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: Sorry that I dropped off the grid there for awhile. I was in a writing slump then I spent this week writing and rewriting this chapter. So before I entirely scrap it or mangle it up further, I'm posting it and crossing my fingers that it doesn't stink…
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Chapter 22: Concede the Battle
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Rule # 22: There comes a time when the only honorable thing left to do is concede the battle.
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SNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN
Benny held onto the branch like a baseball bat, smiled as the Leviathan came to her feet. "Well, darlin', you had enough foreplay?"
In answer, the woman Leviathan calmly retrieved Benny's lost knife from the ground, bared her full mouth of teeth and charged the vampire. But Benny took a page from Dean's book and didn't retreat, instead, regardless that his opponent was armed with a knife and he was wielding just a tree limb, he boldly advanced toward the threat. He didn't bother with finesse, knew his strength was nearly gone and he couldn't afford to waste much of it on this fight, needed to use it to get back to Dean, to protect Dean, if need be. So he deftly, almost impatiently blocked the sweep of her knife from the left then from the right with the branch even as his forward momentum increased.
He tackled her at the knees and flipped her over his back, causing her to impact with the forest floor with unforgiving force. Before she regained the breath that was knocked out of her, Benny towered over her and tossed his useless branch aside, knowing the makeshift weapon couldn't get the job done. Dropping down, he pressed his knee into her sternum, put his full weight behind it and pinned her knife wielding hand to the ground with his boot. Then, with almost pitiable ease, he pried the knife from the Leviathan's trapped hand.
"No, no, I can…." the woman Leviathan began to beg but Benny used his reclaimed knife to good use.
His foe dispensed with, Benny started to push to his feet but he quickly discovered that his legs wouldn't hold him and he ended up tumbling backwards to take a hard seat on the ground. As the world spun around him, he gasped a bit for breath. Not finding it particularly settling to find the woman's decapitated head by his boot, he gave it a light kick, sent the head rolling out of sight and into the underbrush. 'Get up. Now!' he ordered but he didn't move, couldn't. His whole body radiated agony and he could feel the blood seeping out of the wounds the ghouls had scored across his chest and sank into his back. And suddenly, he knew it would be easy… to just sit there, to give up, to let himself die.. if it weren't for Dean.
If Dean didn't trust him to come back, wasn't counting on him to take the led to the portal, if he didn't know that Dean needed him, now more than ever before. And any one of those realizations was more than enough to keep him fighting to his last breath.
So he marshaled his paltry strength, pushed to his feet and started to lumber back to Dean. And with each exhausted but hurried step, he found himself hoping that Cas had taken care of the other Leviathan, that, for once, Dean wasn't seconds away from finding out what level of torment came after you got gutted in Purgatory.
SNSNSN~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSN
With an enraged blood thirsty snarl no angel should ever utter, Cas launched himself at the Leviathan. And in his blind rage, he almost realized too late that the black Leviathan wasn't unarmed after all, had deceitfully concealed a knife up his sleeve.
Doing a last second bank right, Cas felt the blade skim over his ribs and he staggered away. But plagued with the very possibility that the other Leviathan had found Dean, was torturing his best friend, or worse, was taking Dean back to the other Leviathans, he savagely launched another attack.
The Leviathan raised his forearm, effortlessly blocked the downward plunge of Cas' knife but wasn't even remotely prepared when the angel lashed out with a kick that connected with his chest. Staggering backwards, he fought the urge to rub his aching chest, instead offered up a venomous snarl to his enemy and bound forward. But the angel dodged left, scored a bloody trail across his back as he stumbled past.
Enraged, the Levi spun around and sloppily slashed his knife toward the angel's throat, only to cut through air as the angel skittered back. Advancing with more fury than strategy, the Levi sent his knife plummeting downward, intending to gut the trench coating wearing angel from neck to naval.
Anticipating the Leviathan's offensive maneuver, Cas did the unthinkable and dropped his own knife. Put all his effort and strength into the two handed grip he secured on the Leviathan's wrist.
Stunned at the angel's tactical blunder, the Leviathan routed the meager strength the angel was mustering to still his hand and successfully edged the point of his knife toward his enemy's eye with a smile. But his stomach churned with unease when he saw that the emotion in his opponent's eyes, it wasn't fear or even regret, was resolute determination to end his existence. Then the angel swiftly stepped back and switched his hold on the knife, no longer held it back but yanked it forward. Too late, the Leviathan realized that his opponent intended to use his own strength against him, was harnessing it to arch the knife down… to plunge into his own stomach.
Growing in outraged agony, the Leviathan pushed Cas away and pressed a hand to his stomach, tried to hamper the flow of black blood oozing from the wound. But when his eyes latched onto the angel's, he did something more disturbing than curse: He smiled, black blood coating his teeth. "I'll heal. That's more than I can say about your little human. In fact, our new leader is probably introducing himself to Dean right now. He was quite excited when I said we had the human pinned down. He came right away. Himself."
Though Cas fervently wanted to doubt the Leviathan's boast, he was too well versed in the ill luck of the Winchesters. Knowing where his priority was, would always be, he readily turned away from his opponent, was determined to get back to his best friend before the worst happened. But even as he started on that trek, he fought to stamp down that too familiar ache of being too late to safeguard Dean from harm.
The Leviathan, however, dodged into his path, waylaid his good intentions.
SNSNSNS~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSNS
When the newly appointed leader of the Leviathans tightened his hand around Dean's throat, Dean couldn't even gasp for breath, felt a swelling ache in his lungs and his vision was edging with darkness, was quickly tunneling smaller and smaller. Then there was his rising panic, which made concentrating on important things, like keeping his tenuous grip on the vial he had just managed to extract from his pocket, harder and harder with each passing second. Not to mention it made the notion of uncapping the vial and hurling the contents at the Leprechaun Levi too grandiose for his strained, barely there motor skills.
Morosely, he began to accept that the last sound he would ever hear was his own neck breaking. That his vow to go out fighting?! That had just been a pipe dream. Because this here, now, letting one lone Leviathan off him, it wasn't honorable or brave or anything noteworthy. Was a disgrace to who he was, what he was, to everyone who had thought his life was worth theirs. What had Cas said to him one time, 'I rebelled for you… gave everything for you and this is what you give to me.'
And that right there, it pretty well summed up everyone's disappointment in him since the day he was born.
'And I'm out of time to make up for my failures,' he morbidly forecasted as his lungs burned like they were on fire and his vision winked out.
SNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSN
Sam re-enters the motel room as quietly as he can, hoping that Dean had succumbed to sleep in his absence. But almost instantly, he bitterly realizes that sleep wasn't the best thing to wish for his brother. "Dean!" he abruptly calls out as he launches the grocery bags onto the table and uses his long legs to quickly cross to his brother's side.
But then he stills, looks down in anguished horror as Dean tosses and turns in the bed, his brother's face taunt with fear and drenched in sweat. With a fervent prayer that he's not about to do more damage than good, Sam grips Dean's shoulders, attempts to gently restrain Dean before his brother rips out his stitches, does harm to himself. "Dean, hey, wake up!" his tone a convoluted mix of command and concern which only garners a deep throated moan from his brother. But the sound guts Sam, because it's not just a sound of pain, has fear embedded in its core. That insight is grotesquely proven when Dean doesn't strike out at him but cowers deeper into the mattress, as if he would scamper away if he could physically achieve such a feat.
Without relinquishing his hold on Dean's shoulders, Sam claims a seat beside Dean's hip and changes tactics. "You're safe, Dean. You're not in Purgatory anymore. You're with me," he softly but firmly assures. "So how 'bout you wake up now, huh? Snap at me for invading your personal space," he quietly cajoles, but Dean's head is still restlessly rolling on the pillow and it seems dubious that Dean can claw his way back to the surface on his own. Not with his body as traumatized and weak as it is, which is only further enabling whatever fever dreams his brother is entrenched in.
His teeth clenched and his face grim, Sam knows that, what he's about to do, it's all about helping Dean. 'Yeah, and tell me again why it always seems I have to hurt him to help him, have to rip away his protective layers before I can help him heal,' he bitterly thinks even as he knows he'll do whatever, whatever he has to if it's in Dean's best interest. And right now that means brutally jostling his brother's wounded body.
"Dean," he huskily beseeches as he gives Dean a shake, increases the Richter scale of his actions a few moments later. He feels a little sick when he lifts Dean slightly off the bed and his brother's head falls limply back. And though his brother's eyes don't even flutter, Dean's breathing is ramping up. "Dean?" he prods, his voice building in stringent fear because whatever memories or dreams have a hold of Dean, he knows they are far from pleasant. Loosening one hand from Dean's shoulder, he gives Dean's clammy cheek a light pat. But the contact doesn't even register with Dean, who is quickly going from cringing to nearly thrashing.
Terror giving him fortitude to do what he must, Sam delivers a resounding slap to Dean's face even as his call of his brother's name is choked in contradictory regret and fear. But it's worth all of it when Dean's eyes snap open, when his brother's breath halts and then comes out in a ragged exhale. Then Dean's eyes settle on him, express recognition then soon glitter with relief and warmth.
Suddenly, Sam feels weak with matching relief, knows that whatever Dean went this time, he's back with him now. He says with a bittersweet smile, "Hey," because more eloquent phrases are beyond him right then. Letting his hand slide down from Dean's abused, enflamed cheek, he rests it on his brother's chest, knows it's his way of anchoring them both to the here and now, to each other.
Commanding himself to get under control, to stop breathing like the boogey man is after him, Dean shies away from the look Sam's giving him. Doesn't need Sam to say it aloud, that he was once again caught up in Purgatory memories, was reacting badly enough to scare Sam. And Sam didn't scare easily.
He struggles to shift upright but can't, tries to convince himself it's about Sam's too heavy hand on his chest not his own body's down right refusal to do his bidding. Is surprised when Sam's hand is retracted …only to coil around his bicep. Then he's gently being levered upright, by his brother's strength, not his own. Feels a pillow being repositioned behind him before Sam's reversing his pull into a controlled push.
And he's not angled to a great degree but it gives him a sense of control he's been missing, gives him the nerve to meet Sam's eyes, to attempt to derail his brother's obvious concern. "You forgot the pie, didn't you?"
Sam should have been ready for the deflection, for Dean to pretend nothing had happened, to insist that he shouldn't be worried about him. But instead it comes out of left field, makes Sam angry and frustrated and afraid, afraid that this is all Dean's ever going to allow him to see, some caricature of himself that doesn't feel pain, is never afraid, is invincible.
"This can't go on the way it is, Dean," Sam gravely announces because he won't let it, won't stand back and let agony tear Dean apart, won't let Purgatory steal his brother away from him again, won't let Dean suffer in silence. Though he knew that last might be the hardest, because it was ingrained in his big brother to hide away his hurts. Their father raised Dean to believe that his pain didn't matter, that there was someone, something, some cause that mattered more than he did, more than his own sons ever would. But Sam wasn't John Winchester, had never needed Dean lying in a coma, dying, before he realized his brother's worth.
Sam's declaration slices across Dean's barriers like a machete and Dean curses himself for feeling surprised when he knew, knew this was on the horizon. Eyes dropping to the bed covers, he fights down a sigh, mumbles, "Yeah, figured." Before he braces himself and faces Sam. "Hey, we gave it a shot, right?"
Wholly prepared for Dean to vehemently refute his claim that things needed to change, Sam is struggling with his brother's easy capitulation, feels that he and Dean aren't on the same page. That assumption is confirmed with Dean's next words.
"So Amelia called you back, huh? You're smart to take the second chance she's offering you, Sam," Dean applauds, isn't cruel or selfish enough to hold Sam back again from being happy.
Sam's initial astonishment doesn't last long, quickly turns to irritation when he figures out where Dean thinks this is all leading. "I'm not talking about things changing with us, I'm talking about you," Sam huffs. And it doesn't help seeing Dean's bafflement. "I watched you tear yourself apart trying to hide everything from me after Hell and we're not doing that again, Dean."
Feeling trapped, Dean shifts more upright, grimaces at the spike of pain blossoming from his wound and knows Sam's got him right where he wants him. But being cornered isn't a new sensation and he knows how to stage an act of retaliation with words. "Think we already went over this! You don't get to lecture me about keeping things from you. Ever."
Sam blanches, knows Dean's still furious with all the secrets he's kept from him, no matter the good intentions behind them. But he also knows that they will never come to an agreement if he doesn't concede now. Sighing, rubbing a hand down his weary face, he admits, "Ok, I kept some things from you."
"Some things?!" Dean darkly challenges, doesn't think hell hallucinations, blood addiction, Ruby romancing should fall under the umbrella of "some things."
And Sam won't, can't protest Dean's indignation, knows he deserves it but right now, it isn't about him. "Look, we've both done it wrong." But the next words don't come so easy. With a hard swallow, he presses, "So let's do it right this time."
Dean snorts and his eyes glitter with resentment. "Sam, you're not my friggin' shrink."
"No, I'm your brother," Sam emphatically volleys back, his voice cracking on the last word. Then he stills under Dean's suddenly sharp, uncertain gaze. "I can handle whatever you tell me, Dean," he earnestly reassures, not with pride but love. Because he believes they can weather anything…if they are together. And if he needs to prove that to Dean today, heck, daily, he will.
Sam's wholehearted invitation, the earnest appeal in his brother's eyes, the flash of need in his brother's tone, it crumbles some of Dean's barriers, makes him quietly confess, "Well, maybe I can't." Then his eyes skitter away from Sam's before Sam knows the complete and utter basket-case his brother is, realizes that Dean's hanging on to his sanity by his fingertips.
Barely catching Dean's declaration and at a loss to understand it, Sam softly prods, "What, Dean?" his hand coming to rest on his brother's knee, not sure if it's to steady Dean or himself, knows for certain it's to physically link them.
Though Dean swallows and clears his throat, his words still come out raspy. "It happened. It's over. I don't want to talk about it. I'll work through it like I always do."
"No, you're not, Dean!" Sam contradicts, voice rising with determination. "You're not going to bulldoze through it alone. Make a liquor bottle your confidante instead of me."
"Sam…" Dean nearly pleads, but Sam only tightens his grip on his knee, is determined to keep him close.
"Amelia did call and I chose you, Dean. Again," Sam proclaims, feels some measure of hope when Dean's face registers shock instead of disbelief. He lets that truth sink in before his voice takes on an edge. "But I might as well not be here if you're going to shut me out, not talk to me, if I'm supposed to ignore what you're going through. If you're just going to….going to give up….it was really stupid of me to have been all overjoyed you weren't dead, that you found a way back to me from friggin' Purgatory. Not if you have no plans of staying around!" And Sam surges off the bed, paces the room, turns his back on Dean and fights to keep himself together.
Dean wants to deny everything Sam's saying…but can't. Knows that some days he's not up to fighting, to stamping down the memories, to smothering the guilt. "Sam, I don't want to talk about it."
Turning back to face Dean, Sam shifts on his feet, has to make an effort to force out his next timid words, "Would you talk to Cas….to Benny? I mean, I get the shared experience thing. If it would be easier….."
"What? You gonna stage an intervention? Set up a Purgatory support group?" Dean mockingly shoots back. "Maybe I can track down some Leviathans to join in."
Sam's face falls and he says with more heartbreak than anger, "Dean, I'm trying…."
"Well don't," Dean sharply cuts in, feels a stab of shame when Sam flinches. And Sam doesn't deserve that, to be hurt, to be yelled at. It makes Dean deliver his next declaration with a hint of apology. "I don't talk about it, with anyone for a reason, Sam. I just…want to put it passed me."
"Yeah and how's that working for you again, Dean?" Sam challenges, won't let Dean accept the PTS episodes, the nightmares as something he just lives with, deserves.
Dean's eyes darken with anger. "Sam, I'm warning you…."
Stepping back to the side of his brother's bed, Sam earnestly declares, "I'm here." Holds Dean's upturned gaze as he continues, "I'm not going anywhere and, considering all the crap I did, I'm not going to throw rocks at you for whatever you had to do to survive, to get back to me." Then he sits at his brother's side again, imploringly entreaties, "So just…talk to me Dean."
But Dean unblinkingly shuts him down cold. "No."
"Well, you know what, that's not an option, now when whatever you're not talking about is ripping you up inside," Sam calmly refutes because he's strong enough to do this, to force Dean to do something he doesn't want to. Knows he has to be strong enough for the both of them right now. "And yeah, we've already covered that I was a jerk when you first came back, which didn't make it easy for you to tell me anything…."
"Major jerk," Dean qualifies but there's a smirk fighting to get loose.
Sam gives a small smile. "Yeah, ok, major jerk." Then he's the one avoiding Dean's eye contact, is looking at the door, at the kitchenette, knows if he wants Dean to open up to him, he has to reciprocate in kind. "I wasn't…I couldn't…." shaking his head, he looks to Dean, pain and fear shimmering in his eyes. "I didn't want to let you close, to open myself again to…to…" Swallowing, he looks away again, isn't sure he can get through this, that he can deal with the fallout if he does.
"To my brand of crazy?" Dean finishes his brother's statement before he sympathizes, "I get that." Because Dean knew that his presence before Purgatory mentally screwed him over wasn't conducive to a healthy psyche.
But that wrong deduction has Sam looking at Dean like he just grew two heads. "No, Dean! I didn't want to get used to you being back only to lose you, have my world just…implode all over again. Thought if I kept you at a distance it wouldn't hurt so bad when you left again."
"Left again?! You act like I planned my Purgatory tour," Dean scathingly retorts before accusing, "And you're the one that didn't mind that I was gone."
"Didn't mind?" Sam incredulously repeats, hurt echoing in every syllable. "That's like saying a paraplegic doesn't "mind" he's paralyzed from the neck down, will never walk again!"
Dean winces at Sam's example because he's been there, done that, is still thanking God that it wasn't permanent.
Running a not-so-steady hand down his face, Sam gives a loud exhale, meets Dean's gaze and wills his voice to not shatter as he proclaims, "So yes, Dean, I minded you were gone. I was hurting and lost and….so angry…"
"At me, I get that," Dean lowly commiserates, knew that when he lost Sam to the pit, a small part of him was furious at Sam for making that sacrifice, for leaving him, for saving the world and condemning himself.
But Sam shook his dark head. "Not at you. At Crowley, at Dick, at Cas, at ….Kevin."
And Dean mostly understands Sam's list…. right up until the last name on it. "Kevin?" he asks in confusion, didn't know how the scribe had earned his brother's wrath.
Sam feels shame blanket him, knows his anger for the younger man had been wrong, misplaced. But it didn't unmake how he had felt, standing there in a lab splattered with Dick's blood and Dean just….gone. And suddenly he needs Dean to understand how that felt.
Holding Dean's confused gaze, Sam tries to explain his rationale at that moment, how it felt to be that scared, that alone, "If we hadn't split up, if I hadn't had to rescue Kevin….I would have been with you when you went after Dick. We would have went after him together."
Dean makes a leap of logic and his eyebrows climb at the conclusion he's coming to, says quietly, without accusation, "So when Crowley took Kevin…"
It's not Sam's proudest moment and he fears Dean will be disgusted with him all over again but the truth needed to be told. "I blamed him for what happened to you," Sam confesses lowly, shamed eyes holding Dean's. "I was furious that he got caught, needed rescuing, that I had to waste my time trying to save him and I …couldn't….didn't….save you. So I….I never tried to rescue him from Crowley."
"Sam, it wasn't his fault. It was mine," Dean contests, knows where Sam's anger should rest: fully on his shoulders.
But Sam shakes his head. "No. No, it was mine. If I would have been there with you…."
"Then we both would have gotten a ride to Purgatory," Dean cuts in harshly, needs Sam to accept that the outcome that had happened, it couldn't be changed.
"So," Sam empathically retorts like the thought of him being sent to Purgatory with Dean was no big deal. "That would have been better than you just being…gone."
"No, trust me, us both going to Purgatory, that would have been worse," Dean forcefully contradicts, was glad every single day down there that Sam wasn't with him. And if God had a hand in that, it meant more to Dean than God building an escape hatch for him out of Purgatory.
Misinterpreting Dean's reasoning, Sam rigidly counters, "Because you didn't need me there, right? You had Cas and Benny."
Dean's face screws up into exasperated annoyance. "You ever listen to anything I say?! Ever?! Didn't I say being with you is when I'm at my best!"
Dean's words, repeated words hit Sam right in the heart, make his next declaration come out choked with shamed regret, "Yeah, and I reacted in gut wrenching fear, told you that you'd be better off without me, alone. Dean, I …I've screwed up so much but you have to know, what I feared most was letting you get close again only to lose you."
"You're not going to lose me," Dean contradicts, like it's an unfounded fear.
Jaw clenching, Sam bites out, "Forest. Wendigo. You nearly dying in my arms. Any of that ring a bell? And before that there was Crowley, a vampire nest, a civil war ghost. Benny."
Dean protests the last entry. "Benny wasn't a threat to me."
But Sam's eyes flicker with pain. "I almost lost you to him," he hoarsely points out.
Dean's eyebrows climb at Sam's opinion. "You really believe that?"
Sam swallows, finds he's the one not able to talk about that. "Point is…I realize that my idea to bail on you before something bad happened, before I got too used to you being back…I was just lying to myself. Because there's not going to be a time or a circumstance when I'm going to be ok if something happens to you. Only thing I can do to not go crazy…." At Dean's raised eyebrow, he moderates, "Ok, crazy again is to be there to have your back, protect you from all threats, get you to open up instead of waiting for you to self-destruct. And if that means locking you into this room until you start talking about Purgatory…" he raises his hands and shrugs. "Guess I should have bought more food."
"There's always takeout," Dean suggests, earning him a glare from Sam.
"Come on, Dean. You said you didn't tell me about Purgatory because I didn't ask…well I'm asking now," Sam proclaims. He will wait his brother out…or starve him out …or something. But he isn't going anywhere and Dean needs to see that. Drawing both of his legs onto the bed, he sits Indian style and faces Dean head on.
Apprehensively noting that Sam's settling in for story-time and, worse still, his little brother's sporting his infinitely patient face, Dean instantly knows he's in for a real battle. Because Sam's patient face, it never bodes well for Dean's 'stuff-happens-and-I-don't-talk-about-it' motto. Which is a slight adjustment from their father's motto of 'we-do-what-we-do-and-we-don't-talk-about-it.' A motto Sam is steller at…unless the tables are turned, unless he needs Dean to be the one to open up.
Then there's the fact that Sam always wins the friggin' gold medal every time for the 'giving Dean the puppy dog eyes until he spills his guts' event. And Dean's starting to accept that this time isn't going to end up any differently. Because it's not just Sam's puppy dog eyes. It's Sam's earnest need to help him, his little brother's willingness to listen to whatever horror story he wants to unload. But most of all, its Sam's offer of unconditional forgiveness for whatever immoral deeds he's done this time to survive that proves to Dean that he can let down his guard, can lay his broken pieces on the table and, though he doesn't deserve it, he knows Sam will try his best to fix him, to save him, isn't about to give up on him or their brotherhood.
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TBC
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Thanks to all still following this story! And to say the kind reviews you have blessed me with make my day is a horrible understatement. They make me smile, make me laugh, make me see the story through someone else's eyes. In short, my reviewers rock!
Have a great day!
Cheryl W.
