"This is a bad idea," Sam declares fretfully twenty minutes later, leaning against the bathroom doorframe with his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. He worries his bottom lip as he watches you going over your appearance one last time in the mirror.
You smile weakly, but reassuringly, in reply.
"Maybe you should just take a little more time," he suggests, his eyes clearly conveying his strong dislike of this plan.
"I've gotta face him, Sam," you respond determinedly.
You shake out your hair and recheck it for the dozenth time, ensuring there are no traces of blood left behind. You've already showered (despite Sam having apparently bathed you while you were in shock) and reapplied your makeup, paranoid that there's going to be some evidence left behind on your body that will traumatize Dean.
"It's the only way we're gonna get through this together," you insist. "I'm not gonna lose him over this shit. She might have made me suffer, but I'll be damned if that wicked bitch is gonna cost me Dean."
"I know. And I get it. I do. But..." Sam pauses, biting his bottom lip as if attempting to prevent words from tumbling out.
After a moment, he abandons the effort to hold his tongue. He growls in frustration, shoving off of the doorframe and moving to stand beside you.
"It's just...everything is still so fresh. And I think you're pushing yourself to move past what happened to you way too fast. And we haven't even cleared that building yet! What if there's something back there that's sustaining the spell? What if she really cast it on both of you and, as soon as you're together again, it starts back up? What if he's still effected by it right now and he's just acting fine on the phone to get you there? Cas can't transport all of us! I'd really rather be there when you see him! After what he-?"
He stops abruptly, his voice having risen gradually during that brief rambling outburst of concern to the point where he was almost shouting at the side of your head.
His jaw clenches furiously as he puts his hands on his hips, swallowing hard and staring down at the floor.
When you turn to face him fully, it finally hits you, just how badly this whole ordeal has shaken Sam. You frown sympathetically and step closer to him, trying to meet his tearful, hazel gaze.
"Sam?" You call gently, reaching out and taking his massive hand in your comparably-tiny one.
Reluctantly, he meets your eyes.
"I was almost too late," he says as if it's a confession. "I almost lost you both. If you had died? I don't even know what we would have done. Dean would have just checked-out mentally. He'd've been dead inside a month. Not that he'd ever eat a bullet, but he'd damned sure have found something to kill him on a hunt. And even if he didn't? Even if he managed to stuff it all down to face another day, how would I have looked at him the same? As it is, I don't know what to say to him. I can't stop seeing..."
He trails off and closes his eyes tightly, willing the images to stop replaying in his mind.
You tug his hand, silently directing him to sit on the edge of the tub. It's the only way you're going to be able to hug him and properly provide comfort. With him seated and his head now shoulder level with you, you pull him into your arms.
He returns your embrace tightly, grateful for some seldom-received reassurance. From what you know of their lives, you're doubting they ever got any post-traumatic-experience-hugs.
"You're allowed to freak out for a little bit over what happened, Sam," you offer simply, resting your chin on top of his head. "But you have to remind yourself that it wasn't him."
"I know he's not that guy anymore," he answers hoarsely, "but at one point in his life-"
"At one point or another, we've all done things we aren't proud of," you cut in to offer purposefully.
Sam rolls his shoulders guiltily beneath your arms before sighing and sagging against you in defeat. He doesn't let go of you, though.
"But that's not the person Dean is today, and it hasn't been for a long time," you remind. "He got past that point in his life, that person he had no choice but to become in an impossible situation."
You idly stroke Sam's hair, your eyes trained on your reflection. Your voice grows steadily more assured as you speak, as if you need to hear this as much as Sam does.
"It took them three decades of torture - undoubtedly way worse than what I got - to push him that far. And the only way that part of him was able to resurface now was entirely against his will. No matter how brutal this ordeal was for me, I can't forget that he's a victim in this, too. The way your brother shoulders guilt? That bitch just signed him up for a far longer and more intense torture than what I went through."
Sam sighs exhaustedly at the truth of that statement.
"What are you gonna tell him?" He asks as he lets go of you.
You look down into his tired eyes as you take a step back. "As little as I possibly can."
-SPN-
Castiel transports you to the dungeon before you have much more time to dread the confrontation. The instant you become aware of the change in surroundings, you hear the rattle of the chains from behind you.
Dean sits up eagerly in his seat at the table, staring at you in a cross between awe, relief, and devastation.
"You have no idea how good it is to see you," Dean assures. "Can you...? I mean... Is it safe for you to come over here?" He asks hopefully.
"I would greatly prefer for you to maintain your current distance," Castiel insists quietly...
Though not quietly enough for Dean to miss it. His eyes flash with renewed concern when he catches the angel's words.
You give Cas a warning look, reminding him to watch what he says. Turning your attention back to Dean, you answer, "I guess that depends. How are you feeling?"
"Confused. Pretty freaked out, to be honest," he admits reluctantly. "But fine, otherwise, I guess. I mean, I'm not hurt or feeling out of it. What happened? What the hell did the spell do?"
"It... made you less than fun to be around," you reply with a forced smile.
"Right, yeah," Dean looks down at the table top. He gives a humorless laugh and nods jerkily, but his eyes are welling up as he struggles to keep it together. "Baby, when I woke up..." he croaks, but he has to stop to hold back a sob.
While he fights the urge to break down, you fight the urge to rush to him, to hold him and kiss him and tell him it's all okay.
"It's just... There's just so much blood," his voice breaks as he pushes away from the table and looks down at himself tearfully.
You follow his gaze and fight a wave of nausea and terror.
He's still wearing the same clothes he arrived here in. He's still covered from his fingertips up to his elbows...all down the front of his shirt and jeans...in your dried blood.
"Jesus Christ," you whisper before you can stop yourself. You clamp your hand over your mouth and suppress a gag, thankful that Dean is too busy staring at the blood to catch it.
You didn't think to ask. You just assumed Castiel would have cared for Dean the way Sam cared for you. But Cas is a soldier of Heaven, and he doesn't automatically take human emotional reactions into account. In his mind, preventing Dean from doing further harm trumped all. Sparing him - or you, for that matter - the sight of blood was never even taken into consideration.
"Cas, take Dean to the shower and let him get changed," you urge.
"I do not think that would be wise," Castiel warns reluctantly. "Sam would not approve. He specified that Dean was to remain shackled until we can be sure-"
"Damn it, Cas, just do this for me! Please," you beg through clenched teeth as you try not to cry. "He can't sit here like that! Just...help him. If it looks like the spell's kicking in again," you mime Cas' hand-to-forehead move. "Lights out, okay?"
Cas studies your expression, struggling to identify the multitude of overwhelming emotions in your gaze. Whatever he comes up with, it's enough to make him to incline his head to you in silent agreement and understanding.
You don't tag along for the clean up.
Seeing Dean caked in your blood has done considerable damage to your compartmentalizing efforts. Before your arrival, you had done a great job mentally separating torture-time-Dean from shackled-in-the-dungeon-Dean. Now the line is getting blurry.
You use this brief period of alone-time to repair that shaky partition.
You call Sam and let him know what's going on, reassuring him that you'll be careful. After you hang up, you can't sit still. You try to sit on the edge of the table, but it brings back the memory of being on the rack. You lean against the wall, but you can't stop fidgeting. You pace, but realize that Dean will accurately interpret that as a sign of your current through-the-roof anxiety. You're just giving yourself a mental berating about the need to hold it together when they return.
Dean shuffles into the room slowly, telegraphing every movement, cautious not to give Cas a reason to put him down. He's showered and dressed in fresh clothes, and you can tell by the inflamed, bright red of his hands and forearms that he nearly scrubbed off two layers of skin trying to wash the blood away. He pauses and looks to you imploringly, but doesn't approach.
"Can you...?" He tries desperately, raising his arms slightly, imploring you to come over to him, if possible.
You look to Cas and nod, telling him to be ready, just in case, then slowly go to Dean.
When you meet his gaze, his green eyes are a hurricane of pain, fear, and desperation. Your stomach is in knots as you slowly raise your arms to hug him, but you ignore your trepidation.
Dean wraps his arms around you immediately, holding you tighter than he ever has before, as if he's terrified you're going to slip away. He buries his face against the side of your neck, inhaling your scent and nuzzling your skin.
"Oh, God, baby... What did I do?" He finally manages to whisper fearfully.
You shake your head and run your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple as you soothe, "Nothing we need to talk about yet."
"But-"
"Shhh. It's all right. Just hold me for a while, okay?"
He nods against your shoulder and does as you ask. He stands there for several minutes, holding you close while his own shoulders tremble with silent tears. You stroke his back and kiss the side of his head, offering quiet words of reassurance.
Finally, he lets go, but instead of stepping back, he reaches down for the hem of your shirt.
"What are you doing?" You ask nervously and grab his wrists, trying to stop him from pulling up your shirt.
"Just have to check something. I had this image in my head when I woke up and-" He stops speaking as his hands still.
His body goes rigid as he stares at your stomach.
"Dean..." You breathe, but trail off. You know what he's seeing - or rather, not seeing - and you have no idea what to say.
"Your scars are gone," he whispers. "Your scars are all gone."
He frantically runs his hands across your newly-flawless skin, seeking some trace of your past injuries.
"You said Cas had a busy day," he breathes in horrified realization as he meets your gaze with wide eyes. "He healed you. Oh God..." He looks like he's going to be sick. "Oh my God, I really did that to you? Did you die? Did I kill you?!"
"No, baby," you assure tearfully. "No. You didn't."
He steps around you, ignoring your reply, likely fearing that you'll lie to spare him.
"Cas? Did she die?" He demands.
The angel looks to you, seeking permission to respond.
"Don't look at her!" Dean shouts and slams his fist down on the table. "You answer me, Cas!"
"It's okay," you offer quietly. "Tell him the truth."
Cas nods before turning his attention back to Dean. Unfortunately, there's more truth to be told than what you're aware of.
"No," Castiel answers honestly. "She did not die. While it is true that Death was present, her soul did not leave her body for him to take."
"What?" You gasp in astonishment.
In response to that revelation, Dean reflexively takes your hand, clutching it as if you're about to fall off a cliff. You find yourself stepping closer, as if the proximity can prevent you from being taken from him.
"You mean he came to collect her himself? Why would he do that?" Dean demands anxiously.
"He did not explain his motives...or speak at all, for that matter, to either Sam or myself," Cas offers with a furrowed brow. "However, I believe his presence was a favor to you, Dean. He allowed her more time than she would have been granted otherwise."
"More time? You mean more time for her to be tortured! By me!" Dean explodes furiously and releases your hand as if it's burned him. "More time so that I could do worse to her than any other person would have survived!"
"His interference did permit us to save her," Castiel reminds. "Had another reaper come, they would have collected her soul far sooner, and she would not be standing here with you now. After battling to reach you both, it took almost all of my remaining power just to heal her. I would not have been able to resurrect her, had she died."
Dean turns towards you, his face a mask of fury, but his eyes are full of regret and anguish.
"How can you be in here with me?" He demands. "How can you be letting me touch you after what I did to you?"
His eyes grow distant and by the way the color drains from his face, you know he's recalling more. He closes his eyes tightly, his jaw flexing as tears run down his cheeks.
"You...begged me to stop," he forces out through clenched teeth. "You said... 'Please, babe. Please listen to me. You have to stop. I'm going to die if you don't stop.' And... I just laughed," he sobs. "Oh God, I can hear you screaming."
It's finally too much.
He turns away and falls to his knees in front of the trash can, alternating between retching and weeping. When you crouch beside him, placing your hand on his back to comfort him, he recoils from your touch.
"Go. Just get out of here. Leave me. Please," he begs.
You wince and let your hand drop.
"Okay. Okay, Dean. I'll walk out of this room and I'll give you some time, babe," you offer before pressing a hard kiss to the side of his head. "But I am not leaving you," you declare determinedly.
He covers his face with both hands as you stand and walk out the door.
A/N: Ssoooo...? What do you think so far? Are you clutching tissues, sniffling, and cursing at me? LOL Or are you enjoying it (still sniffling) and looking forward to the next part? Which one got you right in the feels in this chapter - Dean or Sam? Or both? Tell me what's on your mind :)