pounce on him for an explanation as soon as Zeke's out the door.
Returning his focus to Zeke, Sam sadly offers, "Zeke, I am sorry about your friends," and he is, sorry that it came down to their lives or Dean's. "If I …if things…." But he can't lie outright, can't say he did everything in his power to save them, that he didn't put their downfall into motion, that, if he had to do it all over again, he would make another choice.
"I should have turned you guys around as soon as we met you on the trail," Dean remorsefully proclaims. "If I had…."
Sam opens his mouth to discount Dean's guilt but it's Zeke who speaks first. "We wouldn't have listened, Dean. We were all so set to make history. To make it into the big time. If seeing that thing up close and personal, watching that second one attack you didn't scare us into having some common sense…nothing you said or did was going to make a difference. We made our choice…" Zeke wretchedly states.
But Sam knows it was more than that, than them choosing to go after the Wendigo. The others had coldheartedly abandoned Dean to die and Sam finds, dead or not, he isn't ready to forgive them that. His voice carries an edge of judgment as he condemns, "And Mac, Ivan and Vicki, they made another choice, chose to not help me get Dean to help. If they had, they would still be alive."
"Sam," Dean warns, doesn't want bad blood between Zeke and Sam over him.
"No, he's right," Zeke agrees. "They…we…we left. Just stupid luck that I turned around….wasn't another meal for the Wendigo."
"Not luck. You came back to help Dean," Sam corrects, then he steps forward, holds out his hand to Zeke. "Thank you for that." And Zeke shakes his hand, even as he protests, "Not like I actually helped and yet I still got to live." He gives a bitter snort. "Guess even pathetic, half- hearted good intentions get rewarded sometimes."
Then Zeke's turning around, heading for the door, wants to put this all behind him. But he can't do it, can't run away, pretend this was all some nightmare he can write off…should write off. So he stops at the doorway and turns back to look at the brothers. "Not like I'm going to go looking for them, but there are other things like Wendigos in the world, aren't there?"
"Ah, yeah," Sam answers, sees Zeke nod and then the man looks to Dean and Sam can't help but tense up, ready to intervene if the man said anything he doesn't approve of to his brother.
Suddenly Zeke wants to repay Dean and Sam for what they did for him, tried to do for Mac, Ivan and Vicki. Knows enough about the two men to know that if he could help Dean in some small way, that would be payment enough for Sam. "Dean, I don't know what you've been through," he starts, notes that Dean's eyes darken and start to shut him out even as Sam shifts on his feet, ready to intervene if he makes a misstep in his good intentions. It makes Zeke choose his next words carefully, " …but I do know about getting home and finding out it might not have changed all that much but I have. And it's…." he shakes his head, can't put into words how it felt to get what he longed for and be ….almost disappointed in it. "…I'm not gonna lie to you, it messes you up for a good long while because part of you is back in that danger and part of you is here, trying to fit into your own life." Can see in Dean's expression that the younger man knows exactly what he's talking about, that their war experiences might have varied but their homecomings weren't so different. "And I'm no expert, not by a long shot, but I do know what got me through it was the people in my life. Just like the thought of seeing those people again got me through every day in Vietnam. Were the other vets who'd been through what I had, were the people I found I could open up to, people who could bear to hear how bad it was. So as much as it hurt to dredge all that up, it was better than swallowing it down, carrying that weight all on my own. And you, you've got someone willing to listen," he says, jerking his chin to Sam.
But Sam pales at that, remembers Dean saying he didn't tell him about Purgatory because he didn't ask. And he hadn't, couldn't. Was too guilt ridden and sick to know the awful truth of where he had stranded his brother for a friggin' year. And he can't look at Dean now, can't bear to see Dean's angry hurt again, expected Dean to tell Zeke how wrong he is about him, about having someone he can talk to, count on.
"I know," Dean hoarsely concedes, knows that Sam had been asking for details about Purgatory from day one and he had shut him down each time. Had given vague, short answers, if he gave any at all. Hurt and fear and shame had all tangled together inside him, making it nearly impossible to open up, to trust Sam. And even now, he can't commit to dropping his barriers, can't even look at Sam right then. Not when Sam probably thinks he's about to take Zeke's advice and start spilling his guts, share Purgatory stories around the campfire.
Though Sam's head had snapped to Dean at his brother's unexpected agreement with Zeke, Sam recognized the look on his brother's face, knew that, yes, Dean knew he was now up to hearing about Purgatory but Dean had no intentions of truly opening up to him. Silently Sam curses and swallows down the lump in his throat. Dean might have said he forgave him for not looking for him, for being a royal, insensitive jerk since his return but that didn't mean Dean trusted him, would ever trust him like he had. Would ever really talk to him about Purgatory, let him help him adjust to being back, being with him.
Watching the distressing interaction between the two men, Zeke isn't sure how he managed it, but he seemed to have made things worse between them. 'Crap, you're no counselor, had no right to go shooting off your mouth, screwing up whatever peace that they had managed to make between them.' "Whoa, guys, what I just said….I didn't mean…."
"It's Ok," Sam pardons with a small fake smile, knows that it's not Zeke's words but his own past words, his own actions that stand between him and Dean. That might always stand between them. "I'll walk you out," he announces, doesn't want Zeke to say anything else to Dean, doesn't want the other man to tell Dean again to confide in him, wants to talk to Dean alone, to start to make some small headway into being the person Dean can count on again, can trust to have his back, that his brother can tell anything to and be confident that he'll listen, will understand, won't pass judgment.
Dean gives a small tight smile and nods goodbye to Zeke as Sam practically ushers the man out of the room, then he sinks heavily back into his bed. Zeke made it sound so simple. Latch onto the people he cared about and spill his guts. Except it wasn't that simple. Not for him, not for them. Because every time he latched onto someone to save himself…he pulled them under. And spilling his guts, when had that ever ended well? When had that not ended with Sam wearing that anguished guilty look like Sam thought he was somehow personally responsible for the crap Dean went through? And then there was that trust issue again. Yeah, he trusted Sam to not let him be Wendigo chow but trust Sam to not bail on him if Amelia called him up looking to rekindle their relationship, or if Sam's college application got accepted or when some happily ever after chance reared its head, would Sam stay then? Could he ask him to?! He knew he shouldn't even want Sam to stay.
And that was the worst of it. Wanting Sam to stay with him, to live this crappy life at his side…its nearly as bad, as selfish as the times he had wanted Sam with him in Purgatory.
SNSNSNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSN
"Sam, I'm sorry if I crossed the line back there," Zeke apologizes as the two man flank the hospital hallway.
"No, you're fine," Sam dismisses but he's stalking ahead, wants to shove Zeke into an elevator and get back to Dean.
But Zeke corners him by the bank of elevators, reaches out, snags his arm as he punches the down button and gets into his personal space. "It's going to take time, Sam."
"I know," Sam briskly agrees, wanting to head Zeke's pep talk off at the pass.
"I didn't just break out the war stories around the dinner table," Zeke stubbornly continues, needs Sam to see what's ahead of him is a marathon not a sprint. "I had to have faith that …that I wouldn't scar my family, my friends with the crap I'd seen and done. That they wouldn't look at me differently, love me less for having been afraid…for taking lives."
Bitterly, Sam shakes his head. Then his glimmering eyes meet Zeke's. "It's not what Dean did that's standing between us, it's what I did….didn't do when he was gone and I…I can't take it back. I could have…should have gotten him out of there and I…." Sam breaks off, has to before his voice totally shreds apart on him. Looking away from Zeke, he pulls his arm from Zeke's grip and steps back, needs space, feels like there is a fissure inside of him that has been expanding every second he doesn't make things right with Dean.
Zeke, however, understands regret and failure of that magnitude too, had watched friends die and cursed himself for not coming to their rescue in Vietnam, feels that same way again today with the new losses laid at his feet. "We don't get to erase our mistakes, get back the people we failed to save. It's too late for me to save Ivan and the others."
Sam's eyes snap back to Zeke at the man's pained statement about his friends. Reminds him that Zeke is hurting right now, knows the guilt of failing someone he loves. "I'm sorry, Zeke. I shouldn't have…."
But Zeke gently cuts him off, "Sam, my point is, you can still save Dean."
Sam feels the blood leave his face at Zeke's insight into his brother, at the other man's belief that Dean is still at risk, still needs saving, still needs him to save him. And though Sam had vowed to accomplish that very thing, it is one thing for him to think it, quite another for Zeke to bluntly declare Dean broken and assign him the task of saving Dean. It's almost more than he can deal with.
"There's a whole lot more going on with him than physical trauma and I know you know that." Sam's worried pallor tells Zeke he doesn't need to explain further. "He needs someone to talk to or he's not going to get past this." When Sam's jaw clenches and the younger man looks away from him, it's a clear indication that talking isn't a strong point between the brothers right then.
"Course that someone doesn't have to be you, Sam. Alright? Can be someone else," Zeke amends, giving Sam an out, watches as the taller man nods his understanding but doesn't meet his eyes. "But, for what it's worth, I think it would be best, for the both of you, if that someone was you." And he almost feels like smirking when Sam's startled gaze flies to him. "Because, the way I see it, he's not the only one needing to be saved."
At that opportune moment, the elevator doors open and Zeke steps inside, gives a "Good luck Sam," and then the elevator whisks him out of the lives of the Winchesters.
Sam doesn't move, stands there coming to terms with the truth that Zeke isn't wrong. That, as much as Dean's miraculous return from Purgatory had salvaged the fragment pieces of his heart and soul, more than any future he could have had with Amelia ever could, he still doesn't feel whole. That he still feels in jeopardy of shattering apart, knows deep down that he won't truly be saved until he and Dean patch things up between them, until he is certain Dean can get past all that Purgatory scored into his soul.
And that meant he and Dean had to talk, really talk. About Purgatory, about how messed up and lost he had been when Dean had been gone, about how to cope with Dean's PTS, about everything that stood between them.
But the prospect of doing that, it terrifies Sam.
Because there is no guarantee, when all the talking was done, that everything would be OK between him and Dean. Knows that there is even a chance it could instead prove that there is no road back to the brotherhood they had once shared. And Sam doesn't know how to face that possible outcome.
So with a glance down the hallway that leads to Dean's room, he cowardly slips into the empty elevator before the doors closed. Just needs some time to fortify his walls, to rehearse his speech, to be prepared to defend the value of their brotherhood with his last breath.
SNSNSNSNSNS ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSNSN
Some would swear that being sheltered in the arms of an angel of the Lord should feel like safety personified but what Dean felt most….. was humiliation. And he would have shoved himself away from Cas's hold …if his arms worked, if his legs worked, if he could do more than talk and blink his eyes.
Even so, he had had enough of being pathetically dependent on the angel to remain upright, was about to order Cas to cease and desist with the bear hug and just prop his disloyally uncooperative body against a tree. Didn't care that he wouldn't even be able to hold his head up, would sit there like a friggin' discarded puppet. But at least it wouldn't bring back memories of that time when he was ten years old and his Dad held him after he'd blacked out from taking a tumble down a steep hill, thanks to a werecat.
But he didn't get the chance to order his emancipation from his guardian angel, found more than suitable distraction when Benny lowly hissed, "I hear something coming."
And that right there was the height of bad news for the trio. Because they had never been in a worst position to entertain guests. Literally. What with Benny too weak to uncoil from his fetal position on the ground, Dean doing his paralyzed shtick, and Cas looking a little peaked after his grace letting.
Instantly, all three men fell silent, ears straining to gather more information. "'Bout 4…maybe 5," Benny quietly concluded, beginning to push himself up onto his knees. But when he made a move to gain his feet, his legs revolted, crumbled on him, left him right back in the dirt where he had started his journey.
Like the tactician his father had taunt him to be, Dean assessed his men's status, noted the terrain, plotted the escape routes and gauged the strength of the enemy. Even with the enemy sight unseen, he knew they were screwed on all fronts if they didn't scramble into action soon. Which was hilarious considering scrambling didn't seem to be on the agenda for anyone but Cas.
And if you only had one working asset, you used it to its fullest potential. "Cas, help Benny get out of sight," Dean tersely ordered. And the weakest member of your party, they got the crap jobs… "I'll play bait."
There was an immediate spike of insubordination in the ranks.
"No way! Cas, get Dean out of sight," Benny counter ordered.
"Dean," Cas began his own volley of protest but Dean's terse, "Now Cas!" removed any small hope the angel harbored that Dean would rethink his "strategy." And, like a hundred times before, Cas resolved himself to obey the order of the mere human solely out of loyalty. Well, that and the fact that Dean Winchester had the uncanny ability to navigate his way through the most dire of circumstances and dragged those he cared about right along with him. 'Like he's dragging me across the whole of Purgatory to save me, rescue me.'
"Cas, get the lead out!" Dean growled and Cas had to assume that incongruent statement implied that he should put Dean's plan into action immediately.
But it wasn't so easy for Cas to implement. It was one thing to let Dean play bait when he was feigning weakness, it was quite another when the human lay helpless in his hold, couldn't move at all, wasn't going to be faking vulnerability but was presently the embodiment of it. "Dean, I don't think…."
"Do it or we all die, Cas!" Dean bluntly predicted, felt his muscles burn as he struggled to get them to do their friggin' job, but they were on strike, were sitting this out and were making no promises to get off the picket line any time soon. So, yeah, he was definitely not going anyway.
Gritting his teeth in frustrated distaste of what he was about to do next, Cas gently levered Dean from his propped position against him. But he didn't settle his friend immediately on the ground, instead held him at arm's length, hated that, without his support, Dean's head limply dropped, that Dean couldn't even meet his eyes, reassure him that this was the only course left to them. But even he could now sense the presence of the approaching creatures. They simply didn't have time to devise a better plan.
With care, he levered Dean onto the ground, remembered to brace his friend's head so it didn't thud onto the ground and was rewarded with Dean's eye contact. He felt some measure of hope stir in him that Dean's eyes were no longer dimmed with agony but were burning with steely resolve. Because a resolute Dean was a force to be reckoned with.
"Don't show yourselves until they are all in the clearing and within a few feet of me," Dean commanded, knew that a surprise, close quarters battle had the best chance of success against an enemy blessed with superior strength and numbers. And that meant the bait had to be enticing, had to snag and hold their attention..until it was too late.
Though Cas gave a curt nod of agreement to Dean's instructions, the angel had no intention of letting anything draw close enough to Dean to even touch him, not in the wholly vulnerable state his friend was in. Giving Dean's shoulder a squeeze like he had seen Sam do a number of times, he committed himself to leaving Dean, stood up to start that process. And instantly swayed on his feet.
"Cas?" Dean worriedly called out when the angel stumbled.
Locking his knees, Cas fortified his stance and looked down at Dean with chagrin. "I think expelling some of my grace has weakened me."
On the ground a few feet away, Benny sardonically muttered, "More bad news. Why doesn't that shock me," as he struggled again to rise, achieved it, just barely. Neither Dean nor the angel remarked aloud that a light wind would probably topple the vampire right over.
Accepting that Dean hadn't been wrong when he thought the vampire in need of assistance, Cas headed for Benny. Though he didn't deem it helpful to note to his companions that his own motor skills were slightly compromised, it did make the trek across the small distance take longer than it should. Calculated that, had he been ten seconds quicker in reaching Benny's side, he and the vampire could have been hidden before the five humanoids sighted them and hastened their pace through the trees.
Their visitors looked human but Dean knew that only he was the genuine article in Purgatory. Though there were no obvious clues like fangs, claws, or peeling skin, there were subtle ones: the caked dirt they were sporting on their clothing and hair, that they reeked of the perfume of Purgatory: blood. And then there was the blood staining their chins and lips that didn't seem to be theirs. 'Ghouls,' Dean surmised with revulsion, had come to hate the grave robbers after the whole Adam thing, then there had been his own close call with their kind, thanks to Samuel. So, yeah, running into them on a good day sucked. 'And today's definitely not a good day.' Because being on the ground like a buffet all laid out for them, so not the message he wanted to send, made him try again to get his body to do his bidding, all without one ounce of triumph.
Not sure what they were up against but knowing there was no such thing as a happy pickup game of anything here,Cas and Benny closed in ranks until they were shoulder to shoulder, aiming to create an indomitable barrier between the monsters and Dean. Then they waited for their five opponents to make their move.
Though the ghouls came to a stop a few yards away, there was a hungry look in their eyes that heightened when they smelled something rare and unexpected in the sour air. With a smile that showed rotting teeth, the oldest man in the group of three men and two woman spoke, "Look children, we won't even have to run our food to ground today." Then the paternal ghoul stepped to his left, noted that the strange being in the trench coat mirrored his actions, was trying to deny him access to the treat that was lying on the ground a few feet from where he was. "But I have dibs on him," he announced, pointing to the motionless human, felt his mouth already salivating at the prospect of gorging himself on human organs.
Cas opened his mouth to refute the monster's belief that he would be allowed to harm Dean, but didn't get a chance to utter a word before he found the five creatures charging forward, wielding branches, crude knives and displaying little to no strategy. But he soon learned that, what they lacked in planning, they made up for in savagery, didn't hold back from biting, scratching, kicking, to wage their attack.
A useless spectator, Dean could only watch as three ghouls teamed up against Cas while the other two sighted their unwanted attention on Benny. He growled in frustrated rage as he saw Benny's opponents duck under the arc of his friend's knife and tackle the vampire to the ground even as Cas wielded a branch to keep his group at bay but wasn't quick enough to avoid the slash of a knife that tore through the shoulder of his jacket and the shirt underneath.
Pissed to find himself once again exiled to the ground that he just managed to crawl from minutes before, Benny dug his claws into the man's chest and held the woman's wrist, forestalling the downward plunge of the branch she held. But he let out a vampiric cry of pain as a knife scored across his chest, courtesy of the male monster. But he instantly retaliated, sank his fangs deep into one of his opponent's closest limb, which turned out to be the woman's arm. She let out a scream and, with the instincts of a wounded animal, tried to pull her arm free, no matter the consequences. Her fellow ghoul retreated back only far enough to free himself of the vampire's claws that impaled into his chest then he dodged forward, delivered a vicious punch to Benny's cheek, causing the vampire to lose his grip on the prize snared between his teeth. Then other blows rained down on him from both his opponents, kicks, punches to his torso, and a powerful, jaw bruising blow that left him dazed and his lip bleeding.
The angel wasn't faring much better. Though he managed to raise his branch in time to block the female ghoul's downward arc of her own branch, he stumbled under the assault, struggled to not let the bridge of crossed branches descend on his head. Deciding to use his seeming vulnerable position to his advantage, he slipped under the bridge of clashing branches and sent a kick into the second ghoul's chest, sending him toppling backwards. Ripping his branch free, he swung right, hoping to deflect the assault he sensed was coming from the leader of the group. But even as he spun around, he knew he was moving too slowly, was too spent, that his weakness was about to have dire consequences, not only for him but for Dean as well.
The red hot agony that burst from his side confirmed his worst suspicions. Numbly, he looked down to the knife blade buried in his side up to its hilt. Moaned as the ghoul yanking it free of his side as viciously as he had sank it into his flesh. Knew the answer to the question he had wondered at all this time: he was not impervious to harm here, and not just from Leviathans.
"Nnnnoooo!" Dean shouted as he helplessly watched the head ghoul plunge his knife into Cas' side. Had no delusions that the angel was invulnerable to the blade, not when he could read the agony on his friend's features even from this distance. Then, to his horror, Cas collapsed to his knees, blood already marring the once immaculate trench coat.
Eyes darting to track Benny's plight, Dean saw that the vampire was fighting fang and claws to deny the ghouls their treat. But he didn't have the strength to throw them off of him, could not hope to beat them, weak as he was.
With sick clarity, Dean knew his friends were about to die in front of him, because of him, because he had had his head up his butt thinking about the portal, about getting back to Sam, had walked into a friggin' caterpillar trap. Which had led to Benny getting dosed with paralyzing venom and Cas being forced to piss away some of his grace, all to save his worthless life. And now their loyalty to him, it was about to cost them everything.
It just reinforced what Dean feared all along. That even in a land of monsters, he was a desecration, would only bring death to those around him.
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TBC
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Thanks for everyone still reading this chapter after the month long wait and for all the encouragement I've gotten from your so generous reviews to keep the story moving forward. And Ok, I couldn't pass on taking a last opportunity to put the Purgatory gang into jeopardy. (I'm such a bad girl!)
Have a great day!
Cheryl W.
