The following day is possibly the longest of your life, and that's really saying something.
After bringing Kevin back to the bunker early in the morning, Cas went with Sam to check out that building. Thankfully, they found it clear of any lingering magic.
It's late evening now and Sam is only twenty minutes out, having needed to drive the Impala back. You'd be lying if you said you weren't thrilled. You can't wait to see him, and to have backup to help Dean get through this.
As it stands, Dean hasn't let you anywhere near him all day. And he apparently put the shackles back on himself. According to Cas, who has been watching over him since early afternoon, Dean doesn't seem to care that the spell is finished, either. He's not going to take any chances in case he's still dangerous.
You're seated on the floor outside of the dungeon door, where you've been exclusively since walking away from Dean. You're currently sipping a mug of steaming chamomile tea that Kevin took it upon himself to bring for you. Apparently, his Mom always told him that there's no worry, hurt, or problem that can't be solved by a good cup of tea. Kevin knows without being told that you're dealing with all of the above.
The prophet is sitting next to you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, hugging his knees to his chest and staring at the wall. He hasn't said or asked much, but you swear you can hear the questions swirling around in his head.
You toy with the idea of just telling him what happened, because he seems to be driving himself crazy worrying. But that would require you to put it into words, and you don't think you can handle that yet.
As if the last of his restraint just gave out, he finally speaks up.
"Something really bad happened to you and Dean, huh?" He says quietly. "Like, even by our standards?"
"Yup." You answer simply, keeping your eyes trained on your tea.
Kevin nods and watches you blow into your mug to cool the liquid. He waits a moment before speaking again.
"Are you okay?" He asks, his voice conveying his sincere concern.
You smile over at him weakly and give his hand an appreciative squeeze. "Yup."
"Are you Winchester-okay, or normal-person-okay?" He asks suspiciously.
You laugh lightly at the fact that there's a vast difference between the two.
"Hmm..." You say, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "I suppose I'm Winchester-okay."
Kevin shakes his head. "So, really not okay at all, but carrying on regardless? Brave face, hunter's duty, yada yada?"
"Sounds about right," you agree.
"No wonder you ended up with Dean," he mutters.
You smile sadly at that. You did end up with Dean... Now you just have to find a way to keep him.
Kevin frowns, noting the sadness that his statement seems to have stirred in you.
"I'm not gonna ask, since nobody seems to want to talk about it," he sighs. "But...whatever happened to you...whatever you went through... I'm sorry," he offers.
You lean your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. "Thank you."
"Is Dean...? Is he gonna be all right?" He asks worriedly, glancing past you to the closed dungeon door.
"I'm gonna do everything in my power to help him be," you assure.
You both look up as the door at the far end of the hall opens and Sam walks through.
"Hey," Sam greets, approaching quickly.
"Hey," you answer as you put down your mug and eagerly climb to your feet.
Whatever inconsequential things Sam is carrying, he quickly sets down on the floor in favor of focusing on the far more important task of giving you a tight hug. You lean into him, in dire need of the flannel-clad reassurance. He waits patiently for you to let go first. You keep him waiting for a while.
When you finally step back, he strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and studies your eyes.
"How you holding up?" He asks.
You shrug noncommittally, unable to muster a cheerful lie.
"Dean say anything to you since last night?" He asks hopefully.
"Does 'stay away from me' count?" You ask with a weak smile.
Sam shakes his head and mirrors your expression.
"Well, maybe this'll help him feel more sociable." He leans down to pick up the greasy fast-food bags and drink that you hadn't paid any attention to previously.
"Cheeseburgers?" Kevin asks as he stands up.
"Bacon double cheeseburgers," Sam corrects. "Along with fries and onion rings. Basically a heart-attack combo. Kind of a Dean-cure-all."
Your stomach chooses that precise moment to growl incriminatingly loud.
Sam's scrutinizing gaze is on you in an instant.
You wince.
"When's the last time you ate?" He demands.
"She hasn't eaten at all since I got back here," Kevin narcs.
"And you couldn't keep anything down yesterday..." Sam recalls in concern. He inhales slowly and deeply through his nose (International Sign of Sam Displeasure). "Tell me you've at least eaten something since...everything that happened?" He pleads.
"Haven't been able to get my stomach to cooperate with the idea," you admit quietly and avert your eyes.
"You have to eat," Sam stresses. "You told me that if I let you come here without me, you were going to take care of yourself."
There's the crux of it. He feels like it's his fault you're hungry, like he dropped the ball on ensuring that Dean's woman was healthy and safe while she was his responsibility.
"It's a mental thing, Sam," you offer. "Wouldn't have made a difference if I was with you or not."
You're still having that mental block about food traveling through your recently-disemboweled intestinal tract. Doesn't do much for a girl's appetite.
Sam gives your arm a sympathetic rub, but still looks deeply concerned.
"I'll try again later, I promise," you assure weakly.
"You're keeping the tea down," Kevin points out. "How about soup?" He suggests, eager to help in some way.
Sam holds his hand up to Kevin, giving you a look that conveys his adamant approval of the suggestion and expectation for you to follow it.
"I guess I'm having soup," you relent, knowing there's no use arguing. His mind's made up. You look at the closed dungeon door again, then back to Sam. "You ready for this?"
He sighs and nods. "Have to be," he declares. "Dean needs me."
-SPN-
Beyond the door, beyond your earshot, Sam passes Castiel on the way into the dungeon.
"How is he?" Sam asks quietly.
"No different than before. He still refuses to allow her to enter, still keeps himself restrained." Cas looks over his shoulder at Dean and his features take on a remarkably human expression of forlorn regret. "I have made several attempts, but... I have been unable to find words to offer him any measure of comfort."
Sam smiles sadly, touched by the angel's sincere, innocent desire to help Dean in some way.
"It's okay, Cas. I'm sure he appreciates the effort," Sam assures.
Cas frowns deeply. "I assure you, I did not glean appreciation from his replies."
Sam pats the angel's shoulder. "How about you go keep her and Kevin company? I'll stay with him."
"You will let me know if I can be of any assistance?" Cas presses.
"Definitely," Sam assures.
Reluctantly, the angel inclines his head and takes his leave.
Sam watches him go, waiting for the door to close before turning his attention to the huddled figure of his brother at the far end of the room. Sam approaches the table slowly. Dean is sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, his head hanging low in shame.
"Brought you food," Sam says, sitting the bags down.
Dean doesn't bother to look up.
Taking a deep breath, Sam walks around the table. He stares down at his brother and puts on his best bitch-face.
"Not even gonna talk to me?" He demands impatiently.
He really doesn't blame his brother for feeling like shit, or for wanting to wallow in self-hate, but sometimes Dean just needs someone to shake him really hard to snap him out of his guilt sessions. And more often than not, Sam has to be the one to do the shaking.
"What's there to say?" Dean mutters.
"So, you're going the route of self-pity then?" Sam admonishes as he takes a seat in one of the chairs.
"Screw you, Sammy," Dean snaps bitterly.
"Get up and eat," Sam orders, only waiting a moment before slapping the side of Dean's knee. "Come on. Up."
Dean glares up at him, his jaw flexing furiously and nostrils flaring. But fury is better than sorrow, and Sam will take angry-Dean over devastated-Dean any day.
Grudgingly, Dean drags himself to his feet. The chains rattle on the floor and Sam rolls his eyes in feigned irritation, expertly hiding the true emotions he's feeling. He learned this lesson well from watching his father and Dean.
"Seriously? Are you kidding me with this?" He asks, pointing at the shackles. "You know damned well the spell is done."
"Ease off," Dean warns, dragging the bags over to himself as he takes a seat beside his brother at the table.
Sam watches Dean hesitate before reaching into the bags, watches him slowly open the wrappers, fight to take each bite, struggle hard to swallow every. single. time. He knows that images of the gruesome torture are flashing through his brother's mind, making it nearly impossible to stomach the meat. It's the reason Sam made sure the burgers were damned near charred to a crisp.
Sam pulls the order of fries from the bag and steals a few, knowing it'll be the fastest way to get Dean to eat them. It works, as always.
After a few moments of tense silence, Sam makes his move.
"She needs you, you know," he states before taking a bite, keeping his eyes on the task of opening a packet of ketchup.
Dean laughs bitterly. "She needs to run as far away from me as she can," he corrects.
He tries like hell to take another bite for a minute, but finally gives up and abandons the burger, dropping it back into its wrapper with a heavy sigh and reaching for the onion rings.
"Why?" Sam asks nonchalantly, then adds with intentional cruelty, "Did having her blood on your hands make you miss the good old days? That old itch starting up again? You just waiting for the chance to get her back under your knife?"
Predictably, Dean's features twist in adamant denial and disgust in response.
"What? No!" He chokes out. His eyes quickly well with tears that both brothers know he'll fight tooth and nail to hold back.
"I'm just curious as to why she should be running," Sam says in feigned innocence. "You think one of these days you're just gonna wake up, look over at her sleeping peacefully next to you, and get hit with the uncontrollable urge to carve her up again? To show her all of Alistair's favorite moves?"
Dean's chair rakes across the floor as he stands quickly, recoiling, desperately trying to escape the burn of Sam's words. His escape is just as quickly halted when he runs out of slack on the chains.
"NO! God, no!" He shouts in revulsion and horror at the thought of doing those things to you, breathing heavily as he fights to keep his emotions at bay.
"WHY NOT?!" Sam explodes unexpectedly, knocking his own chair over as he jumps to his feet.
Dean flinches as Sam gets in his face and stares him down, goading him for a reaction.
"Why is that so difficult to even HEAR?" Sam demands furiously.
"Because-!" Dean tries to shout in response, but stops, shaking his head instead of speaking.
"Because what, Dean?! Because the last thing you'd ever willingly do is hurt her? Because you would have rather died than do that to her?" Sam snaps purposefully.
Dean avoids eye contact at all costs.
Sam nods and steps back, having proven his point.
"Exactly," Sam declares. "If it weren't for that spell, you never would've hurt her. She knows that, man. Why don't you want to accept it?"
Dean turns away, gripping the back of his head with both hands and struggling to keep it together.
"How can she possibly know that after what she just went through, Sam? How can she just be okay with this?" He chokes out.
Even with his back turned, Sam can hear that Dean's lost the battle with his tears. Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head, listening to his brother sob softly.
"But she's not, Dean," he finally assures in barely more than a whisper. "She's not even close to okay."
Dean stills and silences.
After a moment, he looks over his shoulder at his brother, his tearful eyes pleading for him to go on.
Sam sighs and sits back down, realizing that Dean expects the whole truth. And maybe this is exactly what he needs to hear.
"She was in shock... catatonic... for almost an entire day," Sam begins reluctantly as he scrubs a hand across his face. He is not looking forward to reliving this. "I got her off that table, took her to the room, cleaned her up, got her in fresh clothes, and she didn't respond to me once. Not once, Dean."
Dean slowly turns to face him, his eyes shining with heartache, but also pleading for his brother to continue.
"I tried everything I could think of, but she wouldn't talk. Wouldn't look at me. Barely blinked. Breathed so damned shallow, I had to keep checking her pulse just to know she was still alive. At one point, she tried to come out of it enough to eat after I begged for twenty minutes, but she couldn't keep it down. I didn't know what to do to help her. I got her to fall asleep, but then the nightmares..."
Sam's voice breaks. He trails off and grits his teeth, his jaw flexing as he shakes his head.
"She wanted you, Dean. Needed you. She still does."
Dean turns away, staring down at the shackles on his wrists and thinking things through.
"Tell me this," Sam presses. "If it had been some other guy that did it to her, if somebody else had been the one to torture her damned near to death, would you have left her to deal with it on her own? Or would you be out there with her right now, helping her get through it?"
Dean gives his brother a repentant look in response.
"Because that's how she sees it," Sam assures. "She sees a clear separation between you and the person that spell turned you into. She knows your past, Dean. But she knows it's just that - your past.
"And she didn't just get over what happened. She only forced herself to snap out of it when she heard we were leaving you here alone. She got up out of that bed... She put on a smile and all the appearances of being okay, but it's only because she thinks that's what you need from her - what we all need from her. She's pretending she's not broken up inside because she's afraid of pushing you even further away. Afraid that the rest of us won't be able to handle it if she falls apart."
Sam stands and approaches his brother, slowly reaching for the shackles.
"But she can't even eat, Dean," he manages in a hoarse whisper as he removes the restraints from his brother's wrists. "And she's not even bothering to try to sleep. She can't keep this up for much longer."
After dropping the shackles to the floor, he grips the back of Dean's neck and meets his brother's eyes intensely.
"I'm sorry about what happened... But you have got to get your shit together here, man," Sam forces out past a lump in his throat. "You owe her that much."
A/N: What d'ya think? Did you enjoy the 'broment'? Favorite part? Least favorite part?