Coping Mechanisms

"Sammy!" echoed through the house as Dean desperately searched every hall and crevice. You felt Dean's panic and threw in a few of your own "Sam!" calls between his. The others were still yelling for Corbett, but Dean paid them no mind as he had shifted into auto-pilot at the moment, one thought driving him; save little brother.

Having experienced Dean's distress firsthand at the hospital a few weeks prior, you made sure to give him space, searching everywhere he wasn't. More desperate calls for his brother pierced your ear drums. He's losing it. He's getting sloppy and if he's not careful, he's gonna be the next victim. Looking around, you noticed you were the only level head in the building. Utilizing that strength, you began to break down the situation. Daggett likes to play with his…guests…chances are, Sam's still alive for the moment. Find the bomb shelter, find Sam and Corbett. You exited the room, checking every wall for creases to indicate a hidden passage or room. After turning the corner, a hand on your shoulder somewhat startled you before whipping you around.

"Why weren't you watching him!?" pierced your eardrums. It wasn't exactly a welcome surprise. You knew Dean resorted to anger, but didn't expect it would've been directed towards yourself. Actually scratch that, he always needs someone to blame. Should've known. Don't escalate, it's just a coping mechanism…You took a breath, calming yourself before answering, "Why weren't you? We were both in that room, Dean."

"Exactly! I can't always watch him, so your job as our backup is to keep an eye out! Look, part of the deal of you tagging along with us is supervising, AKA watch our f***ing backs!"

"I'm sorry…backup…tagging along…?"

So the truth comes out… "I'm not some kid learning how to hunt. Last I checked you asked for my help to find Bela."

"And look how well that's going!" He's scared….he just needs an outlet. It's not personal, just nip it in the bud. "Knock it off, Dean. I know you're scared. But-"

"-I'm not scared of sh—"

"You're scared and looking to play the blame game. That crap might work with Sam, but it's not gonna fly with me. I'm not your personal punching bag when things get tough, so cut the sh** and keep looking for your god d*** brother. If you continue to yell at me like a child, I'll put a bullet in your f***ing kneecap." You turned your back on the older Winchester and could faintly hear the "Bitch." mumbled under his breath. You knew he was just panicking, but the sentiment of "tagging along" echoed in your mind…

You nearly ran into Ed (not even registering he was in the same room during your tiff) as he crossed to Dean on the other side. He tried to whisper (unsuccessfully) to the older Winchester, "So like, are you hitting that, or is it fair game." You could only imagine the look Dean gave Ed after that.

"Oh ok, bad time. Got it." You rolled your eyes as Ed exited the room. The hallway echoed babbling, but you didn't make much of it…until you heard the fighting commence. You and Dean ran into the room to see Ed and Harry getting physical. Something about kissing his sister? Dean yelled at the boys and went to break up the fight. Making a conscious decision to hold Harry back, you wrapped your arm around his neck and kneed him in the back of his thigh until he was at your mercy. "What the f*** are you doing?!" Dean boomed. "Cut it out! We're down by two people." Ironic. Wish you used that logic earlier. He left the room with a final, "Sam!" and you let Harry go. He looked first to you then to Ed. "I'm sorry." He said. You nodded at him before leaving yourself.

You heard rustling in the den and found Dean frantically looking through all the discarded documents. "So Daggett, he was a cold war nut. He was—he was an amateur taxidermist. He liked to slow dance with cadavers, and all he ate were C-rations, so what the hell are we looking for?!" You had come to the conclusion about an hour ago, assuming Dean had as well. Now that you realized he hadn't, you wanted him to get there on his own. Gotta let him be the hero. "Dean, he was alive during the cold war…he was scared." You hinted. The key word reminded of your previous conversation accusing Dean of the same. "He was scared…" Dean repeated. "He was scared!" He threw down the documents and ran out of the den. You raced past the others and caught up just behind him. Maggie and the team trailed you both, a line of questioning in tow.

"Where are you going?" You asked, unclear if he had seen something you hadn't. He turned a corridor that you hadn't clocked previously and rushed down a set of stairs. "Guys like Daggett back then, the ones who were really scared of the Russkies—They built bomb shelters. I'm guessing he's got one. And I'll bet you it's in the basement. He opened the door and you smirked to yourself, proud that you had been right about the bomb shelter all along.

As quickly as it opened, the door swung shut behind you, successfully dividing you, Dean, and the cameraman from the rest of the group. You tried the knob, but the supernatural lockdown had other things in mind. "It's unopenable." You said to the men behind you. "It wants to separate us." Screaming echoed on the other side of the door from the group of amateurs. Dean sighed and you moved aside so he could talk through the entryway. "Ed! Listen to me!"

"What?"

"There's some salt in my duffle. Make a circle and get inside." There was a long pause between answers, making you wonder if they left without a response…until the stupid came out. "Inside your duffle bag?"

"In the salt, you idiot!"

"Oh, okay. Yeah. Yeah."

Dean huffed and you made your way downstairs first, him right behind you. Given the cobwebs and dust, you'd say the place hadn't seen sunlight or live people probably in decades. You and Dean split up to search and the cameraman…Spruce! That was his name…followed Dean, building the courage to speak. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"What?"
"Earlier, you guys—Sam said you had two months left?"

"Yeah, it's complicated. A while ago, Sam…heh…no, no, no. I'm not gonna whine about my bullsh** problems to some bullsh** reality show. I'm gonna do my f***ing job."

You snickered to yourself, wanted desperately to make a Kardashian joke. But Spruce interrupted, "Is it cancer?"

"Shut up."

Your vision was then blocked as the light attached to the camera was turned towards your face. You used your hand to block it from your eyes. "Any comment?"

"F*** off." You stated simply, and you could've sworn you heard Dean snicker. He stopped suddenly though when music began to fill the room. "Do you hear that?" Asked Spruce. You and Dean walked to the south wall, the barrier seemingly the source of the melody.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to…

"It's definitely coming from behind the wall." You confirmed. You looked to your left and ran your finger down the backside of a locker, feeling a metal frame along the wall. It was unattached to the furniture. "Dean, we gotta move this." Without any of your assistance, the older Winchester manhandled the furniture and threw it out of the way.

"Wow, you're strong." Remarked Spruce. Dean threw him the bird and you smirked, even if you did mentally agree with the statement. Strong as a bull, and stubborn as one too.

Dean shouldered the metal door and broke it open, not even bothering to ask you to pick the lock. You had his six and just barely caught the tail end of Daggett's ghost getting blown away by a salt round. Dean ran to Sam and began to untie him while you kept watch for the reappearance. That's when you noticed the smell. The table was surrounded by corpses, some fully or partially decayed, and all smelling heavily of death and rot. There was a birthday cake on the table that was more mold than frosting and you had to choke down a gag and breath through your mouth in order to keep your stomach contents down. It was for not, as you looked to the end of the table and recognized Corbett…diseased. Spruce noticed seconds after you and audibly mourned while you unloaded bile in the corner. Sh**…