Chapter 51
A/N Well. Been a hot minute, huh? Turns out that getting a stent put into your brain while you're recovering from a tooth infection is not conducive to creativity. Go figure.
We're picking up with the Siren setting our boys fighting in s04e14 Sex and Violence. Not touching s04e11 Family Remains because, really, Sam is barely in it and his powers have no effect (although, as a reminder, that BM scene at the end where Dean confesses that he enjoyed torturing in Hell already took place in Chapter 43). Not doing s04e12 Criss Angel is a Douchebag because the action happens so fast at the end that Sam wouldn't have time to use his own powers or magick before Jay stabs Charlie. Skipping s04e13 Afternoon Special because Sam's power doesn't work on ghosts and, again, you don't screw with perfection.
This chapter skips over s04e15, after all the Siren stuff happens. I'm NOT showing it, but know that Sam heals Pamela, so she doesn't die. She does, however, tell them to tell Bobby he's a bastard for ever having introduced her to the Winchesters, and that the Winchesters should lose her number. (Obviously her warning to Sam about what he "did to that demon" doesn't happen either.)
One editorial note: if Cas is speaking in single quotes ("My 'people skills' are 'rusty'") he is using finger quotes, in that adorkable way he has.
Also, for them as cares: This entire fic, through chapter 50, has a been posted on AO3, as a series of works called Evolution under the same author name. There ARE some differences between the two, and will be differences going forward. To start with, part 4 (Evolution: Apocalypse) covers s04 and s05, and on AO3, there is a an entirely new scene dealing with the immediate aftermath of Dean getting dragged to Hell by the hellhounds. Also, remember how Sastiel snuck up on me and I dialed it back? I plan to continue to keep that toned down here, but will probably let it build on AO3. Finally, some of the violence on AO3 may get a little more graphic than what we'll see here. Choose your preference, my friends!
SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=
Bedford, IA
Hotel Room
December 14, 2008
10:06 pm
Nick smiled at the brothers. "So I know you two have a lot you want to get off your chests. So why don't you discuss it? And whoever survives, can be with me forever," he grinned and retreated to sit on the bed to watch the fun.
Dean glared at his little brother. "Well, I don't know when it happened. Maybe when I was in Hell. Maybe when I was staring right at you. But the Sam I knew, he's gone."
"That so?"
"Yeah. And it ain't how much your powers have grown, or how you banged Ruby, or that you were fucking stupid enough to not know you'd been roofied with fuckin' demon blood," he added. "It's your whole attitude, man."
"MY attitude?" Sam countered. "What about your attitude?"
"My attitude is fine," Dean pushed him hard into the wall. "YOUR the one who's suddenly mini-Dad, all about revenge and nothing else!"
"I'm doing what needs to be done," Sam countered, pushing back and throwing a punch that Dean barely blocked. "And it's not revenge, it's the job, Dean! Saving people, remember that? Stopping the fucking Apocalypse? But you can't see it can you? Your head is still stuck in Hell and you can't see anything else."
"I can see that your powers have gone to your head, you little bitch," Dean countered as they continued to try to beat each other's brains in with their fists, blow after blow, each thrown and blocked in a never ending dance of evenly matched fury. "You think you're better than me, you arrogant little shit? You're barely even human!"
"You're jealous because you know I'm a better hunter than you, with or without my powers! I'm stronger than you, Dean! Smarter, faster. I can take out demons you're too scared to go after. You're holding me back, Dean, and I'm sick of it. Sick of you!"
"That's crap." Dean's fist hit his brother's jaw hard enough that Sam saw stars. "It's an excuse to keep getting less and less human every day. Trying to convince yourself you're still normal, when deep down you know you're the monster Dad always said you were!"
"At least I'm not sitting around whining and feeling sorry for myself. So you tortured souls in Hell, Dean. Boo Hoo. Grow a pair and get over it."
Dean ducked Sam's punch. "I'll show you who's got a pair, you little freak!" he yelled and launched himself into Sam's stomach, sending them crashing through the door and into the corridor.
Sam lay on the ground, feeling the crack in his spine starting to heal, trying to catch his breath while he watched his brother scramble up and stagger to the fire axe hanging in the glass covered alcove on the wall.
Nick appeared in the doorway, all smiles as Dean broke the glass and hefted the axe over his brother. "Do it," he urged. "Do it for me, Dean, and I'll be the brother you really deserve, forever and ever."
Dean brought the axe down to cleave Sam's skull in half.
Sam threw up a hand in instinctive defense, his TK shoving Dean back a half-step, but momentum kept his brother's swing moving down faster than Sam could react.
The axe came down with a sickening squish and crack to found a new home dead center of Dean's brother's chest, cutting through rib cage, heart and lungs to bury itself crosswise, deep in Sammy's spine.
Dean let go of the axe as the fog in his brain started to lift, and he fell to his knees beside the brother he'd spent his life protecting.
The brother he just murdered.
"NO!"
The pain in his heart was so intense, Dean didn't even feel Bobby's brass dagger penetrate his own shoulder, never saw the siren turn to run, only to be cut down by a knife in his back.
Dean didn't see anything at all, but the bloody corpse before him, signifying, once again, the end of Dean's world.
SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=
Red Oak Inn
Red Oak, IA
Room 117
December 14, 2008
11:53 pm
Dean pulled the Impala into the space in front of the door to the room Bobby had rented for him and Sam (Bobby's room was two doors down) and got slowly out of the car.
He'd stopped bothering to wipe his tears away half an hour ago, just let them continue to fall while he opened the passenger side door and reached carefully in for the still, limp, pale figure propped up and seat-belted into place in the shotgun seat, the gaping hole in its chest hidden by Dean's own jacket, carefully zipped up to cover his crime.
He heard Bobby open the door to their room as he released the safety belt and slipped one arm behind Sammy's shoulders, the other under his giraffe-legged knees and carefully stood, making sure not to scalp the boy (his boy, his kid, his life) on the car door as he extricated his precious cargo from their home.
He didn't notice the tears that fell onto Sammy's hair, ignored the way Sam's neck flopped around until the tousled head came to rest against Dean's shoulder. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other until he'd made it to the bed further from the door, where he lay the body down to rest.
His brain tried to erase the word forever from his vocabulary.
"Dean," Bobby said gently from behind him.
"We'll see you in the morning, Bobby," Dean replied, his voice as scratchy and raw as his heart, never looking away from the blue-tinged face he loved so much.
"It's not your fault," Bobby persisted. Even though if either of you numbskulls had picked up a phone you'd've found out who the siren was. Even if I was only a second too late. "It was the siren who killed him, Dean, not you."
Dean didn't move, except to tighten the fists at his side. "It was my hand on the axe. My stupidity that got me infected. That helped get Sammy infected."
"I told you, boy, sirens're nasty things," Bobby sighed. "Hard to tell 'em from regular people, and we didn't know how the venom was spread."
Dean shrugged. "Changes nothing."
"Dean, you can't…"
"Sam and I will see you in the morning, Bobby."
"Dean…"
"I said GOOD NIGHT, Bobby!"
The elder hunter sighed and shook his head sadly. "Try to get some rest, Dean," he urged and closed the door behind him when he left.
Dean sank to his knees beside the bed. Gently, he opened the coat holding his brother's body together. It had been necessary to disguise the wound while getting Sammy out of the other motel and into this one, but now that they were safe from the prying eyes of strangers, Dean had no right to hide from what he'd done.
"I can't… I'm so sorry, Sam," he whispered and lowered his head until his forehead rested against Sammy's unmoving side, inches from the gruesome cleft in the middle of his chest. "I didn't mean any of it. You've never been a monster, not for a second. It's me," he gasped. "I'm the monster. I'm poison."
He lifted his head and looked up at the ceiling. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he shook his head. "But… God. Or Cas. Lucifer, anybody. Please," he begged, voice clogged with tears and pain. "Please just… bring him back. Just give him back."
A soft sound behind him barely registered, but he didn't jump when the deep voice came.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean just knelt there, gently brushing the hair from Sammy's forehead.
"What has happened?"
"Hunt went bad," he said neutrally. I went bad. As usual. "I got… and then he was… and we… I killed him, Cas. I killed Sammy." He sat in silent shame for what could have been minutes or hours, his brother's corpse splayed open before him, the angel silently judging from behind.
"Cas?" he gasped and shuddered when a strong hand rested on his shoulder. "He'll bring him back, right? Lucifer? He'll bring him back," Dean nodded to himself. "Right?"
"I believe so," Castiel confirmed, and reached a hand down to touch Sam's forehead, sealing up the chest and healing the unmoving, slowly decaying organs in the cavity.
"You believe," Dean scoffed.
"Belief — faith — is powerful," the angel assured him. "You need to find something to believe in, Dean. It will make you stronger."
Dean put a hand on the cold forehead before him. "I had something to believe in," he assured the celestial. "Then I killed him."
There was nothing Castiel could say to that, nothing that would make Dean feel better, not until Sam revived, so Castiel said nothing.
Sam would be resurrected, the angel was sure. Castiel's Faith made it seem inevitable. Faith in his Father, who apparently wanted the Apocalypse to happen and, it seemed, needed these poor, tormented boys for his Grand Plan. Faith in the manipulative nature of his stubborn, lost, and fallen Brother, still trapped in the Cage, but ever closer to freedom.
Faith in the unending stubbornness and unshakable will of the most consistently vexing creature Castiel had ever known.
He wondered if it would help Dean to know that the hunter wasn't the only one who put his belief so firmly in the dead man before them. But Sam belonged to Dean, not to Castiel, and speaking of it would therefore be presumptuous, so the angel just stood quietly behind the weeping hunter, and waited silently for the return of their mutual Faith.
SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=
The first thing Sam was aware of was the sound of a shower running. He opened his eyes and glanced around the room, taking in the sage colored walls.
So, not the crappy motel he and Dean had fought in, then.
Where was Dean, anyway? Well, in the shower, presumably.
He looked around the new motel, wondering why he didn't remember arriving there, and frowned as his eyes took in his surroundings. A familiar wall-hanging over an equally well-known dresser; the feel of a mattress that conformed to his body from long association.
One queen sized bed.
"What the hell?" he sat up slowly, heart pounding.
This wasn't a motel, this was an apartment. HIS apartment. His and….
The shower had cut off long before he registered the change and the door swung open.
"You're back!"
The smile was wide and open and welcoming and the long, lithe body that crawled on the bed was all too familiar, even four years later.
"Jess?" His voice was broken and too quiet but she just smiled at him and leaned over to give him a kiss he'd been dreaming of for four years, one month and twelve days.
"Welcome home, baby," she cooed at him and snuggled into his arms.
He couldn't help the way his arms tightened around her, couldn't hold back the sob that shook his whole body, not if his life had depended on it.
"Sam?" She hugged him back, just as hard, then ran a hand gently through his hair, just like she always did whenever he was upset. "Are you okay, baby? Oh, god, nothing happened to your dad, did it? You found him okay?"
"I… it's… Oh, my god, Jess," was all he could force out and he stopped hugging her to pull back, framing her beautiful face in his hands to pull her in for a long, soft kiss, full of the longed-for feelings of love and home and the taste of Her.
He pulled back slowly, frowning at the lingering taste of… something… on his lips. Something familiar…
"Sammy? Are you okay?"
"Am I… I'm…" he huffed a little at himself, at his own incoherency and confusion. "Yeah," he finally laughed. "I'm good. I'm real good," he promised and kissed her lightly again.
She laughed and pulled back to kiss his nose. "Good!" she smiled. "I have to go finish up my hair and skin care," she told him and headed back to the bathroom. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll show you just how happy I am you're home," she giggled and closed the door behind her.
Sam grinned and flopped back on the bed, content.
His eyes flew open almost immediately to stare at the blank and empty ceiling above him, his heart suddenly pounding and his breath catching in his throat.
He sat up, glancing at the bathroom door. "Hey, Jess?"
"Yeah?"
"Um… What's the date?"
"November 1st!" she called back, then laughed. "Oh, wait, it's after midnight. November 2nd, I guess. Why?"
"No reason," he choked out and hoped she didn't hear how shaky his voice sounded.
He looked at the clock on the nightstand. 4:30 A.M. Over an hour after the time he'd lost Jess.
So… what? The last four years just… never happened? He shook his head. What the hell is this, some kind of lame Dallas reveal? He'd give anything for that to be true.
Jess, still alive. His whole future just waiting for him — law school, marriage, kids.
Maybe Dean would come back to California, and they could have a normal life, a good life. Together.
Dad, still alive, out there someplace, still hunting, endlessly hunting.
No Hookman, no Bloody Mary.
No psychic kids. No Max, no Andy.
No Ava.
No Jake.
No Cold Oak.
His eyes grew wide again and his breath sped up as his hand flew to his back, scrambling under his shirt.
It was there, the familiar pucker and dips of that long-ago scar that had started it all.
Azazel. Demons. MEG.
He pulled down the collar of his shirt and was greeted by the familiar tattoo he'd gotten years after this night.
It HAD happened. All of it. The Demon Deal, Dean's Hell. The Seals breaking.
Castiel.
His heart pounded, and his mind flew back through the last few minutes as his anger grew and grew.
He suddenly realized what that taste when he'd kissed Jess had been.
He was standing at the door when it opened, and his fist hit the beloved face like a freight train.
"SAMMY!" she screamed, covering her bleeding nose. "What's gotten into you?"
He grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her to the wall.
"You fucked up," he snarled and shook her until her head slammed against the wall, leaving a streak of red behind the blonde hair. "I still have all my scars, you moron," he shook his head and let go, stepping back.
"What scars? Sammy…"
"And Jess never called me 'Sammy'. That's Dean. And you, LUCIFER."
The familiar face shifted and morphed into the same Man he'd seen when he'd been in the Panic Room. "Very good, Sammy," he grinned, impossibly white teeth gleaming in a feral smile as the blue-grey eyes glowed an unearthly red. "I knew you were the smart one."
"Who is this?" he frowned.
Lucifer shrugged. "One of my possible lesser vessels," he smiled wolfishly, and morphed into the familiar shape of the woman Sam loved. "But I know you prefer this," he admitted tried to kiss him again.
Sam pulled away. "You're not her."
"But you wish I were," Lucifer taunted, and grabbed hold of Sam's belt, stopping him from backing any further away. He pressed himself forward again, and traced one familiar finger across Sam's lower lip. "You're actually a very good kisser, you know? I'll have to remember that."
"Get out of her," he demanded, breaking free of the fallen angel's hold to grab onto the slim, all-too familiar arms.
Lucifer sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're no fun." He morphed again, back into the Man.
"Why are you doing this?" Sam demanded. "Why now? Why her?" He wasn't quite strong enough to keep his voice from breaking.
Lucifer sat on the bed, slid back into Jess's form and patted the bed beside him.
Sam stayed standing and Lucifer just shrugged.
"I have other potential vessels," Lucifer admitted. "But you, Sammy, you're special."
"Yeah," he nodded. "I know. Your TRUE Vessel. Whatever the hell that means."
"It means," Lucifer told him, and stood, morphing again, into the blonde Man, "that you, Sammy, are who I need, if I'm going to beat my brother Michael."
"And release Hell on Earth," Sam shook his head. "Not happening. Not with my help."
"Are you sure?" Lucifer grinned and swept a hand around the room, ending at the bed, where Jess suddenly lounged in her boy shorts and Smurf shirt, reading a book as if Sam and Lucifer weren't even there.
His breath caught in his lungs. "This isn't real," he said firmly, unsure if he was defying the Devil or reminding himself.
"But it could be."
Sam blinked at him, stupidly. "It… Y… what?"
"I can bring her back, Sam," Lucifer told him. "Like I can with you. I can bring them all back," he added, snapping his fingers, and suddenly they were standing in the kitchen of a house he recognized. THE House. Their house, and his Mom and Dad stood laughing at the sink, washing dishes, while Dean leaned against the counter, drinking Coke from a bottle and grinning, not a care in the world.
"No," Sam breathed.
"I can give it to you, Sam. The life you always wanted."
The back door opened and Sam came through to welcoming cries, holding an obviously pregnant Jess's hand and carrying a small child in one arm.
"Oh, God," he breathed and felt the tears start to flow, his breath hitching as his heart spasmed in longing.
"I can give you everything you ever wanted."
He just stood there, watching the happy reunion, the hugs and kisses, the look of absolute adoration shared between his brother and his child when Uncle Dean lifted his nephew up for a kiss on the head. There's my boy!
"God. Please," he sobbed.
"You can have it," Jess's voice came from beside him, and he turned to face the woman he knew was his wife, had been his wife for long, glorious years he could almost remember. The familiar hand, complete with diamond ring, wiped his tears away. "You just have to say 'yes', Sam, and this is our life."
He looked back at the scene, his heart swelling, clenching, breaking, when Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Ash came in from the other room, clearly a family of their own.
The scene shifted once more, and they were around a long, food-laden table, laughing and passing the dishes along, joined now by Rick and a handsome man who kept holding his best friend's hand, and an older couple — a frowning bald man and his smiling blond wife — he didn't recognize (but could guess at, based on Dean's descriptions), and an older woman he recognized (remembered?) was his paternal grandmother.
His parents kissed tenderly.
Ellen and Bobby looked at each other lovingly.
Ash and Jo giggled like siblings.
Dean cut turkey into small pieces and fed them to the little boy and littler girl sitting on either side of him, answering questions and listening to babbling stories with endless patience and love.
His legs gave out and he fell to his knees. "I can't," he gasped. "Please. I can't."
"You can," Jess promised, kneeling gracefully beside him. "Just say yes. I'll keep them all safe, Sam. I swear to you. You'll live long, happy lives. Kids, grandkids. All of it. For one word."
"A long, happy life," Sam repeated, brokenly, and raised his eyes to the joyful scene again.
"Yes."
He closed his eyes for a long moment, drinking in the sound of laughter and love and family.
He opened his eyes and turned to face his beautiful wife. "While the world burns," he said bitterly, and roughly wiped his tears away.
"Sam," she said reproachfully. "You'll be safe. I'll be safe. You, me, Dean. Everyone you love, we'll be happy. Your Mom will get to live the life she should've had. Your Dad will be the loving father that Dean remembers. The one you never met, and always longed for. You and I… We'll be everything we should've been. And Dean? Look how happy he'd be," she urged and Sam's breath caught watching his smiling big brother pick their daughter up and put her on his knee, running a hand over her blonde hair, while he nodded attentively at the little boy sitting next to them. "No hunting, no guilt, just partners with John at Winchester's Auto Shop, fixing cars and restoring classics, like he did when you were both happy in California.
"If everyone you love is happy and contented, then does anything else matter? Really, Sam," she smiled gently and he couldn't help closing his eyes at her gentle touch on his cheek, couldn't stop himself from pressing into that soft, loving hand, "what difference does it make what happens out there?"
The words hit him like a bucket of cold water. "What difference..?" he lurched to his feet looking down at the woman he once loved and brutally lost. "You bastard, that's four and half BILLION lives," he yelled. "Get out of her!"
Lucifer rolled his eyes and stood, suddenly the Man again, as the scene continued to play out behind him. "Party pooper."
The happy family — Sam's happy family — faded away.
"You really thought that would work?" Sam marveled. "That I'd choose my happiness over the death of billions?"
"I thought you'd choose your brother's happiness. Your mother's life. Jessica's life. Well, I had hoped," Lucifer shrugged, and sighed. "I mean, I knew you'd never choose yourself. But your family? I thought, maybe… I should've known better, I suppose," he admitted. "Ever self-sacrificing, you Winchesters," he sneered. "So short-sighted."
"Short-sighted would've been believing your tricks," Sam snarled.
Lucifer sighed, and shook his head, sadly. "That was no trick, Sam," he said earnestly. "I can bring them back. I can keep them safe. I can give you all of it. Once I'm free. And if I choose to. If you give me a reason to choose to."
"Why should I believe you? Aren't you the Prince of Lies?"
Lucifer shrugged. "Dad's Propaganda. I'm no less truthful than anyone else, not really. Not that I'm above lying to get what I want," he admitted freely. "But then, few humans won't lie for what they feel is a good cause. Usually their own cause. You lie to your brother all the time."
"No, I don't!"
"Riiight. Because you were so forthcoming about everything that happened in the Panic Room. Right, Sammy? Mister Honesty?"
Sam looked briefly away, very much afraid he'd actually blushed at that. He hadn't kept anything important from Dean. Okay, the dying thing. But the rest of it… it was all just… details. Details Dean didn't need to know, about what he'd seen in his head. What he'd felt.
Details about C…
"But I'll never lie to you, Sam," Lucifer continued, as if he hadn't noticed (and revelled in) Sam's shame. "I'll always tell you the truth," he smiled a cold, serpent's smile that sent shivers up Sam's spine. "This is an honest offer I'm making. No hidden agendas, no strings attached. Well, other than the obvious one. Let me put this another way. I said I had a choice of whether to give you your family or not. I was giving you a choice, too, Sam. You can choose to be happy forever, with everyone you love, starting the very second I'm freed." The Devil's smile turned feral, "or I can do this, until you break and decide to give in."
Sam screamed as he felt his organs catch fire.
"Because you will break, Sam," Lucifer assured him.
The blood in his veins turned thick, hot, molten, scorching him from the inside out and he crumbled to the ground, the tears that were now pouring from his eyes leaving blackened skin behind.
"This is the choice, Sam," Lucifer said, his tone deceptively gentle as he knelt beside him, slowly tightening his hand into a fist, and Sam felt every bone in his body shatter, one by one, until he was just a bag of skin and blood and pain. "Eternal happiness or eternal torture until you say the Magic Word."
"Please," Sam gasped.
"Not that magic word."
He vomited as Lucifer scrambled out of the way, disgust on his face, as Sam's half-liquid intestines forced themselves out of his throat.
"Gross," Lucifer shuddered.
Sam somehow rolled over and looked up at his tormentor. "Screw. You," he hissed.
Lucifer shrugged. "Last chance," he said brightly, snapping his fingers, and Sam was standing beside him again, whole and unharmed, the pain gone but lingering still in his every breath, unforgotten and unforgettable. "You can have this," he promised and the happy family was back before him. This time, Sam didn't see himself at the table, and his whole family was smiling and gesturing to him, calling for him to join them.
Sam shook his head and backed away.
"Or," Lucifer continued, and pointed at the melted, burning, greasy entrails Sam had just stepped in, "you can have that."
He shook his head again.
"Think carefully, Sam," Lucifer warned. "I may be stuck in The Cage, but I'm still the True Ruler of Hell. I invented every torture known on Earth, in Heaven or in Hell," he snarled. "I taught Alistair everything he knows," he grinned ferally. "But not everything I know. Not. Even. Close. Eternal Sunshine, Sam? Or endless, unimaginable PAIN." He snapped his fingers and every inch of Sam's skin burst into flame.
Sam fell to his knees, screaming, even as his family called to him with love and longing.
Lucifer crouched beside him. "What's it going to be, Sammy? Are you going to give me what I want, so I can give you what you want?"
He raised his blackened face to Lucifer and parted charred lips, forcing his charcoal tongue to move.
"Never," he hissed.
Lucifer sighed, and the long, happy life he'd promised faded to nothing.
"So be it," he shrugged carelessly.
And then Real Pain began.
SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=
Red Oak, IA
Red Oak Inn
Room 117
December 17, 2008
9:03 pm
The sudden gasping breath from the bed furthest from the door had the other three occupants of the room snapping to attention.
Dean dropped the piece of pizza he was absently nibbling back to the napkin in front of him on the table, and was kneeling by his brother's bedside in seconds.
Bobby set his book aside without bothering to keep his place, and rose from the uncomfortable sofa as quickly as his old knees would allow.
And Castiel stood a little straighter in his corner, only just stopping himself from joining Dean on his knees to worship with the Righteous Man before their mutual Faith.
"Sammy?" Dean whispered in a voice too long disused, too abused by tears and screams of anguish, gently brushing the hair off the familiar face.
A face, he was immensely relieved to see, that was no longer blue-grey, but full of the colors and tones of blessed life.
Sam's eyes fluttered open and he looked around, flinching when he saw his brother so close.
"Hey, hey, easy," Dean soothed, and reached out towards his brother, stopping when Sam jerked back with a soft gasp. "Okay, okay," he agreed, lifting his hands to show that he wasn't going to reach for the clearly confused and frightened man shrinking back on the bed. "No touching, got it. Not touching."
Slowly, cautiously, his eyes flicking quickly between all three of the room's other occupants, Sam pushed himself up until he was sitting with his back pressed against the wooden headboard, hard enough that Dean was afraid the kid'd bruise his spine.
"You all right, there, son?" Bobby asked gently. "Lookin' a little spooked."
Sam frowned. "Is this… Is this real?" he asked quietly. "Dean? Is it you?"
"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. It's okay."
"Where… this isn't… Where are we?" Sam demanded, his voice going cold.
"Red Oak, Iowa," Dean explained. "Thought it best to get out of Bedford ASAP, after all the damage we did to the motel. Not to mention the body."
"Body," Sam repeated, glancing down at the gaping, red-stained hole in his shirt.
"The siren," Dean clarified. "Bobby got it. Stabbed me in the damn shoulder," he frowned, glancing back at the elder hunter, and twisted his torso around so Sam could see the bandage peeking out from beneath his shirt, covering the stab wound he'd flat refused to let Cas heal. "But he killed it."
Sam nodded, and the room fell silent for a minute or so.
Bobby looked between his boys, the one relieved and eager for renewed contact, the other cautious and uncertain, as if he were afraid to believe his own eyes.
Those boys needed to talk some things out, obviously (and as usual), and, much as he would love to stay and just watch the younger Winchester breathe, they didn't need an old coot like him hovering over 'em
"Well," Bobby said and moved to lightly pat Sam's leg, stopping when the boy quickly and deliberately moved his leg away. "I'm gonna go get some sleep," he decided. "'N' call Rick, let him know you're okay again."
"You called Rick?" Sam frowned. "What for?"
"Apparently," Dean said drily, "Bobby promised to keep Rick in the loop if —"
"When," Bobby corrected.
"— one of us gets seriously hurt."
"Does he… What did… Did you tell him I died?"
"'Course not," Bobby scoffed. "Told him a hunt went bad, and you got hurt, kinda serious, but it looked like you'd pull through. He wanted to come, o'course, but I talked him down, told him you were in the ICU and they wouldn't let him in anyway and that you'd be pissed if he put his residency on the line when he couldn't do anything. He'll be real glad to hear you're awake and all right."
Sam nodded. "Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby smiled and shook his head. "Sure is good to see you a… wake, son. Don't mind sayin', you had us worried."
"Sorry."
Bobby nodded at him, granting silent absolution. "See you in the morning, idjits," he smiled and left the room, closing the door softly behind himself.
"I, too, am glad that you are back," Castiel commented, stepping closer to the bed. "The world is once again as I prefer it."
Sam chuckled softly, while Dean looked between them, confused.
"Glad I could help," Sam grinned, dimples flashing and Castiel smiled back, all teeth and gums — something that Dean had never seen the angel do before.
"I suppose you need to get back to Heaven," Dean interjected, a little coldly, Sam thought. "They've gotta be missing you by now, right?"
"Missing?" Sam repeated, frowning now. "How long was I…"
"Two days, twenty-three hours, fifty-three minutes," Castiel informed him.
The brothers looked at him, eyes wide.
"Give or take ten minutes," Castiel admitted, sheepishly. "Bobby was not able to give me a definitive time of… Time to begin counting from, but that's my best estimation."
"Three days?" Sam repeated softly. He turned his attention to his brother, expecting to see the tell-tale signs of three sleepless days: dark circles under the familiar green eyes, a certain tautness to the face, a general weariness radiating from him.
He didn't find it, and frowned. Not that he wasn't glad that Dean had had the sense to get rest while Sam was… gone, but… Well, what the hell? He died (at Dean's hands, no less, even though it wasn't in any way Dean's fault), and his brother just… slept?
Maybe this wasn't Dean, after all.
He pressed himself more firmly against the headboard.
"Did you get any sleep while I was… away?" he asked softly.
Dean scoffed. "Yeah," he snarled, "because Cas fuckin' put me out." He turned slightly to glare at the angel. "Not cool, dude. Not. Cool."
"As I have stated before, Dean," Castiel said frostily, "your determination to harm yourself is in no way helpful to your brother, and has no positive impact on his condition."
"You had no r—"
"Thank you, Castiel," Sam smiled at him and Dean turned his glare onto his brother. "I appreciate you looking after Dean when I couldn't."
Dean huffed and crossed his arms. "Don't need looking after," he mumbled, turning away from both the room's other occupants. "Grown man, I can take care of my own damn self."
"Grown man," Sam nodded. "Which is why you're pouting like a five year old."
"I'm not pout—" Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. "I think I liked you better dead."
Behind him, unseen by the elder Winchester, but in full view of the younger, Castiel straightened up, frowning, thunderclouds rolling in his eyes.
Sam smiled and slightly lifted a hand at Castiel, barely shaking his head, and the angel titled his head, puzzled, then relaxed.
"You were a lot less mouthy," Dean continued.
Sam just grinned at him. "Awww, you missed me!" he laughed.
"Yeah, like you miss the clap," Dean huffed. "Bitch."
"Jerk," Sam's smile widened as he emphasized the 'k'.
At the sight of his brother, whole, alive and smiling at him, dimples and all, Dean let go of the anger and frustration of the last couple days and sighed. "I'm glad you're back, Sammy," he said quietly.
Sam nodded once, his smile never dimming.
"Eh-che," Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly — it sounded disturbingly like a cat coughing up a hairball — and both brothers turned to face him, a little puzzled. "Dean is correct. I have been away from Heaven rather longer than I had planned."
"Any progress?" Sam asked.
Castiel gave a small, nearly humanish shrug. "I have talked with several angels," he reported, "but as yet have found no allies. I have some hopes, however. One angel — an old… friend… of mine — has just returned from an… unscheduled sabbatical… on Earth. I think, after the amount of time he spent on Earth, he would likely be in favor of preventing its destruction. And Heaven has recently captured an angel who chose to fall some twenty three years ago. If I can get to her, and if I can help her escape from Heaven, I have no doubt she will be on humanity's side."
"Escape?" Dean repeated.
"Anna fell. On purpose. Removed her own grace," Castiel explained, shuddering a little at the thought. "A very painful process. She's apparently been living as a human all this time, was born to a human woman and raised in a family. Had a very normal life, by all accounts. Until the day I raised you from perdition, Dean. Then, she began hearing Heaven's messages."
"Heaven's messages," Sam frowned. "Like… how does that work?"
"Angels can hear one another," Castiel explained. "Heaven will… the closest analogy to your own technology would be that Heaven 'broadcasts' messages to angels. All angels, or a specific few. In this case, Anna apparently heard a general message. She had the misfortune of telling others about what she was hearing and, as is typically the case with humanity when faced with something they cannot understand, she was locked away in what I believe is called a 'psych ward'."
"Wow," Dean scoffed. "Locked up as crazy, and all she was doing was tuning into Angel Radio? That sucks."
"Indeed. I'm not sure I'll be able to reach Anna in Heaven's prison…"
"Heaven has a prison?" Dean gaped at him. "What the… WHY?"
"It is occasionally deemed necessary to… discipline an angel." Castiel glanced at Sam. "Sometimes that involves isolation in Heaven's jail, instead of re-education. Although," he said sadly, "I suspect they will do both with Anna."
"Just because she left home?" Sam frowned. "She's got the right to make her own choices. It's her life."
"It is not," Castiel contradicted with a simplicity that forbade any further argument. "She is an angel. Angels are not supposed to have Free Will. That is a privilege reserved for our Father's favorite creations, Humanity. Angels have only the Will of Heaven. We were literally created to obey. Unquestioningly, immediately, and without reservation. Rebelling, as Anna did — as Lucifer and his followers did so long ago," he added, failing to notice the way Sam flinched at the name, "is the gravest sin an Angel can commit. It can — and for Anna, very well may — result in the Angel being eliminated."
"Eliminated," Dean grimaced. "You mean killed."
"Yes. However," Castiel continued, "Anna is… I told you, Sam, that I am considered one of Heaven's greatest strategists. Anna is the Angel who taught me. If any Angel could escape Heaven's jail and return to earth, it would be Anna."
"And you think she'd be on our side," Dean mused.
"Undoubtedly. The collateral damage that the Apocalypse would cause would be anathema to her."
"Okay, that's great and all," Sam interrupted, "and if Anna gets out and decides to help, fantastic. But can we go back to the part about no free will and just obeying orders or being killed. Dammit, Castiel! You said they might re-educate you if were caught. You didn't say they'd imprison or fucking kill you!"
"In every important battle, one must be ready for acceptable losses, Sam," the angel shrugged. "Any good strategist knows this."
"Losing you is Not. ACCEPTABLE," Sam half-yelled. "No, you know what? You're staying here. This, this… mission to find sympathetic angels ends, Castiel. It ends now."
"We need allies, Sam Winchester. We need angel allies, and the only way to get them is to recruit them. I don't believe this is something that you — either of you — can do. That means I need to."
"We'll find another way."
"Sam's right," Dean said and stood from his place kneeling beside the bed, and faced the angel, putting a hand on the celestial's shoulder. "You're our friend, Cas. We've lost enough friends in our lives. We don't want to lose more. Sam is right," he repeated. "We'll find another way."
For a moment, Castiel stood still, only his eyes moving, shifting from one Winchester to the other and back again.
"This is not your decision to make," he said quietly. "I am… Falling," he admitted, reluctantly. "It is… difficult. And… undesirable. And messy. But you, both of you, have taught me that I can make my own decisions. I can have Free Will. That is true, is it not?" he challenged.
"Yeah," Sam nodded.
"Of course, Cas," Dean agreed. That's what we want for you. For you to be able to make your own decisions, not just follow orders."
"For me to be more than a hammer."
"Exactly," Dean smiled warmly.
"Unless my decisions go against your own wishes," the angel replied and Sam winced slightly, while Dean frowned.
"That's not…" Dean protested
"How is it not?"
"Dean," Sam sighed quietly. "He's right. If Castiel is fighting for our free will, for humanity's free will, we have to fight for his. And we have to respect his free will if we expect anyone to respect ours."
"Yeah, but… our free will isn't going to get us killed," Dean protested and blanched when Sam full out laughed in his face.
"Since when? When hasn't our free will gotten us killed, Dean? It got me killed in Cold Oak, when I used my free will to not kill Jake. It got you killed right after, when you free willed and sold your damn soul to get me back! I almost died in Asheville, when I freely decided to face Dad alone. All our free will ever does is get us killed — or nearly killed! How is that different from what Castiel wants to do?"
"Because it is! Cas is… he… Free Will is new to him," Dean argued. "He doesn't understand the implications."
"I do," Castiel assured him.
"I think he does," Sam agreed. "He just laid it all out for us, Dean. What could happen. He knows how bad this can go. And he wants to do it, anyway, and I hate that," he admitted. "I want him here. With m- us. SAFE. But like he said. It ain't our decision to make, Dean."
"Son of a…" Dean shook his head and turned away from his brother to face the angel. "You better be fucking careful," he demanded, shaking a finger at the angel, who pulled his head back slightly and raised one eyebrow. "I expect you back here, Cas, in one fucking piece, you hear me?"
"I am standing right in front of you, and you are raising your voice," Cas responded, deadpan. "It would be difficult not to."
Dean dropped his hands and huffed a laugh. "Smart ass. Go, then," he shrugged. "But be careful."
"I shall endeavor to do so."
"See that you do," Sam added. "Remember. You're not the only one with… preferences."
Castiel gave that Mona Lisa smile, nodded and disappeared to the sound of wings.
Dean stared, frowning, at the now empty spot where Cas had stood, then turned slowly back to his brother. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.
Sam shrugged. "Free will, I guess."
"No, not that. Preferences," he quoted, crossing his arms and glaring down at his newly resurrected brother. "You have preferences? What kind of preferences, Sam? Something you maybe need to tell me, little brother? Something between you and a certain Angel, for instance? Maybe something just… general… about your… preferences?"
Sam stared up at him, his face clearly reflecting increasing amusement. "Dean," he said, barely keeping from laughing in his big brother's face, "are you asking me if I'm gay?"
"No!" Dean immediately denied. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes. Maybe? I don't know, am I, Sammy? Should I?"
Sam chuckled and grinned at him. "You look almost as nervous as when you told me you were afraid to fly," he laughed. "No, Dean. I have nothing to tell you. There has been no change in my sexual orientation."
"Ya know, it would be okay. I mean, if there were," Dean told him quietly. "If you were. Gay, or bi, or, you know, whatever. I ain't Dad. Not homophobic, not, not really. I wouldn't care, so long as you were happy. You know that, right?"
Sam smiled softly at him, nodding. "I know, Dean. Same with me, to you. You know?"
"I know," Dean agreed, and sat on the bed again pulling one leg up under himself so he could more fully face his brother. "But… what was all that preference crap about, then? What's going on with you and Cas?"
"There's nothing going on," Sam said through a perfect bitchface. "It's just… something we both said in the Panic Room."
Dean waited for the explanation to continue, and held out a prompting hand when it didn't.
"We… we both said," Sam sighed, knowing he wasn't getting out of it, "that we both prefer a world with the other one in it. That's all. We just prefer each other to be alive, that's it. Nothing sinister. Or… sexual."
"Well… good," Dean nodded. "That's, that's good. Another indication he's on our side."
"He saved my life, Dean," Sam reminded. "I would've died in the Panic Room without him. I like to think that puts him pretty firmly on our side."
"Yeah," Dean agreed, and pushed down the urge to ask about details of exactly how Cas had saved Sam in the Panic Room.
In the nine days since Cas had brought Sam upstairs, he'd not been able to get anymore from either his brother or the angel than vague statements about it being bad and painful — both of which he'd had no problem figuring out on his own.
Dean still wanted to know, almost desperately, what had happened down there (it never sat well with him when Sam kept something from him, especially when it was likely to give Sam nightmares). But there was a more… pressing conversation to have, right now.
"Sam…" "Dean…."
They both smiled as they spoke at the same time. Sam nodded at Dean, giving him the go-ahead to start.
"Sammy, I'm sorry."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know," he absolved him, running a hand lightly over the rip in his clothes. "It wasn't you. You were just… it was the Siren that made you pick up the axe, I know that."
"It's not just that," Dean insisted. "What I said… you know I didn't mean that right? Not any of it."
"I know, Dean, I didn't mean…"
"Let me finish."
Sam nodded, frowning.
"You… I… I-I killed you, Sammy."
"The Siren killed me."
"Yeah? It's not the Siren's hands that can still feel the axe vibrating when it hit your spine! The Siren didn't have to spend ten minutes washing his little brother's blood off his face, now, did he?" Dean challenged, tightly. "More than that, though. The things I said…"
"Dean…."
"Let me finish."
Sam raised his hands in acquiescence.
"I know how you get, Sammy."
"How I get?"
"You take everything bad thing onboard, everything anybody's ever said about you. You, you… obsess about it and I… Sam," Dean reached out and placed a hand gently on Sam's knee, noticing (but not pulling back at) the way Sam grew stiff and twitched as if he wanted to pull away. "Sammy, you're not a monster. I don't think that. I never thought that. I never would. It's just… It seemed… it's like I couldn't stop…"
"I know," Sam nodded and slowly, almost reluctantly, covered Dean's hand with his own. "It was as if… the venom, man, it… Like it knew the most hateful, hurtful things to say and just…."
"Forced 'em out," Dean finished and Sam nodded, eagerly.
"Exactly! I mean… it's not like you and I don't know how to hurt each other," Sam shrugged. "I know every one of your buttons, and exactly the way to press 'em. I just… don't."
"Yeah, me, too," Dean agreed, and chuckled. "Hell, we should know each other's buttons, man. We installed most of 'em!"
Sam grinned. "And the ones we didn't, we watched Dad put in," he chuckled.
"Right?" Dean smiled.
"And for the record, I don't think I'm a better hunter than you," Sam added. "I don't think I ever will be."
"It'll be close," Dean conceded, with a lopsided grin, and Sam laughed as he was supposed to. "But I'll still beat ya."
Sam nodded, grinning, then became serious again. "As for holding me back?" he shook his head, his eyes going soft and warm in a way that settled all the remaining hurt in Dean's soul. "It's the opposite. You… I don't know. You…"
"So help me, Sammy," his big brother said, dryly, "if you say I'm 'the wind beneath your wings' or some girlie Beaches shit, like that, I swear to god I'll punch you in the face."
Sam laughed and nodded. "Okay, okay. Although… how do you know that song and what movie it came from, Macho Man?"
Dean looked away, frowning. "All over the radio. Wasn't livin' under a rock, ya know."
Sam smirked, then grew serious again, biting his lips, turning pensive in that way Dean thought only Sam could. "But seriously, Dean. We're good. Right?"
"Of course," Dean nodded. "Always."
Sam nodded back and gave a little squeeze to the hand under his, before pulling away.
"What happened to you, Sammy?" Dean asked gently, lifting his hand from his brother's knee and reaching to push the hair out Sammy's eyes, stopping when Sam flinched visibly back and looked away.
"I died," came the deadpan answer.
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Believe me, I know. But… what happened. While you were… gone?"
"What makes you think something happened?" Came the expected deflection — all innocence and nonchalance.
Dean scoffed. "Sammy, you've been pulling away and flinching anytime I get near you. You pulled away from Bobby. And when I had my hand on your knee… don't think I didn't notice you were shaking. That's not exactly my touchy-feely emo little brother. So. What happened?"
"Dean…" Sam said softly, shaking his head.
"Were you in Heaven?" Dean wondered. "Did that bastard pull you away from Jess? From finally being happy?"
Sam looked over him and shook his head, his eyes seeing something miles away. "No. No, I wasn't in Heaven," he admitted. "I'm not sure where I was, but it wasn't Heaven. Might've been the Veil. Could've been my own mind, I don't… But I… I wasn't… exactly… Alone." Sam finished, ducking his head away from his brother's penetrating gaze.
For a moment, Dean just watched him, taking in the tension, the clear unadulterated fear that practically radiated from his little brother. "Lucifer," he said quietly. "Lucifer was there."
Sam's gaze snapped to him, and he inhaled, startled, then let out a long, slow breath. He shouldn't be surprised, he realized. Dean always could read him like a book. And vice versa.
"Yeah," he nodded.
Dean nodded, frowning in contemplation. "What did he want?"
Sam looked at the bed covers and started picking at the threadbare blanket. "He… he made me an offer," he admitted softly.
"That you couldn't refuse?" Dean said in his best Brando, grinning for a moment until he saw Sam flinch. "Sam?"
Sam picked at the blanket some more. "He thought so," he shrugged, and didn't say anything else.
Dean waited a beat, two, three, then prompted gently. "What was the offer, Sammy?"
Sam finally looked at him and the bleakness in the familiar hazel eyes tore at his brother's heart.
"Nothing much," Sam chuckled. "Only everything we've ever wanted."
"Wha—-"
"He showed me, Dean," Sam said, his voice suddenly urgent. "He'll bring them back. All of them, everyone. Mom, Jess, Dad. But not the Dad I knew; the one you remember. The one you met when Castiel sent you back to '73. Innocent and one who might've loved me." Tears gathered at the edge of his lashes, and he used the blade of one hand to wipe them firmly away. "And not just them, either. Our grandparents, Dean! At least, I think that's who it was. I mean, I think I recognized Grandma Millie, from pictures Dad had. But there was another older couple there. A pretty, short haired blonde woman with a nice smile and a really grumpy bald guy."
"Sounds like the Campbells," Dean nodded.
"Right! And… Jess and I," he continued, his voice breaking. "We were married, Dean. We had kids, a little boy and a little girl," he shook his head and smiled wetly. "And you, you were… you looked so happy, Dean. Carefree, you know? And man, you loved your niece and nephew and they were nuts about you."
Dean grinned, wide and full. "I'd be an awesome uncle," he said, puffing out his chest a little bit at the thought.
"You would," Sam nodded. "You were. Not that that's a surprise or anything. After all," he added, quietly, almost shyly, "you were already an awesome dad."
Dean smiled back at him, not fully acknowledging the compliment but not denying it either.
"We were happy, Dean," Sam continued with a sigh. "All of us. And we…" He took a deep breath. "Lucifer could do it, bring them back. All of them. Set us up so we'd all be safe and happy for our whole lives, Dean. Kids, grandkids. You and Dad at Winchester's Auto, working together. Mom not hunting and happy. Even Bobby and Ellen were there, together. And Jo and Ash were like brother and sister, like our cousins or something."
Dean could picture it, more easily than he'd have thought. Too easily.
"And all I have to do is say 'yes'," Sam admitted, bitterness dripping from his voice. "Let him use me for the Apocalypse, and we'll all be happy together. Always."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's an offer that would be hard to turn down," he said, neutrally.
Sam's eyes snapped to his. "I told him to fuck himself," he said flatly.
"I know," Dean assured him. "I know you did, Sammy."
"How?" Sam scoffed. "I wasn't sure I was going to, how did you know?"
"I know you," Dean shrugged almost carelessly. "It's not in you to trade your happiness for someone else's, man. Certainly not to trade it for millions, billions, of lives. We're hunters, Sammy. We save lives. We don't trade 'em."
Sam nodded and a few tears slid slowly down his cheeks. "I wanted to," he admitted softly. "God, Dean, I wanted to so much."
Dean reached out and, for the first time since Sam's (latest) first breath, pulled his brother into his arms where he could comfort and keep him safe, like he'd wanted to for three fucking days. "I know you did. I would've wanted to," he admitted. "Hell, anyone would've wanted to. Most people would say 'yes', ya know? But we're Winchesters, Sammy. We can't do that. We can't have that life. We're not built for it, not really, not anymore. You know that."
Sam nodded, reluctantly, his face pressed against Dean's neck, finally relaxing in his brother's arms, letting go of his suspicions that this was (yet another) trick by Lucifer. "I know," he agreed. "I know. It's just… it's not fair, Dean."
Dean shifted, rocking slightly side to side, running one hand over the back of the bowed head, the other up and down the bent back. "I know," he repeated as his kid began to cry against his neck. "I know, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Sam didn't know how long he stayed like that, getting comfort from his brother's touch, but by the time he pulled back — reluctant, but embarrassed — his back hurt and Dean's shirt was soaked.
"Sorry," he muttered, wiping at his eyes and nose, sniffing the tears and snot away.
"'Sall right," Dean said, his hand still running soothingly up and down Sam's back, taking the chance while Sam was cleaning himself up to wipe away his own tears, triggered as much by the hypothetical loss as his brother's pain.
"Ready to get some sleep?" Dean wondered after Sam had put himself more or less together again.
Sam nodded and Dean stood, pulling back the sheets so Sam could slide under.
"You okay?" Dean asked, gently pushing the damp hair away from Sammy's wide, expressive eyes.
Sam nodded and huffed what might have been a laugh. "No," he admitted, then took a deep breath, in, then out. "But I will be," he vowed. "And I won't give in."
"I know you won't, Sammy," Dean soothed and tucked him in, to Sam's exaggerated eye roll — but he noticed that Sam squiggled himself further into the bed with a contented sigh.
Dean crawled into his own bed, snapping off the light on the nightstand between them.
"'Night, Bitch," Dean said quietly, finally relaxing after three days, now that his brother was back by his side. That Siren venom must've been something, to make me think there was anyone — friend, brother, partner, kid — I wanted at my side but Sam.
"'Night, Jerk," Sam responded, as quietly, and closed his eyes reluctantly, unsure what was waiting for him in his sleep. But Dean was there, and he was safe with Dean nearby. More or less. He felt a little guilty that he hadn't told Dean what Lucifer's reaction to his emphatic 'no' had been. But he didn't ask, he justified to himself, so I'm not lying, not really. And he's better off not knowing, really. At least, as long as that's possible.
As he drifted into sleep, he had the nasty suspicion it wouldn't be possible for long.
SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=
Daylight Inn
765 Two Rivers Road
Bosler, WY
December 23, 2008
3:41 a.m.
Dean didn't realize he was waiting for the sounds until he heard them — soft whimpering from the next bed, accompanied by gasps and grunts of pain.
He was getting too used to these horrible noises from the next bed, and it was starting to piss him off. Not that he was losing sleep, that was fine. Sammy needed him, and that was much more important than something as trivial as sleep.
Besides, he'd gotten almost two hours tonight, he'd be fine.
But Sammy…
He sat up in bed, and swung his legs off his bed to slide to his knees next to Sammy's bed, trying to ignore the crunchsquish when his knees hit the carpet.
Sam had asked him not to wake him when he had nightmares, but really, this was getting ridiculous. Six fucking nights in a row. It couldn't be good for Sammy to go through this… whatever it was (because of COURSE the little bitch refused to talk about it)… night after night after night.
Dean flipped on the light between their beds, grimaced in disgust and brushed a cockroach off his brother's pillow.
He reached to pull the covers up a little further (December in Wyoming, not his best decision), and froze when he lifted the inadequate blanket to reveal the sheet beneath.
A sheet — like the back of Sam's tee-shirt, he noticed — which was thoroughly decorated in stripes of blood.
"Holy fuck." He scrambled to pull Sam's shirt up to reveal…
Nothing.
No welts, no blood, no scratches. Just the familiar roadmap of scars he knew better than he knew his own.
"The hell?" He shook his head. It didn't matter. Sam was unhurt and that was a good thing. The blood on the shirt and the sheet was proof that Sam had been hurt, and probably healed himself.
And if his dreams were actually causing him to bleed — all bets were off.
Sam gave an odd, rattling breath, and Dean reached out to shake one broad shoulder. "Sam," he said gently. "Sammy, wake up. Come on, man, wake up for me."
Sam's eyes slammed open and terror-filled eyes met Dean's as Sam rolled onto his back, away from his brother, his hand flying to his throat as he gasped for breath.
"It's okay, it's just me," Dean reassured, a little more frantically than he'd ever admit. "It's okay. It's okay!"
It took a second for Dean to realize that something was terribly, horrifically wrong.
No matter how hard Sam tried, the kid couldn't seem to get a breath. His chest didn't rise or fall, it seemed like no air was going in at all, even as Sam desperately tried to gulp oxygen, a series of rasping squeaks that made it hard for Dean to breathe.
"Sam, what is it?"
Sam just kept gasping — trying to gasp — shaking his head.
"Fuck. Sam, is something in your throat?"
Sam shook his head emphatically, and pounded a hand against his own chest, still struggling to pull in a single breath.
"Son of a… CAS!" Dean called, glancing uselessly up at the ceiling, like that would get the angel here faster. "Cas, get down here, there's something wrong with Sam!" he yelled frantically, grabbing the hand Sam flailed in his general direction, making soft soothing, shushing noises as he waited the interminable seconds for the angel to arrive. "It's okay. It's okay. Help is coming, Sammy, it's okay," he insisted as Sam's (and Dean's own) terror grew.
A rush of air and the angel was standing on the other side of the bed. "What is…"
"He can't breathe," Dean explained, even as Sam turned his desperate gaze to the celestial. "Help him."
With a brisk nod, Castiel placed two fingers against Sam's forehead, closing his eyes.
Dean started to relax, just slightly — surely whatever was going on, Cas could fix it, he was an angel, practically all-powerful — when Cas gasped and his eyes opened, wide and stricken.
"Oh, Sam," Cas breathed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"What?! You're sorry? Sorry for what, Cas? What's wrong with him?" Dean demanded, watching helplessly as Sam fell back against the pillow, his mouth gaping open as the boy tried and utterly failed to bring in any air. "Is there something in his throat?"
"No," Castiel said sadly, and if Dean didn't know better he'd've said the angel was near to tears. "He can't breathe…"
"I know he can't breathe!" Dean snapped.
"…because he has no lungs, Dean."
"He… WHAT?"
"Sam has no lungs," Castiel repeated and brushed his hand over Sam's chest. "He will suffocate."
"Well, do something!" Dean demanded.
"What would you suggest I do, Dean?" Cas snarled back. "I can grow him new lungs, yes, but not in the next ten minutes. How long has he been like this?"
"Couple minutes."
"He is approaching permanent brain damage, then."
"Oh, god," Dean breathed and closed his eyes. "No. Please."
"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said, his voice suddenly gentle.
Dean looked up at him, stricken. "Can't you do anything?"
"I can," Castiel assured him, and placed his fingers again on the younger Winchester's forehead.
Sam's eyes drifted closed, and the painful — to do and to watch — open mouthed gasping stopped.
"Did you just…" Dean almost reached across the bed to attack the angel.
"Kill him?" Castiel said, shaking his head. "No. I just… put him to sleep," he explained, looking down at the still form with so much sorrow, Dean was almost embarrassed to see it. "It won't save him," Cas sighed. "Nothing will, now. But it will spare him the pain and terror of a horrible death."
Dean choked down a sob, and nodded. "Right. Good. Thanks."
Dean held his brother's limp hand against his cheek, letting himself feel the warmth in the skin while it lasted.
Castiel placed a gentle hand against the side of Sam's neck, tracking the ever-slowing pulse.
The tableau remained, dragging on for what felt like hours as the clock ticked off the few remaining, too-short minutes, until Castiel pulled his hand away and brushed his fingers lightly over Sam's hair. "He's gone," he said gently.
Dean nodded, swallowing another sob, and placed Sam's hand on his chest.
"What do I do now?" he gasped, unmindful of the tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Now," Castiel said simply, perching himself on the edge of the bed, "we wait."
Dean looked up at him, his gaze half hopeful, half broken. "Wait?"
"Lucifer will return him," Cas assured. "It's only a matter of time."
Dean shook his head and fussed with the covers, making Sam as comfortable as he could. "How many times, Cas?" he wondered. "How many times will Lucifer bring him back to us?"
Castiel smiled, serenely. "As many as he needs to," he assured his friend. "He won't let Sam die as long as he believes there is a chance, however small, that Sam will, someday, say 'yes'. And," he added, "Lucifer's ego will not allow him to believe that anyone could resist his will forever. Not even someone as v… stubborn… as a Winchester," he concluded, stumbling over his words, relieved that Dean didn't seem to notice.
"You sure?" Dean asked, softly.
"I'm sure."
Dean nodded and wiped his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his sleep shirt. "Good enough for me," he decided and the pair settled in to wait.
SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=SPN=
A/N
Dallas was a prime time soap opera on American television from 1978 - 1991. During Season 8 of the show, a character died, but at the end of the season 8 finale, he was seen taking a shower. The first episode of season 9 revealed that all of season 8 had been a dream one of the other characters had.
VD is of course Veneral Disease, or a sexually transmitted infection. Because Dean.
Beaches was a 1988 movie starring Bette Midler & Barbara Hershey (remade in 2017 with Idina Mendel & Nia Long) as life-long friends. Middler's hit single The Wind Beneath My Wings comes from the original version of that movie. It's a total Chick Flick, and yes, Dean has watched it, probably multiple times. Fight me. (Not a word of a lie, The Wind Beneath My Wings started playing on my Spotify as I was writing this. I almost choked on air.)
Brando is the actor Marlon Brando. "I made him an offer he couldn't refuse" is a famous line by Brando in the 1972 movie The Godfather.
The clap is slang for VD. Because of course it is.