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.
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Chapter 20: Being Alone
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Rule # 20: The only thing worse than being defenseless is being alone.
SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS
Being alone sucked. It's not a new revelation to Dean but it's still as true as the first time he discovered it.
It feels even more painfully accurate when he realizes that he can't get his shoes on, well, not unless he wants to do a swan dive off the bed. That he can't even slip his feet into the shoes, not when trying that seemingly uncomplicated move spikes pain throughout his whole nervous system.
So shoeless is the way things are gonna go down.
And he's already sweated through his button down shirt just expending the energy to get on said shirt and his jeans. Drolly he thinks how his keen sense of fashion is really taking a hit. Then he slips off the bed, comes to a stand. Instantly the room spins and he's afraid that he's going to add puke to his wardrobe's faux pas. Slamming his eyes closed, he wills his stomach to play nice, even as he sways on his feet, appreciates when a shuffle back has his legs bumping into the bed, gives him an anchor in the darkness, not to mention a landing place other than the floor. Because collapsing, it seems probable.
'I can do this,' goes on repeat in his head, more desperation than determination in the vow. 'I have to do this' because there's a chance that Sam might actually circle back to him. And even if he doesn't, the doctor's already had a "colleague" chat with him, a colleague with a psychiatric degree. So it won't be that long before they sign him over to the wacko ward for "observation" for PTSD.
Yeah, not happening.
So getting gone is the only option left to him.
If he can manage to not pass out.
Rubbing a trembling hand over his forehead to swipe away the gathered sweat is his preemptive move. Then he gathers his fortitude, marshals his strength, what there is of it, and executes the plan. First step of that is opening his eyes, second, not puking and third, though it shouldn't pain him as much as it does, he abandons his favorite shoes, ok, his only shoes. Knows if he can't get the shoes on, bending over to retrieve them off the floor is just as impossible.
Another casualty of another holy cause.
'Course it wouldn't be so meaningless if he knew where this cause of his was leading. Closing the gates of Hell? Uh hun…sounds….awesome. Probably a pipe dream. Or worse, doable…if he doomed half the population, because no good deed goes unpunished. Really. He had that on good authority, his own. But he just convinces himself, whatever the cost to himself, he will do it. Will do the right thing to pay penance for all the wrong things he had done, for all the wrong things that had gone down without his say so, for all the people he had gotten killed.
But he isn't seeking forgiveness for the people or the monsters he had wasted. No, it had been his choice to take a life, each and every time. There shouldn't be any penance able to wipe his slate clean of those sins.
Mac had maybe said it best: "You pretend the kill is about protecting others but it's just about the violence. You like ending the life of a living being."
Course Gordon had put in his two cents about him: "We understand that…sometimes…to kill the monster you have to become the monster."
And he hadn't even denied his monster status to Gordon, had instead embraced it. "Oh I'm already way beyond the monster stage, Gordon. Redemption isn't in the cards, not for me…"
He wasn't even fooling Kevin who had concluded that people he doesn't need any more end up dead.
But what Sam thought of him before he even knew much about his actions in Purgatory, that told him everything he didn't want to hear: 'Maybe you don't need me. Maybe you're at your best hacking and slicing through the world's crap alone, not having to explain yourself to anybody.'
If your own brother, in his heart of hearts, really wanted nothing to do with you, thought it best if no one was around you, that all you were capable of was handing out death?! Then what good is it to deny that he isn't getting exactly what he deserves, to be utterly alone.
With angry despondency, Dean curses and takes his first step forward then the next and the next. Does it because, for whatever reason, he isn't dead, can still do some good to save others…even if saving himself isn't an option.
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Though he had furiously stalked to the Impala, went as far as cranking on the engine, Sam couldn't go, couldn't leave Dean. Not even for the indeterminate time it would take for him to cool down, get his temper….his hurt in check.
Slamming his hands on the steering wheel, Sam curses, closes his eyes and hangs his head, feels on the verge of a breakdown. He hadn't dragged a dying Dean through miles of forest, begged and pleaded for someone to spare his brother's life to lose Dean now. To just….give up. Accept that, their brotherhood, it wasn't salvageable, was lost…because of his actions, because he let fear, no, terror reign, pushed his brother away when all Dean wanted was to know that he was glad he wasn't dead, was back with him, that they were together.
But he hadn't done that, had done the opposite. Had told Dean in a hundred different ways that he was not only ok when he was gone, but was friggin' fantastic, had all his dreams come true. That having him back, it was cause for annoyance not jubilance. And that Dean actually thinking he was going to drop everything and be his hunting partner again, that wasn't only naïve, it was ludicrous. Because, after all, he wanted his life "to count for something." Least that's what he told Dean.
Venomously cursing, he runs a trembling hand down his face. He had done this, not Dean. He had brought this chasm between them. Then had filled it with concrete so it would stick. How could he think it could be easily dismantled, especially without him coming clean, Dean knowing the truth. That he had been running scared, ever since Dean had vanished into thin air, hadn't stopped when he and Amelia settled into a house, or even when Dean had returned. Was still waking up, breathing heavy, his brother's name tramped in his throat and feeling that piercing agony of loss, of losing someone he couldn't bear to live without.
But admitting that to Dean? No way. Would have been weakness, need, would have told Dean that leaving him wasn't what he wanted, was instead what he needed to do, for his own sanity. Because Dean, he was going to die again, it was inevitable, and he couldn't be there for that. Not again.
Suddenly there is no air in the Impala and he claws at the door, falls more than climbs out of the car and then he's on the pavement, is leaning against the car's frame. His brother's car. Thunking his head back against the Impala's back door, he wishes he wasn't such a coward. Wasn't the kind of guy who has his afternoon bus ticket and Stanford acceptance letter in hand before he announces his departure, leaves in the middle of the night, no note, no explanation. Just …goes. Is half gone before anyone knows he's leaving. Doesn't give anyone a chance to ask him to stay…part of him terrified that they won't, will do what Dean just did, replace him, tell him to get out, to go and stay gone.
But he knows now that, as hard as it is to leave, it's easier to be the one who leaves than the one rejected, to be in Dean's shoes, eleven years ago when he left for Stanford, and a year ago when he came back to an ungrateful little brother. To be told you're not good enough to hang around with, that he's got bigger and better things on his horizon, things that will make his life worth something. Instead of the nothing being with you gets him.
'How do I undo that?! What I've said, what I've done!? Saving Dean's life, that isn't enough, heck, Cas and Benny had probably done that on a daily basis in Purgatory. I need to prove myself not just as Dean's hunting partner…but as his brother.' And that's where he always seemed to fail the most. 'Yeah, Dean believing Benny's a better brother than I've ever been pretty well proves that point.'
And to say it hurt hearing that would be like saying getting your heart ripped out stung a bit. No, it had torn a hole right through his chest, made him want to walk away from Dean and never come back, abandon Dean to foolishly trust his vampire "brother" to save his butt over and over again, like he did. But instead he gave Dean an ultimatum, threated to kill Benny, but he didn't walk away from Dean, couldn't. Any more than he could now. Because Dean was his brother, not Benny's. Was his to protect, was the person who meant the most to him in the whole wide world.
Suddenly resolve blasts away his misgivings, makes his decision clear. He wouldn't allow his brother to put his trust, his life in the hands of a vampire, because, no matter how loyal Benny was, addictions had a way of overshadowing the strongest of wills, of making you do the unthinkable, of hurting people you loved. He knew that bitter truth first hand. No, he wasn't going to let Dean go with Benny, be in danger of the vampire faltering in his proclaimed abstinence of human blood. Sure, Benny might be on the wagon now, but there was no guarantee he could stay there, that he wouldn't, against everything he wanted, make Dean his first live meal.
And Sam would die first before he let that happen, would incite Dean's wrath if he had to. That was the part of being a brother no one liked to talk about, that sometimes to save your brother, you had to royally piss him off. "Yeah, like that's something new for me," he snorts, finally feeling like he can breathe again, knew the path to take.
Pushing off the ground, he climbs to his feet, circles to the back of the car and opens the trunk. He's tucking his gun in his waistband in preparation for Benny's arrival when his phone rings, inspiring hope for an easier solution.
"Dean, let's just talk…." he opens with but a familiar but wholly unexpected woman's voice interrupts him.
"Ah, no. It's Amelia. Wait, did you say Dean?"
Stunned, Sam stammers, "Amelia…hey I didn't…" before his tone shifts to concern, "You alright?" because he can't think of any good reason why she would be breaking her own decree of 'if you leave, stay gone'.
"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm fine. And you…you're OK?" Amelia inquires back, even as she's silently berating herself for letting things get awkward, for not diving right in like she had the first time she called for Sam and his friend answered.
"Yeah, I'm fine. So…." Sam let the implied question hang, didn't even know how to feel about hearing her voice again when he thought he never would.
Suspecting that Sam's friend had already clued him into what she wanted, that Sam was trying to get her to beg, her tone is terse, "You know why I'm calling you, don't you."
Feeling like he's able to be called on the carpet, Sam closes the Impala trunk and leans on it as he formulates his response. Honestly, he didn't think he would have to explain his decision to not return to her. "Look, Amelia, I didn't go to the motel," he states, in case she didn't know that, in case she wasn't there either. In case this is her regretting that decision, that missed chance.
But her voice when she speaks again is quiet, a bit strangled with emotion. "I know."
Sam's eyebrows rise at the implication of her statement, that she was there at the motel, that she came. For him. Choose him. "You were? I didn't think…I thought you would…."
"Choose Don?"
"Maybe." But part of him knew it didn't matter what she chose because he had made his own choice. Had chosen Dean.
"Well I didn't choose Don. Does that change your decision?" Amelia asks, hanging on tightly to the thin strand of hope that Sam would come back to her, that things could go back the way they were before Don's return.
Part of him knows it would make his life easier to just say yes and mean it. To go with Amelia and leave Dean, like his brother seemingly wanted him to. But easier wouldn't mean better-off. How could he be if he spent every night wondering if Dean was alive or dead, worried about who was having his brother's back on the hunts, what crazy personal sacrifice Dean was willing to make to close the gates of hell?! Where would peace…happiness for him be in that equation?! Girl, dog, white picket fence verses his brother's safety?! Regardless of what Dean thinks, there is no contest.
"Amelia, I am sorry," Sam hoarsely began because, even if Dean doubted his place is at his side, he no longer did.
There's a shaking breath from the other line on the phone before Amelia's unsteady voice comes back to him, "So we're …through. Both feet out, right?"
"Yeah," Sam confirms because no matter how crappy, painful and terrifying a life of hunting was, it was the only life he truly fit into, was worth all that if he and Dean were in in together, were brothers again.
There is a choked sob that twists Sam's heart but he doesn't recant his declaration. Won't, not even for Amelia.
Then Amelia manages, "Ok, well…I guess I was hoping he was right."
"Who was right?" Sam asks in confusion, highly doubts Amelia discussed him with Don.
"Your friend. I called earlier and he answered your phone, said you would want to hear my pathetic begging," Amelia gives a forced laugh of self-contempt.
Sam straightens his stance as cold dread slips down his spine. "Wait. You talked to my friend. He knew you called." Because that could only be Dean, meant that Dean knew she was giving him a second chance.
"Yeah but I swore him to secrecy, wanted you to not have the chance to avoid my return call. Guess he kept his promise."
"Yeah, he always does," Sam earnestly declares, half with affection and admiration and half with censor because he knows what Dean's kept promises tend to cost his brother. 'Like this one.'
He almost startles when Amelia speaks again, has nearly forgotten she is still on the line.
"Sam I….I wish you the best. And though I didn't know your brother, I'm sure he would want that for you too."
Now it's Sam's voice that is cracking with emotion. "Yeah, yeah he would." Because it's making painful sense: Dean's about face when he came back into his hospital room. It wasn't about Garth's text, well, not all of it, was about Amelia's call, was about Dean trying to make his decision for him by pushing him away, of seeking out Benny's help instead of his own. About Dean trying to do what he thought was best for him.
"Bye Sam," Amelia says and before Sam can utter his own 'bye' Amelia's ended the call, has let him go.
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Back behind the Impala's steering wheel, Sam waits for Benny's appearance, honestly doesn't know what he plans to do when the vampire shows up, only knows that he's not going to let Dean go with him.
But Benny doesn't make an appearance, Dean does.
When his brother makes his slow exit out the hospital's automatic doors, it hits Sam all over again, how broken Dean seems. 'Is,' he corrects himself because Dean's not indestructible, nearly died in his arms in that forest and he can't forget that, no matter how much Dean pushes him away, tries to prove he's able to take care of himself. Zeke was right, Dean needs him to save him, just like he needs Dean to return the favor.
It takes everything in him to not surge out of the car and go to Dean, to instead sit there and watch his brother shuffle the short distance to the curb, stand there hunched over, his face creased with pain, be terrified Dean will collapse and he won't be there to catch him. Wait, just like Dean is, for his ride to come pick him up.
But the car that pulls to a stop in front of Dean isn't Benny's beat up truck, is a yellow taxi cab. Even as Dean's stepping toward the cab, Sam is bolting from the Impala and running across the parkinglot. He's reaching for the gun at his waist when he abandons that tactic. Like it or not, Benny isn't really the enemy. Certainly isn't Dean's and Dean will not appreciate if he continues to see him as one. Didn't mean it changed his resolve to order the vampire to stay five states away from his brother.
Reaching the other side of the cab, Sam rips open the passenger door, leans in and finds himself ready to threaten…. an empty back seat.
Straightening, he looks over the roof of the cab to a chagrined Dean. "Where is he?" he demands, isn't backing down even if he has to force Dean to give up his good buddy's location.
Caught red handed, Dean chooses silence as his defense of choice and shifts nervously on his unsteady legs as Sam stalks around the cab to be toe to toe with him.
"Where's Benny, Dean?! Is he meeting you somewhere?!" Sam interrogates, knows he's yelling at his seriously wounded brother, again. Managing to inhale a steadying breath, he says with a little more reason and reduced volume but no less resolve, "Because I'm not letting you do it, Dean. I'm not letting you put your life in his hands, not again. I wasn't there in Purgatory and you had no choice, I get that. But I'm here and you're not risking your life on the hope that he can stay…" In deference to the cabbie who seems interested in their conversation, he modifies his description. "…sober."
Before Dean can defend his friend, Sam lets his fear manifest itself in his next set of words, "He falls off the wagon, just once, just for a second…." Sam shutters to think of that happening. "I'm not going to let you take that risk, Dean. I'm not. So just….call him up, tell him you're not coming. I won't go after him because….I understand Dean, what he did for you and I can even be grateful but …" Here Sam falters, wonders if what he's about to say will break what he's hoping to fix but has to get it out in the open, all of it. "I don't trust him, Dean, not with your life. I can't. So…tell him to get out of town…out of the state and stay away from you or I'll…I'll do what I have to do to keep you safe, even from him. Ok. So ….call him now, cancel your play date."
Sam's long winded, heartfelt declaration, it only serves to rack Dean's guilt higher. Eyes dropping from Sam's, he mumbles, "I don't have to call him."
But Sam takes Dean's statement as a refusal and his tone has taken on a steely, don't-mess-with-me resolve when he growls out, "You call him or I will."
Huffing out a frustrated defeated breath, Dean meets the determined glint in Sam's eyes and confesses, "He's not coming, Sam….he never was."
At first, confusion mars Sam's features until its replaced by stark understanding which ignites into righteous anger. "This was another friggin' mental game, wasn't it?! Another plot to get me out of the way."
Dean smiles, but it's bittersweet. "Sometimes you make it too easy."
Sam steps away from Dean, has to because he's not sure he won't throw a punch. Dean set him up again, got him out of the way to do what? So he could crawl off somewhere on his own, hurt like he is?!
Though Sam's royally pissed at him, Dean knows his brother won't let him walk away from him, not now. Starting to step to the cabbie to dismiss him, he isn't all that surprised when Sam is suddenly blocking his path and his brother's hands shoot out and coil restrictively onto his forearms. Eyes cheekily holding Sam's, he explains, "I was going to send the cabbie on his way, unless I'm free to go."
Releasing his grip on Dean, Sam pulls his wallet out, tosses a five at the driver with a curt, "We don't need your services." That's all the cabbie needs to put the cab in motion and leave the bickering men on the hospital stoop.
Possessively reclaiming his hold on Dean's forearm, Sam is about to tug Dean off the curb and across the parking lot when he notices something that manages to smother his fury with affectionate concern. "Ah, Dean, where are your shoes?" his gently chides, feels his heart twist at the vulnerability of a weak, barely able to stand, barefoot Dean.
"Couldn't get 'em on," Dean mumbles like a dejected six year old, his eyes skipping away from Sam's.
The confession gives Sam a jolt of stark reality, reinforces what he coached himself not to forget, that the greyness of Dean's skin and the sheen of sweat on Dean's brow telegraph to anyone not blind. That Dean is fragile, in need of gentle handling.
Easing his grip on Dean's arm, Sam is torn on his next move, says aloud, more to himself than to Dean, "You shouldn't even be out of bed, let alone out of the hospital."
"I'm fine," Dean boasts even as he's feeling cold and clammy and the parking lot's shifting under him like a ship at sea, indicators that he's about to pass out.
"Stop saying that!" Sam rails back, his grip ruthlessly tightening again on his brother's arm even as his other hand claims a matching hold on Dean's other arm and he gets into Dean's personal space.. "And stop telling me to go! I made my choice, Dean. I'm staying. Why can't you accept that!?"
Dean is feeling too awful to censor his comebacks. "Because you'll change your mind, Sam! You always do!" Almost immediately he wants to recant his words, especially when Sam flinches, pales and lets him go, pulls away. When it puts into motion the exact thing he feared in the first place. But he can't take the words back, can't even say something to make it better, not when his world's going white around the edges.
"Dean I…." Sam begins, not sure if Dean will believe his vow, or even if Dean should but before he can complete his sentence, Dean's toppling over. "Whoa!" he exclaims as he catches Dean in his arms, keeps his brother from hitting the unforgiving pavement. "Dean, hey, hey!"
Finding his unplanned for descent halted by Sam's awesome upper body strength, Dean mumbles into his brother's shirt, "Don't feel good, Sammy." Which is an understatement because he isn't sure if he's ripe to pass out, puke or keel over dead. Any could be possible with how badly he's feeling.
"I gotcha, I gotcha," Sam reassures by his brother' ear, pulling Dean tighter against him, feeling the cold dread that they were about to reenact the night in the forest with Dean dying in his arms. "I'll get you back inside to your room."
"No," Dean refutes, finds the strength to raise his hand, fist it in his brother's shirt and lever himself off of Sam's solid form. But Sam doesn't let him go, gently pulls him back in, cinches him to him and he can't fight Sam, not physically. "They'll put me in the wacko ward, Sam," he announces, needs Sam to know that that can't happen, that this is his crap to deal with, not to air out, with the help of some "medication" regimen, to anyone else.
It's not like Sam didn't see the likelihood of that threat, just had hoped Dean was more on the road to recovery when it reared its ugly head. "Ok, ok, so not back to the room." Spotting a bench, he plans, "How about you take a seat on the bench behind you while I go get the Impala, alright?" even as he shifts to Dean's side without losing his hold on his brother. Then it's all joint effort to get Dean across the two yards and down onto the bench. His hand supportively coiled around the base of Dean's neck, Sam crouches down to meet Dean's glassy glaze, "I'm going to go get the Impala but I need to know you're good here, not going to pass out while I'm gone." Because Dean didn't need to add a tumble off a bench to his medical calamities, not to mention Sam isn't up to seeing Dean sport even another bruise, let alone opening up the wound on his back. He would probably end up in the wacko ward himself if anything else happened to Dean.
Shaking his head to try and get his vision to play nice, Dean reaches an unsteady hand out to latch onto the bench railing but Sam's hand ends up catching his off course hand and guiding it to the railing. And it's his brother's fingers that press his fingers down to coil around the iron. Anchor in place, Dean swallows and hopes he sounds more confident than he is, "Go Sam, I'm ok."
With a accepting nod, Sam forces himself to stand up, leave Dean's side and make a dash for the Impala. To his relief, Dean's still upright on the bench when he parks as close to the curb as he can without scraping the Impala's precious tires, doesn't even bother to shut the engine off before he's flying out of the car. But he comes up short as he looks down at Dean, uncertain if he should help Dean walk to the car or simply toss Dean over his shoulder.
"You're not carrying me, Sam," Dean lowly mutters, rolling his head back so he can look up at Sam's towering figure. Then he reaches his hand up, doesn't have to wait more than two seconds before Sam's grabs it and hauls him off the bench. Which almost leads to another pass out, except, once again Sam's got his possessive paws all over him, draws him against him and helps him make the pathetically torturous ten steps to his baby. Then he's half falling, half guided down into the passenger seat. Once there, he instantly slumps back against the bench seat, swallows down his nausea and closes his eyes, doesn't care where Sam heads as long as he doesn't have to move anytime in the foreseeable future.
Retrieving a water bottle from the back seat, Sam crouches down by Dean and puts the bottle into his brother's lax hand. "Take a few swallows of water, Dean," he gently commands, relieved when Dean can actually accomplish opening his eyes, has the strength to raise the bottle to drink. But Sam still can't help shoot a furtive look over his shoulder at the hospital because, whatever meager color Dean's had, is gone. Dean's pushed himself way beyond what he should, his wound could be bleeding again for all he knows.
When his look swivels again to Dean, his brother is watching him, waiting for him to fail him, betray him, turn his care back to someone else because he can't spare the time to take care of his own brother. And just like that, the hospital is no longer an option. He will not hurt Dean more with his decisions. But as he pats Dean's knee, stands up, shuts the passenger door and crosses to the driver's side, he can't help but pray that his 'care' won't end up hurting Dean more.
Though Sam's now back behind the wheel, he doesn't put the Impala in motion, instead is transfixed by the sight of Dean, back in the Impala. 'I didn't know if I would ever see that again,' he realizes and it makes his throat nearly close up.
Dean hates to ask anything of Sam but it's either speak up or lose the water he's just downed. "I need some air," he breathlessly confesses with his eyes closed, his head back against the bench seat and his stomach doing flips.
"Ok, hang on." Sam quickly leans over Dean to crank down the passenger window. When a light breeze blows into the car, he can practically see Dean gulping in the air. Retreating back to his own part of the Impala, he tugs the water bottle from Dean's hand before it topples on the floor and recaps it. "If you need to stop…."
"You'll be the first to know," Dean promises, his eyes still clamped shut.
'Great, progress, right? I'm on the top of Dean's Puke Announcement List, so I must be back in his good graces,' Sam sardonically thinks as he puts the Impala into motion. But there's another side of things he's not so willing to think about. That Dean's usual bravado isn't in play anymore, that Dean's in too much pain, is in too much misery to even try to fool him. Or shelter him. Because, that has always been part of it, Dean's bravado, to not traumatize his little brother, to shelter him, to protect him.
And Sam wants to tell Dean the roles are reversed right now, that he'll make everything ok, but he's doesn't have a lot of faith that Dean will believe him, is having trouble believing it himself with his fantastic string of screw-ups when it came to Dean.
Being in the Impala, hearing the purr of his baby's finely tuned engine, leaving the hospital in the rearview mirror….Sam at his side, it's more than he deserves, Dean knows that. Knows too that it's all because of Sam's too big heart. "Thanks Sammy for not dragging me back in there," he says, forcing his eyes open and rolling his head so he can see Sam, making sure his brother knows all he's thanking him for. It's startling and painful to see shock cross Sam's face, to watch his brother's eyes dart in surprise to him before returning to the road, as if he didn't think Dean had it in him, to be grateful. Dean is about to offer up an apology for being such a jerk back in the hospital room when his brother shoots him an affectionate smirk.
"Purely for selfish reasons," Sam counters, clarifies to himself 'to start making amends, to prove to you that I can take care of you, that I care about what you want.' But aloud he tacks on, "After all, the nurses would have probably thought I busted you out of there in the first place and lynched me." He relishes Dean small but so welcome smile before silence falls in the Impala, but it's a content type of quiet, gives Sam hope that he can convince Dean that they are both right where they should be.
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Black streaks impacted with the ground all around the mixed group of ghouls, vampire, angel and human …and rose up as dark suit clad Leviathans. Leviathans who weren't shy about showing Little Red Riding Hood what big teeth they had. As for the ghouls, they responded to the newcomers like Dean had hoped they would, like starving wild animals who would risk death to keep their meals.
The two factions clashed with ferocious brutally, didn't have the luxury of paying attention to their collective prizes.
Taking advantage of their enemies' distraction, Benny and Cas quickly went to Dean, ignored the immobile man's order to leave him and proceeded to grab Dean's arms and haul the man off the ground. But Cas interfered with Benny's intent to pull Dean over his shoulders.
"I'll carry him," Cas announced, beginning to pull Dean in his direction.
But Benny's having none of it. "But I'm not hurt that bad," the vampire heatedly counters, doesn't like that the angel thinks he's incapable of helping Dean.
Behind his bickering friends, Dean sees a Leviathan decapitate a ghoul with one chomp and start to stalk their way. "Guys, we need to move! Now!"
Shooting a look over his shoulder, seeing the approaching Leviathan, Cas hurriedly made his case to Benny. "You're a better fighter."
A slow smile pulled onto Benny's lips. "Well, you silver tongued rascal," he drawled even as he heaved Dean over Cas's shoulder, side stepped his friends, scoped down to retrieve Dean's Purgatory knife that the headless ghoul had been using, and swung out with the razor sharp blade. He watched only long enough to be sure the Leviathan's head was severed before he turned back to his friends. Snagging Dean's enchanted knife from the ground as another ghoul bit the big one, he passed the knife to Cas then nearly gave the angel a push as he shouted, "Move! Move!" because the odds seemed to be changing and the ghouls were losing fast.
With Dean draped over his shoulder, Cas still managed to dodge the combatants like a pro ball player. His jacket was only snagged once by a grasping Leviathan hand, but Benny severed the appendage with one swift downward stroke. And then they were out of the combat zone but the shrieks of agony and fury told them that the distraction was nearly at an end. That they needed to get away and hide as quick as they could.
But they had to skid to a stop as a Leviathan plummeted to the ground right in front of them. But before it could truly take on human shape, Cas kicked out, caused a distortion in the eons old monster between smoke and human form. But the second the human form solidified, Cas unleashed a wicked one handed arch of Dean's infamous Ruby knife and the Leviathan lost its head.
Grabbing a fist full of Cas' trench coat, Benny half dragged Cas and the precious burden over the angel's shoulder forward, eyeing up the thick forest three hundred yards ahead. "Please tell me you're not still broadcasting our location."
"No, but we need to get as far from this place as we can," Cas replied.
"Really, thought we were gonna set up a picnic," Benny sarcastically volleyed back, told himself to not look back but couldn't help himself. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news but our ghoul compadres are all down for the count and two of your Leviathan buddies are starting to discover we vamoosed."
"Not my buddies," Dean corrected from his less than awesome position over Cas's shoulder, wished paralysis meant he didn't feel pain, wasn't biting his tongue to not cry out as the ghoul's cuts on his chest rubbed painfully against Cas' back at every move the angel made.
"You're the one who wanted to invite them to our buffet," Benny pointed out, his eyes scanning ahead, hoping that ten more seconds and they'll be in the thicket, will have some cover. Not great cover but this was Purgatory after all, didn't want hiding to be an option, now would we?! Would take all the fun out of the place.
Dean didn't complain when branches suddenly caught onto his foot, snagged onto his arm, scratched his face. After all, luggage didn't get a vote on destination or treatment. Was just along for the ride.
Their entrance into the thicket lacked the finesse of stealth, was leaving a trail of broken branches that a cub scout could track but they were out of the open and going deeper into the dense forest by the minute. But the angel's strength was waning and Benny's had started to push off the trees to keep propelling himself forward. They couldn't keep going, all three of them knew that.
Stumbling, Cas caught himself just in time, knew that if he fell, he could seriously injure Dean…well, more seriously injure Dean. Already knew the man was in pain, pain that was wracked higher by each and every jarring step he took while bearing his friend's still motionless body upon his shoulder.
Sinking to his knees in the close forest, Cas contemplated putting Dean down, looked to his left as Benny slumped to the ground beside him, drenched in sweat and blood welling from his own ghoul inflicted wounds. They weren't going anywhere, not anytime soon or for any length of time. "Help me," he bade Benny as he started to lever Dean off his shoulder. Together they settled Dean against a tree and Benny was considerate enough to lift Dean's head up and tilt it back to rest against the tree trunk.
Looking to Cas, Benny quietly asked the question on all their minds, "Will they come in here?"
Cas exchanged a look with Dean, both knew the Leviathans' temperament and said in synch, "Yes."
Benny hung his head. That wasn't the answer he was looking for but his head snapped up as Dean made a stupid suggestion.
"So alright then. Just like we were going to do with the ghouls, I'm bait."
"No," Benny tersely refused.
"Dean's plan does have merit," Cas countered, didn't wither under the vampire's glare.
"Merit?!" Benny incredulously repeated with a hiss, eyes searing into Cas'. "Those things don't make it a habit of playing around with their prey. All they want from Dean, is for him to be dead. Before we even make our move, they could lob off his head."
But it was Dean who replied to Benny's dark prediction. "Then you better put your southern butt in fast gear."
"Name calling, real mature," Benny retorted but he was smiling in spite of himself, understood what Dean's goad really implied: Dean's explicit trust, in him and in Cas, in their ability to keep him alive. Patting Dean on the leg, he vowed, "We'll show up before they eat you…well, all of you," he teased with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Great, that settles my nerves right down," Dean darkly muttered but the look that he and Benny exchanged held nothing but trust. However, when Cas and Benny each scattered a different direction in the woods and he was left all alone, unable to raise a finger to defend himself, it wasn't trust in Benny and Cas' ability to save him that gave him the fortitude to let out a yell of not-really-fabricated pain to bring the Leviathans right to his doorstep. No, it was his resolve to make sure his friends weren't the hunted, but that he was.
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TBC
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Like the energizer bunny, this story keeps going and going! Really, seriously, I'm going to wrap it up soon. I will.
Thanks to all the people still reading and reviewing!
Have a great day!
Cheryl W.
