A/N: So sorry for the delay in posting this but Cas is here! Woohoo! Still a story primarily focused on Sam and Dean but this wouldn't be a supernatural fic without our trusty angel. Again, I claim no medical knowledge.
On another note...please check out my Supernatural song cover reflecting/celebrating 15 seasons of the show! Link/info can be found in my profile. Thanks for listening to the shameless promotion…
A/N 2: SPN FAMILY PLEASE HELP—my friends and I seem to remember a line that we believe Bobby says to Sam and goes something like this: "Did it ever occur to you that your brother is a lot smarter than you give him credit for?"
However, after rewatching nearly all the episodes in addition to pouring over every inch of the internet...we cannot seem to find any record of anything like this. Are we crazy? Does an exchange like that ring a bell to anyone else?
Apologies for the long notes...hope you enjoy!
Chapter 2
Sam slept the same time as Dean—it was better for them to be on the same schedule anyway. Dean said that he dreamt differently ever since the incident; Dean said his dreams weren't so much memories as they were alternatives...what ifs rather than replaying actual events. Of course he'd had dreams like that before as well, but these were different—he couldn't explain why. Sam, on the other hand, dreamt the same. But it wasn't fair to call it dreaming when all he ever had were nightmares. Sam's dreams were almost always one of three categories: Dean dies, he dies, and the incident. Michael. The name was never spoken aloud but it was shouted in his nightmares. The things they couldn't discuss ran rampant in his mind when he slept. How the small crack in the door Michael left open, in Dean's brain, had blown open too far and too fast. Michael left a time bomb in Dean...one that would undo any previous healing that any angel had done—any healing that had ever occurred. A cosmic joke. Michael made sure to leave his mark on Dean even after he had been expelled. Even after he'd been killed.
So Sam dreamt of the incident. The day that Michael escaped Dean's mind, but the bomb went off.
Dean dropped like an anchor, his head hitting the map table as he fell. The seizure started immediately and Dean's unconscious guttural screams made Sam pray for Cas to come and work a miracle. The trench coat fluttered behind him and Cas's fingers graced Dean's forehead but the seizing continued. Their desperate conversation, Cas's explanation of what Michael must have done, was distant from Sam memories because all he had done was stare at his big brother. Stare as his leg—the same one that had been encased in a cast from ankle to knee so many years ago—make a snapping noise and turn inward. Stare as his right arm, the one that Cas had broken while Naiomi had control of his mind—curled and flexed and tensed and settled useless on his chest. Stare as the blood continued to leak out of the gash on his head and out of his ears. Stare as the seizure continued after five minutes...stare at what Sam was convinced was soon to be his dead brother. Cas hadn't been able to do anything. He watched just as helpless. When Dean stilled, after an eternity, Cas took another look into his mind—fingers gracing his forehead once again. Cas' deep voice echoed in Sam's dream.
"His mind is whole, Sam. Nothing is wrong with his brain."
A relief in the moment, but a debilitating realization to make later.
Michal had done it on purpose; taken away Dean's body but left his mind intact. Exactly what Dean had done to Michael when he locked him away in his own head.
Payback.
Divine revenge.
And the Winchesters, as usual, the butt of the joke.
Sam awoke suddenly, as always, but was relieved to hear the distant sounds of Dean snoring. Unable to sleep, Sam migrated to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich-he didn't really want it, but it had become routine; Sam ate what Dean could eat, Sam slept when Dean slept, Sam was happy when Dean was happy, Sam had bad days when Dean had bad days. So Sam sat in the kitchen eating, wondering if he'd have time to reach out to Ted with some ghoul info before Dean woke up. Before Sam was done though, Castiel appeared in the doorway, seemingly calm.
"Cas-hey!" The Winchester was caught off guard, but not taken by surprise. Though he feared the angel brought bad news.
"Hi, Sam. There aren't any disasters that I'm currently aware of, I'm just checking in."
Cas had anticipated Sam's concern for his sudden arrival and upon hearing that there was no impending apocalypse, Sam allowed himself to enjoy the angel's company.
"Thanks for coming by; we're both a little starved for outside stimulation…" Sam made a half-smile but wasn't overly concerned with putting on a cheery face for the familiar friend.
"Sorry I haven't been by more often. Dean seems...unsure about my presence to say the least."
"Yeah..I think maybe he just...I don't know. I think the more people that have to see him like this… … he's just embarrassed. But he doesn't always talk to me so…"
"You still have each other and that's more than any angel can say about his friends. Or any demon for that matter. The events of the past decade have completely reworked Heaven, Hell, Earth...but they're all still standing. And so are you two. That feat is nothing to laugh at."
"Three cheers for us, huh?" Sam gave another fake smile as Cas sat down across from him.
"How is he?" Cas's eyebrows raised in gentle questioning and Sam shook his head before responding.
"Today just hasn't been great-everything points to the fact that it's been a good day...he's been smiling and making jokes and he's been agreeable. He had a long seizure but came out of it alright, he wanted to take a shower and told me what medication he wanted. We joked around and…" Sam trailed off as Cas leaned forward an inch more.
"It sounds like those are all good things...he's getting better, or at least adjusting."
"I know. It's just a bad day because I just miss him, Cas. I know he's still Dean but he has to try so much harder at everything. Today, I've watched him try so hard to keep it together. I just want him to…" Sam triled off before beginning a new phrase. "Sometimes it's easier when he's in a bad mood and he's whining and complaining because in some ways, that's more like the old Dean. But when I see him making such an effort to-"
"Sam." Cas interrupted, sparing the hunter from further emotional turmoil. "You do more for him than anyone could. It's beyond reasonable to assume that in some way, you're suffering as much as he is. And I know that Dean is weary of others seeing him like this, myself included. But maybe it's best you asked for help-for both your sakes. I, for one, am here. For you even if your brother doesn't particularly want me around. And Dean seems to speak highly of Jody Mills and Donna" Cas took a breath and tried to convince Sam of his point. "For all the times you're called for help, I think you are deserved some favors." Cas gave a rare half-grin before standing.
"I'll go look in on Dean, if that's ok..?" Sam nodded adamantly, glad that Cas was still wanting (and willing) to be around even if Dean hadn't made it easy on him.
Castiel departed from the kitchen, his nerves growing as he approached Dean's room. The angel could hear his snores but knowing the hunter was asleep didn't seem to lessen the growing anxiety in him. Pausing in the doorway, he let himself stare at Dean's limp form. The arm hung against his chest as stiff and rigid as he'd last seen it. His leg seemed natural, the same bowing as always. His body looked remarkably similar to before the accident, all things considered. But the angel still recognized the bags under his eyes, the taught brow, the strained shoulders. He was tired-his soul was tired. Castiel had the urge to look into Dean's mind...to try and sort through the myriad of emotions and thoughts that must be wreaking havoc. But of course, he didn't; he stayed in the doorway, staring. Faint clanging came from the kitchen and though clearly not an indication of something concerning, the sleeping man didn't know the difference. Making a few grumbled noises, Dean shifted in the bed and awoke rather suddenly though there was no effort to reach for a weapon under his pillow. It was no longer there; he could no longer grasp it.
"Dean?" Cas remained calm and stayed put in the doorway. Dean, staring at the angel with confusion hanging on his face, didn't respond.
"Dean, are you alight?" Blinking a few times, Dean brought his good hand to rub his face, and gently leaned himself on the headboard, sitting up. Remaining silent, Cas took a worried step into the room.
"Dean, do you need me to get Sam?" Dean shook his head, eyebrows raising as if everything was normal as could be. Cas waited for the Winchester to speak, expecting him to have things to say (or shout, more likely). But nothing happened. Dean remained quiet and after a few moments of contemplation, Cas realized why.
"You don't want to speak to me…" The disappointment that flooded the angel was evident in his drooping shoulders. Dean shook his head again, indicating a wrong assumption.
"You are speaking to me?" Again, silence. Then, for the second time, Cas pieced it all together. Dean didn't wantto speak to him not because he was upset, but because he was embarrassed. Letting the conclusion remain internalized, Cas offered consolement masked with cognizant egotism.
"Dean, I understand every spoken language on Earth, countless dead languages, and hundreds of dialects from beyond this reality. I think I can manage to understand you."
" 'ovr' con'f'dint aar we?" Overconfident are we?
"More like modestly self-aware."
Pleased that the angel was capable of understanding him, Dean relaxed further and attempted to flex his fisted hand. Noticing but still not invading the hunter's space, Castiel proposed a solution.
"I can loosen it, if you'd like. The muscles, I mean." Suddenly awkward, Cas seemed to shrink into his trench coat sheepishly, remembering the last interaction the two of them had: Dean hadn't taken too kindly to the angel's offers of healing or prodding. During their last meeting. Cas had attempted to look into Dean's mind-desperate for clues or answers. Due to the angel's invasion, or purely coincidental no one knew. But the activity had sent Dean into spasms of pain and seizure. This time around, however, Dean seemed oddly accepting, nodding hesitantly at his offer. Stepping further into the room, Cas paused before reaching out to Dean's forehead.
"Sam said you were being agreeable today. Not that- I mean…" Cas faltered with his phrasing, regretting having begun the statement as it implied that Sam had been talking about Dean behind his back, and that Cas would have been upset if Dean hadn't been agreeable. Of course, neither was the case. Luckily, Dean knew that.
"D'nt w'orry 'bou 't. S'm's r'ah't. S'mtimes tre'at 'im lie ass. Can't b'lame 'im f'or be'in exc'ted 'en I d'on't." Don't worry about it. Sam's right. Sometimes I treat him like ass. Can't blame him for being excited when I don't.
"No one is blaming either of you for anything." At his own words, Cas was inspired to touch Dean's forehead, attempting to use his grace to improve the state of Dean's mangled arm though past attempts had yielded little to no improvement. Using the moment to take quick survey of the Winchester in other capacities, Cas was overwhelmed by a nagging force that hadn't been present before. A twinge of something. A slight pulling on Dean's mental strings. Retracting his hand, Cas attempted to hide his reaction, lest Dean misinterpret Cas' findings as something bad … or something too good to be true.
Never one to successfully deceive the oldest Winchester though, Cas' attempts were futile.
"W'at is i't? W'at you fe'ee'l?" What is it? What did you feel?
"Nothing. I was just trying to see if I'd be able to...aid your improvement."
"A'nd?"
"I'm sure it's nothing, Dean."
"N'othin c'n b' s'm'thin in o'r bo'k." Nothing can be something in our book
"It's nothing of use at the moment. It was just something out of place in your mind. A crack." Dean gulped, drawing a shaky breath in.
"...c'rac'k?"
"No. Not like the one Mi-" Cas cut himself off, "...not like that, Dean." Nodding, Dean let it drop and filed the interaction away in his mind as something to bring up later. Flexing his fist again, Dean noticed a slight improvement.
"T'h'nks."
"Don't mention it." Cas grinned at his mimicked phrase and sat beside the bed in the chair Dean had nearly tripped over earlier.
"H'ws S'm?" How's Sam?
"He's.." Castiel faltered for a moment. "Doing fine."
"Yayh. H's doin' f'ne an' I'm r'dy to be dr'fted to th' C'w'bys." Yeah. He's doing fine and I'm ready to be drafted to the Cowboys.
"He's worried. As seems to be the usual with him. With the both of you."
"D'n't kn'ow wh't I'd do wit'out 'hm." Don't know what I'd do without him.
"Dean...do you think maybe that…"
"S'm need's a b'rk? Th'nk 't all th time." Sam needs a break? Think it all the time.
"That maybe you need friends? I was staying away because I figured that's what you wanted. I know my status as an angel has been…" Cas faltered with his words but Dean shook his head, indicating no hard feelings.
"N't you. N't yo'r fa'lt. Shn't 've l'ft th'ngs way I di'd." Not you. Not your fault. Shouldn't have left things the way I did.
"I don't blame you for anything. But as someone looking in on you and Sam, and as a friend, it seems like you could use a break."
"B'rk? F'rm w'at?" Break? From what?
"From being locked away, shut off from the world. Dean, you spent your entire life on the road, moving and-" Dean interrupted, not wanting to hear anymore.
"Y' th'nk I dow'n k'now t'at?" You think I don't know that?
"Of course you do." Cas took a breath, looked down at his own hands and slid back into the chair, resigned. "I just want you and Sam to feel like you don't only have each other. Of course you always will, but for now...remember you still have people who care about you." Castiel stood then, making his way to the door. Dean spoke before he left, trying his best to enunciate.
"Th'nks f'r com'in, C'a'as." Thanks for coming, Cas
The angel nodded, relieved that he and Dean were back on friendly terms. Leaving the hunter's room, Cas passed by Sam who was carrying a prescription bottle in one hand, a water bottle in the crook of his arm, an ancient book in the other elbow, and a phone at his ear.
"That's all I can think of for now but I'll find a few more books and talk to Dean and see if he has anything more to add." There were a few beats of silence from Sam as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the line. "He's doing ok, thanks for asking. Yeah … … ok. I'll call you back in an hour. Thanks, Ted." With that, Sam attempted to maneuver his balanced objects so he could bring the phone away from his ear. Looking overwhelmed by the task, Cas took pity and reached for the phone.
"Thanks. I didn't hear any yelling so did you two do ok?" Sam was weary of the answer, but Cas' shadow of a smile relieved him.
"We're back on good terms but I still think I should be aware of what affect my presence may have. My 'ears are on' anytime you need, but I'll give you both space." Cas passed by Sam on his way out, and Sam went to talk to Dean about ghouls. What a day it had been.
( ) ( ) ( )
Dean sat at the table in the kitchen, hours after Cas' departure. Sam stood nearby, filling a teacup with coffee, using his blue flannel to wipe off the few drops of liquid spilling down the side of the cup.
"Th'ts s'mthin I wou'ddo." That's something I would do
"What do you mean?" Sam sat across from his brother, sipping and confused.
"W'pe c'ffe. Wipe the coffee
"Well I have lived with you practically my entire life…"
"Yh…" Dean bowed his head, letting Sam dismiss the comment. Sam, sensing a real conversation might be beneficial to them both, encouraged him to continue.
"But that's not what you meant, is it?" Sam waited, and eventually Dean raised his gaze, shaking his head in response.
"Dean?" Sam questioned his brother, hoping to prompt another response.
"D'nt w'nt you turn'in 'nto me." Don't want you turning into me
"Just because I've picked up a few habits doesn't mean-"
"Tn'gs 'v ch'ngd. Y' t'nk I d'nt k'n'ow t'at?" Things have changed, you think I don't know that?
"Of course things have changed, Dean. But things have been changing our entire lives and every time we find a way to live with it."
"W' h'vnt lv'd w' 't…" Dean's speech was worsening through his growing emotion. "W f'nd w'y to 'gnore 't…'r f'x 't...n't l-l'v wi' 't." We haven't lived with it. We find a way to ignore it or fix it, not live with it
Sam remained relaxed in his seat but Dean was growing agitated. Sam knew he was due for an outburst; he deserved one.
"But we have lived with it, Dean."
"W' H'VNT, S'M!" We haven't, Sam!
Dean's good arm trembled in a fist on the table and Dean slumped a little in his seat. Sam stiffened, trying to decide if Dean was on the verge of collapse, or just recovering from his brief outburst. After another moment of watching Dean's steady breathing, Sam relaxed and attempted to continue the conversation.
"Dean? I know things have been...well...you know. But-"
"But w'at? We h'vn't h'nted in m'u'nths. Y'r it'ch'in to w'rk, I k'now you 're. A'd I'm n't g'nna l'st s'tt'in c'oo'p'd up 'n 'ere l'ke…" But what? We haven't hunted in months. You're itching to work, I know you are. And I'm not gonna last sitting cooped up in here like…
Dean trailed off, his voice catching in his throat, his eyes staring at the table. Taking a shaky breath, he continued.
"S'm, s'mtim's feels l'ke I'm st'll tr'ped in'sde. L'ke he's still c'llin th' s'ots." Sam, sometimes it feels like I'm still trapped inside. Like he's still calling the shots
Sam's face shifted, frown forming. He knew this is what Dean needed-to get some of it out. But that didn't make it any easier to hear.
"Then maybe you just need to be the one in charge for a while...maybe you need to be the one calling the shots." Sam's eyebrows raised as did Dean's gaze.
"N't m'ch m're to d'cide o't'er 'hen d'ep'k'te 'r di'z'pam." Not much more to decide other than Depakote or Diazepam
"That's not what I meant." Sam managed to force a small grin but was stopped by the shadow of a grimace on Dean's face.
"Dean? Dean you ok?" Dean's bad arm trembled slightly against his chest.
"M' f'ne." I'm fine
"Dean?"
"I s'ai'd 'm 'fne, S'm!" I said I'm fine, Sam
"Ok…" Sam didn't know what to do, where to go, what to say...so he settled on silence until Dean made a decision. A few moments of silence felt like hours, but after only a quiet minute or so, Dean let their previous conversation drop and moved onto another.
"E'vr c'll T'd ba'ck?" Ever call Ted back?
"Yeah. Said thanks." Listening, Dean nodded.
"Y' k'now…" You know… Dean trailed off and hoped that Sam wouldn't decipher the beginning of his statement, wanting to retract it as soon as it came out. He found no such luck.
"Know what?"
"St'p'd." Stupid
"Well if it's coming out of your mouth I'm sure it is." Sam grinned, tempted to lightly smack Dean's shoulder, but resisted for fear of hurting him or throwing him off balance. Even without the added touch, however, Dean understood his playful tone and smiled himself.
"Seriously, though...what is it?"
Dean sighed and looked up at his brother.
"W'ann'a go h'ntin', S'm." Wanna go hunting, Sam.
The younger brother tried his best to maintain a poker face despite the raging war of contradiction going on inside of him. It was good that Dean wanted something, that he had goals and hopes and aspirations. It was bad that those desires were largely unattainable. And it hurt him more than anything to know that Dean would never hunt again. Not really. Not the way he wanted to-not the way he needed to. So what was Sam supposed to say? Dean, always the protector, made it so his little brother didn't have to respond. Making an effort to stand, he held up his hand to tell Sam he was stable enough.
"M 'gnna r'ead f'r a b't. I'll be in 'he 'l-l'br'... … you k'now w' I me'n." I'm gonna read for a bit. I'll be in the l-ibr … you know what I mean
Sam nodded, his eyes lingering to made sure that Dean really was stable enough to be walking on his own. At Dean's departure from the kitchen, Sam rubbed his face and focused on his breaths-a mini meditation. It didn't help the growing anxiety in him, but it made him feel better that he was trying.
Dean wanted to hunt.
Sam wanted Dean to be able to hunt.
Sam and Dean both knew that it wasn't possible.
But since when have the Winchesters ever let a little thing like impossibility stop them?
( ) ( ) ( )
Later that night, Dean was feeling surprisingly well. Regardless of how the day began and the events that followed, he was up and about and eating and though those were all good things, it worried Sam. It worried him because on Dean's good days, in Dean's good moments, Sam could convince himself that a road-trip might be feasible, that it might even do them both some good. But those were dangerous temptations; flooding Sam's mind equally as quickly were visions of Dean seizing in the passenger seat as Sam merged at 75 mph. Of Dean's leg cramping after so many hours in the car. Of getting stranded or lost or mugged and having no way to protect Dean. It might as well have been a nightmare. But, Sam was also lost in the temptation of being able to drive Baby, look over at his brother sitting next to him, blaring god-awful music, and chastising him for riding the brakes. That was a dream.
Dean interrupted Sam's musings, uncharacteristically invested in Sam's involvement with other hunters.
"H'erd fr'm J'dy l'tly?" Heard from Jody lately?
"Not in a few weeks, no."
Secretly, Sam was terrified of where his line of questioning might be headed. He knew that Dean's healthy state wasn't likely to last and even if it did, he wasn't sure Dean was up to seeing people. Sam was overjoyed that Dean had the desire to socialize, he was. But if Dean was still sensitive being around Cas, Sam feared how he'd do with people he wasn't quite as close with.
"K'no 'you w'nt l'ke it...b't w'-w'hat d' you t'nk b'ou yo' g'nin on a 'nt?" Know you won't like it, but what do you think about going on a hunt?
Sam felt panic and disappointment seize his chest but he only paused a moment before responding.
"I mean...we saw how much Bobby would still do so maybe we can find a way for us to...pick hunting up...in some capacity…" Sam began to babble and Dean actually laughed-a big Dean laugh. Sam's face contorted in confusion.
"Are-are you laughing at me?" Dean continued giggling and wiped his red face with his good hand as the chuckling subsided.
"D'dn't m'ean me, S'm. 'M not c'omin'. J's m'nt you. St'p'd." Didn't mean me, Sam. I'm not coming. Just meant you, stupid.
"You're such a friggin jerk, man."
"B-itch."
It was Sam's turn to smile at the perfectly pronounced insult. Suddenly, Sam wasn't so overwhelmed by having to respond to Dean's proposal.
"Dean, I'm not hunting without you. We'll just find a way to slowly get back into things in a different role." Pleased with the firmness of his brother's response, Dean was quiet for a minute. Building his courage just enough, he confessed before changing his mind.
"W'naa t'ke t'ip. 'Nyw'ere. N-need to d' so'hing. 'W'rk. Try t' be who I w's j'us 'little. J'us 'nuf re'mind m'sef w'ho I 'am." Wanna take a trip. Anywhere. Need to do something. Work. Try to be who I was just a little. Just enough to remind myself who I am.
"You're the guy who saves the world, Dean."
"L'ts g't b'ack to sav'in 't t'hen." Let's get back to saving it then.
"Good to have you back, Dean."
"Sh'tup."
They sat in the library on computers, scrolling through articles and police reports, sightings and tips...waiting for the inevitable signs of a case that they, as fate decided long ago, would always chase after. No matter what.