Notes:

I do not own anything from Supernatural or Good Omens.

Summary:

Prompts: search party, panic attack, "If only we could hold on"

This mostly focuses on the panic attack choice, but search party is also implied. So is Destiel ;)


Chapter 1: Race Against the Clock

Dean hummed along with the B side of Zeppelin IV as he dusted the shelves of the storage room. It was something he tried to do at least once a month. After all, someone had to keep the BatCave clean. Sam was too busy gathering his own dust, hunched over tomes in the library and filling that big brain of his.

The humming grew louder as the next track started up. He flipped the feather duster so that the handle faced out, an impromptu drumstick pounding the air to Four Sticks. Green eyes slipped shut as he lost himself to the music, arms still waving in an uncoordinated beat.

He didn't notice the box that he'd knocked from the shelf until it slammed down on his foot.

"Son of a-!"

Dean hopped back, duster clattering to the floor as he clutched at the injured appendage. Something in that box was definitely gonna leave a bruise.

Speaking of...

With one last shake, Dean set his foot back down and knelt to pick up the mess. Something that looked like straw was scattered all over the floor, mixed with-

"Crap."

Calloused hands scooped the straw- and the broken pieces of what used to be a sculpture- into a neat pile. With great care, Dean began to sort through the pieces.


Sam looked up at the sound of muttered cursing as Dean cut through the library. He was stopping by any piece of furniture with a drawer, tearing through the contents of each in a desperate search for something.

"Uh, Dean...?"

"Glue! Come on, come on..."

Brows bunches in worry, Sam cleared his throat loudly to catch his brother's attention. Dean slammed the drawer of an old desk a little too hard as he looked up. His eyes were wide and slightly panicked.

Sam pointed in the direction of the kitchen. "Third drawer down, left of the fridge."

Dean simply nodded before taking off in a hurry.

It took about ten minutes for curiosity to win out. The younger Winchester marked his page (Dean had been known to close his books if he just left them open) and went in search of his brother.

He found Dean just as he was placing a box back on a shelf in one of the storage rooms.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together after that.

"What did you do?"

Dean whirled around. His eyes were wide, pupils nearly non-existent as they darted across the small room. It took a second for recognition to settle. "What? I didn't- I just bumped it, man, I swear, I-"

Sam put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa, Dean, slow down. Take a breath and try that again, yeah?"

His older brother nodded quickly. He watched as Dean took a few gulps of air, hands now running down denim covered thighs as though wiping off sweat. After a few moments, he seemed to regain some of his composure.

"Sorry, Sammy. No clue what that was about."

Sam took a tentative step into the room, telegraphing his movements so as to avoid spooking his brother. "That looked like a panic attack," he said slowly. "Dean, what did you do?"

Green eyes darted away, guilt clear as day shining through. He turned, grabbing the box Sam had seen him with and grabbing a small object out of it.

He held up a small statue that looked vaguely reminiscent of Munch's The Scream. It had pieces of straw sticking to still-tacky glue, seams glistening slightly in the florescent lights.

The groan that rose from Sam's throat crescendoed into a "seriously, man?"

He reached out and grabbed the figurine, careful to avoid the sticky spots. Then he made a grabby motion with his hand, silently asking for Dean to pass him the box as well. "Awesome. We have no idea what half of this stuff is, Dean. You have to be more careful," he studied the box, taking note of the number labeling the outside before gently placing the statue back inside. "I'm gonna go check the catalogue, make sure you didn't let out some ancient entity or curse or whatever. We should probably stick together in the meantime."

Dean nodded and followed Sam back out to the library.


His palms were so freaking sweaty. Why are they so sweaty? He wiped them on his pants again, rubbing a bit harder as the clammy feeling persisted. The rhythm matched his racing heart beat: swipe up boom, swipe down, boom. Up, boom, down, boom. Up, down, up down, boom, boom, boom, boom-

"-ean! Dean!"

Sam's face suddenly swam into focus, features pinched in concern. "What is it? What's going on, Dean? You've been acting weird since..."

Dean and Sam both looked down at the box containing the broken figurine.

Sam blew out a frustrated sigh, one gigantic hand running down his face. "Ok. Here's what we're gonna do," he spun around and placed the box on the table -when did they get to the library?- and placed those big hands on Dean's shoulders. "I'm going to figure out what exactly you broke, and what it's doing to you. And you-" Dean let his little brother push him into a chair. "You are going to sit here and breathe. There ya go, in and out. Good."

Dean nodded and mimicked Sam's over-the-top breathing. It took a moment, but the panic began to subside and his heartbeat settled back down to a more normal rate.

Eventually, Sam seemed satisfied. Dean watched his brother hurry over to the Men of Letters catalogue to start his search.

Time went by in snatches after that. It was hard for Dean to focus beyond the racing of, well, everything. His thoughts were jumbled and a bit all over the place. Fire ached and burned in his chest, and for a moment he thought the burgers, bacon and booze had caught up with him. Dean rubbed his damp palms against his aching sternum. Maybe it was a heart attack.

Snapping fingers brought his attention back to the world around him. "Cas?"

Blue eyes shone brightly inches from his own. The angel was crouched in front of him, one hand resting on the hunter's knee. "Hello, Dean."

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Uh, hey Cas. What are you doin' here? I thought you were at the farmer's market?"

Those deep, sky blue eyes crinkled with worry. "Dean, that was this morning. It's almost 3 o'clock in the afternoon. I was going to surprise you and Sam with food from that diner you like, but then Sam said to hurry back."

The Sasquatch in question chose that moment to lumber over. Dean did not realize how close Cas had been until he pulled away to allow Sam into the conversation. The absence was immediately felt, and the realization of that sent Dean's heart rate skyrocketing again.

While his brother's nose was too buried in the book he was holding to see the change, Cas picked it up right away. The seraph didn't say anything, but the thumb hanging just inside Dean's right knee began to make slow circles. Dean gratefully used it as a beat to measure his breathing against.

"Ok, so get this," Sam began, eyes still focused on the book. "This thing is literally junk. It's a crappy museum gift shop souvenir for the painting The Scream."

Dean tore his gaze away from twin calming seas and glared at his little brother. "And? What did it do to me?"

Sam cringed, his hesitation clear as he revealed the last bit. "It seems that Munch had a fan who dabbled in witchcraft. She hated the way people made fun of the work, so she cursed all the statues in the gift shop. If it was broken, whoever did it would have escalating panic attacks until the statue was either made whole again, or..."

"Orwhat?"

"Or their heart gave out."

Dean slammed a fist again the arm of his chair. "What else does it say? Cause I picked up all those little pieces, Sam. I glued that thing back together, so why am I still freakin' out here?"

The younger Winchester spun back the the table and swapped the book for the statue. He brought it over, flipping it to show the base.

Right next to a barcode sticker bearing $34.95 in neat black print was a teeny tiny empty spot.

A missing piece.

Suddenly the edges of the world burned away, and all Dean could see was that bottomless spot of black.

You broke it.

You broke it like you do everything.

The very touch of you corrupts...

Pain exploded in his chest. His eyes slammed shut, a shaking hand clawing at his shirt as though ripping the organ out would stop the hurt. Noises surrounded him, a warped cacophony of sound that echoed through swollen, closed up ears. The heart that beat so mercilessly beneath his grasping fingers pounded his pulse through his body. He could feel it in his eardrums, drowning out the other sounds; it hammered against the backs of his eyes. His right knee twitched to the too-fast tempo along with his hands, his fingers, his toes.

A shock shot through his chest. A knife- it had to be. Sam and Cas- hed messed up too much too often. It was time to cut him loose. Was it and angel blade or a demon knife? It probably didn't matter- he was human. They'd both kill him the same.

The blade slipped between ribs, slowly slicing down the frantically pounding organ. Tearing the strands and fibers apart piece by piece, like trying to unstick a stuck zipper.

Fire, scorching, burning, pulsing, tearing, slicing, screaming (was someone screaming?) beating, beating, beating...

And then Dean knew no more.


When he came to, everything hurt.

"Dean? Hey Cas, I think he's coming around!'

Green eyes fluttered open, or at least tried to. Dean made a valiant attempt, but the world was too bright. His head was pounding, and his chest felt sore and tight.

"Dean, can you hear me?"

The hunter groaned. All he wanted was to go back to sleep, but that gravely voice sounded worried. So Dean sucked it up and peeled back two gritty eyelids.

"Yeah...yeah Cas, I hear ya. Ugh. What the hell happened?"

As Sam jumped into his field of vision, Dean could just make out the blurry details of his bedroom wall in the background.

"Dean, you scared the crap out of us! You just freaked out and collapsed, and we couldn't wake you. Cas moved you in here, and we tore the storage room apart looking for that damn shard."

A chuckle slipped from Dean's lips that he immediately regretted. First, because Sam looked distraught as all Hell. Second, because it hurt like a bitch.

He tiredly rubbed at his sore chest with one hand. "Thanks, Sammy. Saved my bacon in that one, I guess. Where was the damn thing?"

Cas looked at Sam, who in turn cast his eyes down to the side. He watched his brother rub the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "It, uh... It was under the price tag. Must have gotten stuck there when you put it back together. I was ready to go through the store room again, but Cas felt it when he picked it up."

A shock of pain, less than before, shot across Dean's already sore chest. Cas scrunched his brow in concern, placing a rough, calloused hand on top of Dean's as he clutched at the spot. "What the f-"

"Easy, Dean. It's just a spasm. The panic attacks have caused residual muscle cramps. Now that the curse has been lifted, I should be able to heal you."

The hunter relaxed back against the memory foam mattress and nodded his consent. Two fingers gently grazed his forehead, immediately followed by a cool rush of Grace. The pain faded away.

Exhaustion rushed in to take its place. Dean felt his face split in a wide yawn, but was too tired to care. He felt Cas' hand settle on his should for a brief squeeze before withdrawing.

He could hear the angel shooing Sam out of his room. Sleep was calling, but before he slipped completely under, he could hear Cas quietly bid him goodnight.

A smile crept across his lips as he mumbled back, "Back atcha, Cas."