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This ain't God's fault, brother
He still toes the line
This ain't God's fault, brother
No, I'm afraid this one's mine
“But how do we get him away from Dean?” Roy asked worriedly.
Walt laughed, amused at Roy’s reluctance and cowardice. “Dean always does the same damn thing every time those two roll into a town. He scopes out the nearest bars and usually doesn’t go back to the motel until the next sunrise.” Walt spread his hands in an ‘there you go’ gesture. “Won’t come back till we’ve done our business and cleaned up after ourselves. He won’t even know we were there.”
Walt paused as an idea came to him before grinning delightedly. “Hell, if we time it right, Dean’ll think that the monster that they were hunting just found them first. He won’t even think of us!”
“Alright, alright,” Roy said, acting reluctant, but the gleam in his eye betrayed him. Walt smirked. He knew that Roy’s pleasure at planning and executing wouldn’t fail him. He could do it alone, of course, but he’d always feel better with his close friend by his side.
“Ata man,” Walt said, standing, before slapping Roy on the shoulder. Now we just gotta leak news... I think there’s a wendigo around Montana, so they’ll come rushing to help.”
Roy’s excited smile warmed Walt’s heart.
*
“They’re what?” Dean almost yelled in the phone.
“Shut it, boy,” came the familiar growl on the other end. “I don’t need you screaming out bloody murder and me having to drive down just to bail ya idjit out of jail!”
“I’ll kill them,” Dean growled into the phone, desperately trying to keep his voice down because Sam was sleeping on the other side of the door. “I’ll kill each and every bastard that dares to come to us.”
“I know you will. I heard Walt and Roy have a plan, so don’t trust them.” A pause. “Actually, don’t trust any of ‘em. But the others are waiting to see if they get it done. Be on your guard.” Bobby sighed. “Look, Dean, I’m real sorry to dump this on ya. I figured that y’all better be prepared when the hounds come after you.”
“No, thank you Bobby,” Dean said, voice quieter, but violently rubbing a hand through his hair. “We’ll just lay low till all this blows over. Thanks for the heads up,” Dean said, hanging up after Bobby reciprocated.
Dean sat heavily on the chair outside their current fleabag motel. Dean forgot the name of the motel, but didn’t have it in him to care. He rubbed the side of his head, desperately wishing this was all a bad dream.
But, no. Bobby’s call had woken him from a bad dream. This, unfortunately, was just a sucky reality.
Dean couldn’t believe it. Hunters wanted Sam dead.
Sam?
Sam, his brother? Sam, who’d never done a bad thing in his life without feeling guilty about it? Sam, who was already tortured enough about trusting Ruby and breaking the last seal?
Hunters thought Sam would be better off dead? They thought Sam had started the apocalypse?
Please. Breaking the last seal wouldn’t have done a damn thing if Dean hadn’t already broken the first seal, the one that set everything else into motion. No, this whole mess sat squarely on Dean’s shoulders.
And now, other hunters wanted to kill Sammy like he was some sort of animal. No, Dean wouldn’t stand for it.
From what Bobby said, it was clear that most hunters were on the kill Sammy side, and Sam and Dean had few allies willing to help. Bobby had warned them, and though he couldn’t do much else trapped on the other side of the country and hunter politics, he’d warned Dean to the coming threat, and that would have to be enough.
So. Two people protecting Sam, against an army of hunters out for blood. Dean desperately ignored the part of his mind that wished that Ellen and Jo were also there, helping them, but they were dead, damnit, and it’s all your fault.
Forcing his mind away from the guilt and self-loathing circle usually found every time Dean opened his eyes, he tried to focus on what he was going to do.
They were desperately outnumbered, and though hunters were stereotypically the ‘instant gratification’ kind, Dean could remember countless others he’d passed that were really good at patience, and Dean knew that they would never let Sam go unpunished.
God, what could Dean do? He couldn’t tell Sam about this. He was already having a hellva time with the guilt he’d placed on himself, and Dean couldn’t tell Sam that everyone else was blaming him too.
Dean could take him and run, completing jobs along the way, never staying in one place more than a few days, but the Impala was noticeable, their defenses were made for supernatural threats, and Dean couldn’t live with one eye on their backs for the rest of their lives. Not to mention that Sam would want a reason for Dean’s jumpiness, and Dean didn’t have an excuse. Not one that would hold up to his little brother’s intense scrutiny, anyway.
“Damn it!” Dean hissed, pressing one hand into his eye. Sam didn’t even deserve this, it wasn’t his fault the apocalypse started anyway. That was Dean’s weight to carry, and his alone.
His hand paused in its path down his face. Then, Dean quickly fumbled for the phone he dropped after Bobby’s call and scrolled down to Walt’s number. His finger hesitated on the call button, but simply thinking about any of the alternatives strengthened his resolve.
He called.
*
Walt was startled out of his sleep by his phone ringing. Fumbling, Walt squinted at the bright light of the screen, wondering who, in the lord of everything good, would be calling at this hour.
“’Lo?” Walt croaked, still half asleep.
“Walt.” The voice was low, yet clear and crisp, and for a half second Walt was jealous of his awake-ness. Then, the expectant and dangerous tone of voice caught up to him and suddenly he was wide awake.
“Who is this?” Walt demanded, suspicious, and not recognizing the voice.
“I hear you’re hunting Sam Winchester.” A pause. “May I ask why?”
“Someone needs to be held accountable for the start of the apocalypse. A lot of good people, innocent civilians, have died, and this deed ain’t gonna go unpunished,” Walt explained, confidence in his tone. It was only after a lengthy pause from the other end that Walt realized that the other man might not have the same mindset that Walt had.
“And tell me,” the voice continued, seemingly almost bored at the topic, “what do you know about the apocalypse?”
“What?” Walt asked, confused. At the continued silence, Walt started, uncertain, “Winchester- Sam, he, uh, he started the apocalypse. He… I think he killed some demon?”
Another long pause expired before the man spoke again. This time, it was full of disbelief. “Are you saying that you don’t even know how, or why, Winchester started the apocalypse?”
“Yes?”
A sigh. “Alright. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to stay completely silent until I am finished. Understood?”
Walt wasn’t going to take his chances with the dangerous voice on the other end. “Completely.” He barely restrained himself from adding a ‘sir’ at the end.
“I crossed paths with the Winchesters recently. At a bar, after a hunt. Get a few beers in them, and they start talking. Through that enlightening conversation, and a little research of my own, I’m fairly certain how the apocalypse started. It starts a few years ago.
Back when the demon was gathering an army to take over the world, remember? Sam was one of those children destined to lead an army. Rumor has it, though, that he died. Couple days later, though, Sam’s walking again and those brothers are researching anything and everything about demon deals and how to hunt hellhounds. Sounds a bit like Dean caught himself up in a deal with the devil to get his brother back.
A year later, though, Dean dies. Less than a year later, Dean’s back and demons are scrambling around, trying to break the seals that release the devil.
Then, Sam killed this demon, Lillith, and Lucifer’s released. I understand. Sounds a lot like Sam started the apocalypse. However, Lillith herself was the final seal. She could’ve committed suicide or had some other demon kill her and the apocalypse would’ve started. It did not require Sam.
But, digging further, I realize that Lucifer’s released when the final seal is broken. But the final seals, and all the preceding seals, cannot even start until the first seal is broken.
When a righteous man sheds blood in hell.”
A pause, longer than the others filled Walt’s ears, giving him time to digest what the man was saying. So, Sam wasn’t to blame for the apocalypse?
“Now, seems to me like Dean went to hell for his deal, then started torturing innocent souls. Didn’t even take him four months, the bastard.” The man’s voice was filled with hatred and something else that Walt couldn’t identify.
“Seems to me like you got the wrong Winchester. Dean’s to blame for this mess, not Sam. Besides, do you want to live the rest of your life knowing that Dean Winchester’s gunning for you? At least Sam knows how to live without his family and hunting.”
A pause elapsed before Walt broke his silence. “Why are you telling me this? I don’t even know who you are!”
A dark, deep chuckle reached Walt’s ears. “Do your research, for once in your life, Walt. You’ll find I’m right. Besides, we don’t want the wrong man to be punished for this mess. Might turn out bad for you.” A click sounded and Walt stood completely still for minutes afterward.
Finally taking the phone away from his ear, Walt shuddered. Somehow that man could make a dangerous threat in a pleasant tone. No need to get on his bad side.
Looks like Roy and Walt were going after Dean, now.
*
“So why did you want to meet?” Roy asked with a raised eyebrow as he slid into the booth opposite Walt in some dust and dirt town. “It’s been like ten hours since we laid plans. Not getting cold feet now, are you?” Roy asked with a smirk.
The waiter came by before Walt could reply.
“Just a black coffee,” Roy replied, without waiting for her to say anything or even looking up at her. His eyes still staring at Walt, eyebrow raised in a cocky challenge.
Walt waited for the waiter to go away before leaning forward. “The rumors are wrong. Sam didn’t start the apocalypse.” Walt leaned back, practically lounging in the booth as he waited for Roy’s reaction.
He didn’t disappoint.
Roy’s eyebrows rose, and he stared at Walt.
Walt stared placidly back. He took a sip from his coffee mug in front of him.
“You serious?” Roy asked, disbelief colouring his tone. At Walt’s nod, Roy leaned back and accepted a mug from the waitress before taking his own sip. “What happened, then?”
Walt related the phone call he received last night.
“And you trust him?” Roy asked, skeptical. “You don’t even know who he is.”
Walt nodded. “I have no idea who he was. But I checked, like he told me to. Everything checked out.”
“Really, though? Dean always seemed tougher to me. Not even lasting four months before breaking. I met John, once,” Roy trailed off for a second. “He was one tough son of a bitch.”
“I always heard John talking about how dumb and weak he was,” Walt countered. “Guess it didn’t run in the family.”
The hunters sat in silence for a moment.
“Alright,” Roy said, his eyes staring into space, “so, how do we get Dean?”
“My original plan had some good points. Dean always goes to a bar after rolling into town. So we roofie his drink. Get our business done and clean up. Sam won’t expect him till after dawn of the next day. Stick with our original plan of making it look like a wendigo did it.”
Roy nodded slowly, processing the information. “Yes, but Dean’s a much better hunter than Sam. We might need some additional help.”
“He’ll be roofied.”
Roy looked calmly back. “You’ve heard the rumors. Dean took out two vetalas while half conscious and half his blood on the ground underneath him. He’s a damn good hunter, and we’d be dumb to underestimate him.”
Walt looked at Roy, calmly sipping on his coffee. Yes, this is why Walt wanted Roy on his side.
“Who do you recommend?”
“Most of the hunters would help if we asked,” he mused. “But I think Bucky would be good. He looks trustworthy to most people, and I’ve heard that one of his family members was killed during the first wave of the apocalypse. He’ll be willing to help us.”
“Let’s give him a call, then,” Walt said, accepting Roy’s choice.
“Mmm. If we tell him we’re hunting Dean, now, he’ll be able to spread the word. We don’t want this mysterious man coming after us for Sam’s death.”
“Agreed.” Finally, Walt cracked a smile and raised his mug to Roy. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a plan.”
“Looks like,” Roy smirked. “You wanna call Bucky or should I?”
“I will,” Walt said, pulling out his phone and scrolling down to Bucky’s name. The phone rang once, twice, three times before going through.
“Walt.” Bucky’s voice came through the phone, level and clear.
“Bucky,” Walt said, pushing fake cheer in his voice. “Me and Roy, here, we’ve got a proposition for you. We’re hunting Winchester, and we find ourselves one man short.”
“I’m listening,” Bucky said, as Walt and Roy made eye contact over the phone, smirking.
It seemed all was going to plan.
*
Dean groaned, face planting on the bed. Sam snorted behind him.
“Oh please, you were about to do the exact same thing,” Dean scowled, words muffled by the sheets.
Yet, as always, Sam was proficient enough in Dean-speak that he translated the words easily. “Yes, but now I get first shower,” Sam didn’t even try to disguise the glee in his tone.
“Yeah, Sam, I’m the one that got sprayed by vamp blood and then thrown down a hill in the middle of a thunderstorm, but sure, I think there’s a leaf in your long, glorious hair, so you can take first shower.”
“Thank you for being so considerate,” Sam yelled as the door to the bathroom slammed.
The sound of the shower starting almost drowned out the noise of Dean’s phone ringing. Dean groaned, and debated the pros and cons of answering. Feeling the aches in his back due to tree roots attacking him on his ‘controlled’ free fall down the hill, Dean ignored the phone, sighing in relief when it rung out.
Less than five seconds later, the phone begun its ring tone again, and Dean sighed in defeat as a headache began to form. He sat up, pausing for a moment as his vision whited out, but grabbed the phone and squinted at the caller ID as his vision came back.
“Bobby,” Dean answered, tiredness coloring his tone.
“What in the Hell did you do now, boy?”
Dean winced and held the phone away from his ear as Bobby’s irate voice came through the phone.
“Bobby- what?”
“Don’t try to tell me this wasn’t you!” Bobby yelled. Dean made a face at the phone. Bobby was seriously pissed.
“Calm d-”
“Don’t call me to calm down! You put a fucking target on your back and you’re telling me to calm down?”
Oh.
“Hang on a second, Bobby, lemme just…” Dean gingerly got up out of the bed and, casting a furtive look at the closed bathroom door, exited the room, closing the door behind him. “Why would you think that was me?”
Probably not the best idea, lying or omitting the truth to Bobby, but hey. He was running kind of low on options, here.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Dean. I tell you that hunters have it out for Sam, and less than two days later I’m hearing that they’ve switched targets and now they have it out for you?”
“Bobby-”
Bobby didn’t let Dean interrupt. “Not only are they now out for you, but they’re talking about how you broke the first seal. What did you do, Dean?”
“I only told them the truth,” Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Damn the truth!” Bobby’s vehement reply startled him.
“Bobby-”
“I mean it, Dean. Damn the truth if it gets you killed. Now, what’s gonna happen is you and Sam get your asses over here, and you’ll stay here till this all blows over. With Sam and yours’ martyr complexes, I can’t trust you if you’re outta my sight.”
“Bobby, we can take care of ourselves-”
“Like hell you can,” Bobby growled. “You’ve just made it pretty clear you can’t. Now get over here or I will personally come and drag you kicking and screaming and lock you in my panic room for the next few years!”
Dean tried one more time. “Look-”
“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Bobby, we’ll come right away,’ you’re gonna be locked in the panic room for the rest of your life.”
Fine. “Yes, Bobby, we’ll come right away,” Dean recited, rolling his eyes as he did so.
“You’ve got two days.”
“Bobby, we’re in Caribou! We can’t make it in two days!” Receiving no response, Dean checked his phone, then groaned. Bobby had hung up.
Scowling, Dean reentered the motel, closing the door behind him.
“Who was that?” Dean looked up and saw Sam dripping wet and freshly out of the shower. He turned around and banged his head on the door twice, relishing the dull ache before groaning.
“That bad, huh?” Sam asked, and Dean could tell without looking that he was smirking.
“Bobby wants us in Sioux Falls in two days.” Dean said into the door.
“Did you tell him we were in Maine?” Sam asked, his voice perfectly pleasant with a touch of amusement.
“I told the phone,” Dean said, “he’d already hung up.”
“Pity,” Sam said, the words contradicted by the grin at Dean’s annoyance. It’d been a while since Dean had seen him smile, though, so he’d suck it up and deal with it. “It’ll be nice to see Bobby again though. Why does he want us there specifically in two days?”
“He wants to make sure we don’t do anything stupid when he’s not there to yell at us.”
“Sounds like Bobby. What set him off this time?”
“No idea,” Dean said, quickly escaping from Sam’s field of vision into the bathroom. He opened the door within two seconds though, poking his head out. “Sam,” he called, a mischievous smile on his face. “Don’t get dressed. I want to admire the view,” he said as he closed the door to Sam’s delighted laugh.
*
Dean woke slowly, something that almost never happened anymore. He was warm and comfortably snuggled up against Sam, breathing slowly. They mostly didn’t set alarms anymore, too used to the nightmares or insomnia that always woke them up before their alarms. The days that both of them could sleep as long as they liked were few and far between.
Dean checked his watch. Even though Dean knew that they were on a schedule to make it to Bobby’s in 39 hours, he wouldn’t wake Sam up. So Dean closed his eyes, matched his breathing to Sam’s behind him, and relished in the moment.
Sam and Dean were clearly on the same page, though, because Sam woke up not fifteen minutes later, but instead of getting up, he nuzzled his face into Dean’s neck, stubble scratching at Dean’s shoulder.
Dean laughed, then shivered as Sam started peppering Dean’s neck with soft kisses. “You’re in a good mood this morning,” he stated, voice scratchy.
“Mmmm.” Sam replied eloquently. “For once neither of us woke up before we wanted to. How long did we sleep?”
“Nine hours.”
“And that,” Sam said, moving away to stretch behind Dean, “is a pretty damn good reason to be in a good mood.”
Dean rolled over and eyed Sam. His muscles bunched, then relaxed beneath the skin, and it wasn’t fair, okay, that Sam could look so good less than five minutes after waking up.
Sam opened one eye and looked at Dean. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he commented appraisingly.
“Did I say that out loud?” It happened, every once in a while when Dean was tired or really concentrated on Sam, but it wasn’t that often.
“No,” Sam said, reaching over to place a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips. “But I could tell what you were thinking.”
Dean hummed, tracing Sam’s lips with his tongue. “We’ve got to leave for Bobby’s,” he muttered, unhappy with the thought of having to leave the bed.
“Screw Bobby,” Sam said in a low voice, attacking Dean’s face and neck, and yeah, Dean could get on board with this.
“I’d rather you screw me, instead,” Dean smirked, one eyebrow cocked up.
Sam’s answering smile as he rolled on top of Dean made him laugh, savoring the moment.
*
When they did finally make it to Bobby’s, twelve hours late, he was not amused. His eyes did soften, though, as he took in the sight of Sam and Dean laughing and smiling, in an obviously good mood.
“Hey Bobby,” Sam called, his hand raised in greeting.
“Sam!” Dean called, not wanting Sam to speak to Bobby before Dean could. “Could you take these inside real quick,” Dean asked, dropping the duffles in Sam’s hands before he could answer. “Thanks babe,” Dean winked before hurrying to Bobby. Sam sighed good-naturedly before walking inside.
“Don’t tell him,” Dean pleaded, as soon as Sam was out of earshot. “Please, Bobby, he can’t know that people want him dead.”
“Oh, like that’s any better from him knowing that you took his target and put it on your back, and now those same people want you dead.” Bobby countered skeptically.
“I can handle it,” Dean answered, trying not to let his shoulders slump as he considered this whole mess. The apocalypse was like a chain around his ankle, looping itself around his legs and arms and chaining him until he couldn’t move anymore. Maybe he couldn’t handle it, but better him than Sam, in his opinion.
“I can see that,” Bobby deadpanned.
Dean nodded once, definitively, then turned away from Bobby’s, “That was sarcasm and you know it, Dean!”
He couldn’t ignore Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, forcibly turning him around again, though.
“They’re close. I’ve heard that they have a plan and everything and I’m not about to let you go out and do something stupid and get yourself killed. You stay here for at least two weeks, let this blow over, and I won’t tell Sam.”
“Done.”
“But, you’re not going to get out of my sight for those two weeks.”
“Bobby-”
“Non-negotiable, Dean.” Bobby crossed his arms, and Dean sighed in defeat.
“Fine.” Dean conceded as Sam walked back out. His eyebrow raised as he took in the sight of Dean and Bobby in the middle of an argument, but didn’t ask questions.
“Dean,” Bobby said, still obviously unhappy with him, “there are cars out in the back that need maintenance.” Bobby then turned his back and started talking to Sam as they walked back inside.
Dean rolled his eyes, but went out to the garage where a bunch of banged up old trucks were waiting. Trying to take his mind off of his fuck-up of the week, Dean got some tools and oil and dove right into trying to fix the engine of the black 1996 GMC that wistfully reminded Dean of the day’s hunting with John.
All too quickly, though, those good memories soured and reminded him of all the ways he messed up with John yelling at him. Dean, however, just gritted his teeth and bore the memories, bore the hurt, and soldiered on despite it.
The light was almost completely gone from the sky before Dean finally paused, hearing his phone vibrate on the table. Wiping the sweat off of the back of his neck and dripping down his face, Dean stood up, wincing as his back seized from being bent over the truck for so long.
The moment passed, and he walked over to the table, checking his phone before stilling completely.
1 new message from Walt
The bright text was sitting on the screen, seemingly staring at him as he stood in complete shock. Didn’t Walt want to kill him?
He thumbed his password into the phone, confused.
‘wendigo up in thompson falls mt if ur interested’
Ah. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, debating. He could tell Bobby, but that wouldn’t solve anything. But if he went to Montana, he could face off against Walt and Roy, get them to back off, and this whole mess could be solved.
‘ill be there 2morrow night’
‘i cant wait for this whole mess to be over with’
‘long hunt?’
‘you have no idea’
Oh, Dean could imagine. He swallowed, hard, as he put his phone in his back pocket and walked to the house. It was obvious who they were talking about, after all.
*
Dean breathed slow and deep as he waited for Sam to fall into a deeper sleep. Bobby had stopped stomping around about thirty minutes ago. He felt bad about the deception, he really did, but if he told Bobby that he was going straight into a trap, Bobby’d have his hide.
He purposefully avoided thinking about Sam.
Now, though, Sam had fallen deeply asleep, and Dean carefully extracted himself from beneath the tangle of Sam’s gargantuan limbs. Once he was out of the bed, he paused at the doorway and looked back at Sam’s calm, sleeping face. He felt a twinge of guilt at leaving his little brother behind, and desperately hoped that Sam didn’t have a nightmare tonight.
Just imagining Sam twisting in bed, crying out for him, but finding only a cold bed beside him made him sick to his stomach.
He couldn’t help it though. It was leaving him, here, tonight, or running for however long it took for the rest of the hunters to get over the fact that they started the apocalypse.
Without second guessing himself, Dean crossed the room in long strides before leaning down and kissing Sam’s forehead, praying for a calm, peaceful night after he left. Then, without pausing for another second, Dean silently left the room, closing it behind him.
He had to do this.
But as Dean left the house, locking it up tight and started up the Impala, he reflected morosely, then why did it feel so much like betrayal?
*
Sam’s eyes snapped open, his breathing harsh as he woke, still somehow seeing Lillith’s pale white eyes.
He shifted to the left, reaching for Dean to help calm down, to see he was still there, but his searching hands only found cold sheets. A bolt of panic shivered down his side, but he forcefully shoved the panic down, desperately trying to think logically.
Sam rolled out of bed, quickly pulling the first shirt he found on over his head. Without rushing, but without taking his time either, Sam went down the stairs to find Bobby, looking like he’d been up for hours, pouring some coffee into a mug.
“Where’s Dean?” Sam asked, stealing the mug Bobby just filled and taking a sip. A sick feeling washed over Sam as he noticed Bobby stilling at the words.
“I thought he was still up there with you,” Bobby said slowly.
Sam shrugged. “I woke up and he wasn’t there.” He didn’t say how much it rattled him to not have Dean there. Dean was always there after a nightmare, soothing him. The last time he’d had to deal with a nightmare himself had been during Stanford.
At Sam’s words, though, Bobby raced outside. Sam raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the nausea making its home in his chest and throat.
The distinct, “Balls!” Bobby yelled moments later didn’t help any.
Bobby raced back inside, a simmering rage clearly apparent on his face. Bobby tossed Sam’s phone at him, brushing past him and reaching straight for the hard line on the wall.
“Call him,” Bobby demanded, starting to make a call of his own.
Hands shaking, understanding that something was very wrong, Sam dialed Dean’s number, praying for an answer. It rung out and Sam reached to brush a trembling hand through his hair.
“Bobby,” Sam started. He licked his lips before starting to bounce his leg. “Bobby, what’s happening?”
“Ya brother’s being a fucking idjit,” Bobby snarled, placing the phone against his ear.
“No offense, Bobby, but that doesn’t help,” Sam said, the weak joke falling flat.
“What’s your plan?” Bobby barked, and Sam was so out of it that he didn’t realize Bobby wasn’t talking to him for a second.
“No, he’s not with me,” Bobby said, barely containing his rage. A moment passed before Bobby slapped his hand on the table, yelling, “Damn it, Walt!”
“Bobby, what the hell is going on,” Sam asked with a bite in his voice as Bobby jammed the phone back in its place on the wall.
“Dean’s gone.” It seemed that was all Bobby could say for a moment. Suddenly, Bobby stood up and went to the liquor cabinet, pulling out an expensive bottle of whiskey. He eyed his mug of coffee consideringly before pouring half of it out and replacing it with whiskey.
Bobby then walked back over to Sam and placed an uncomfortably large amount of whiskey in Sam’s mug.
“I called your brother a week or so ago,” Bobby started, sitting down. “I had heard rumors. There are some hunters angry about the apocalypse, and they wanted revenge. So I called Dean to tell him to watch your backs; there were hunters who wanted to kill you.”
“Kill – kill me?” Sam repeated, disbelieving.
“Yep. Only two days later, I hear some rumors saying that Dean, apparently, is the one who started the apocalypse by breaking the first seal, and that you were off limits.”
Sam scrubbed and hand over his face, not surprised. Yeah, that sounded like Dean. He took a large gulp of his “coffee,” suddenly grateful for the whiskey.
“Walt and Roy were at the forefront of these rumors – they said they even had a plan worked out. But I called Dean, told him to get his ass over here so I could keep an eye on you two as this all blew over. Now Dean’s gone and he’s not answering, and Walt won’t tell me shit about whatever’s going on here,” Bobby said, frustration lacing his tone.
“Bobby-” Sam’s voice broke. “How could you not tell me this? These guys… they want to kill us.”
“Dean made me promise not to. Seemed to think this was his fault or some shit,” Bobby growled.
Sam groaned and rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes. “Of course he did.” Was it too much to ask that his brother finally trust him with something? He knew Dean did it out of love, but seriously? They were a team, damnit!
“Don’t get too mad at him,” Bobby cautioned, still seething in anger at Dean. “He only did it to protect you.”
“Yeah, and look where it got us! Almost the entire hunting population wants to kill him and Dean’s missing and we have no idea where he could be, or if he’s hurt!” At his own words, Sam deflated. He could bitch at Dean after they found him. Sam had to make sure his brother was alright first.
“Can you track the GPS on his phone?”
“If he didn’t disable it or chuck it out of his phone, yeah,” Bobby muttered as he pulled his laptop towards him and started typing.
Sam sat, furiously typing messages to Dean, not afraid to guilt trip Dean into coming back if that’s what it took. Anything to keep him safe.
Five minutes later, though, when Bobby found that he was heading west on the I-90, about halfway through Montana, Dean still hadn’t texted back.
Without speaking a word, Bobby and Sam started grabbing their duffles and packing. It wasn’t a question that they were going to find Dean and bring him home before he inevitably did something stupid. Well, Sam amended that statement, something stupider than he had already done.
Within ten minutes, Sam and Bobby hit the road, Dean’s GPS signal still blinking steadily.
“He’s got an eight hour head start on us,” Sam said quietly, eyes never straying from the screen.
Bobby grunted in acknowledgement, before stepping on the gas a little bit harder.
*
Dean pulled into the Trail Motel. He turned off the car and swallowed before looking at his phone. Sam had been texting him almost nonstop for the past five hours. Dean understood his worry, he really did, but Sam didn’t understand that he needed to do this. They couldn’t live the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders for people, hunters even, who wanted to kill them. Dean had to sort Roy and Walt out now, when they could convince all the others to give up revenge.
“Please, Dean.”
Dean closed his eyes. Sam had resorted to pleading with him, just to get him to reply. He couldn’t reply, though. If he did, then Sam would pull him into a conversation, and would convince him to not do this.
Well, Dean needed to do this. Needed to keep Sammy safe.
"Jesus, I need a drink," Dean muttered, running a hand quickly through his hair.
He swallowed down the guilt and turned the Impala back on, pulling out of the motel and driving back to the bar he'd seen on his way into town. He could also see if anyone knew anything about the wendigo that was around.
*
"He's at... The Trail Motel," Sam commented, realizing Dean's blinking GPS was still.
"Where?"
"Thompson Falls," Sam said, pausing. "Wait, nope he's moving again."
"How far away are we?" Bobby asked.
"Around six hours."
"Damn."
"You told Dean that Roy and Walt were after him, though, so he should be expecting a trap. He might not be in any danger," Sam said, trying to be hopeful.
Bobby just looked at him, skeptical. "Dean's a good hunter, sure, and he knows how to fight, but Roy and Walt know that, too. Besides, anything can happen in a fight."
Sam nodded, realizing the pessimism was just Bobby being worried. He checked the GPS again. "Oh he stopped again. He's," Sam huffed humorless a laugh, "he's at a bar."
Bobby just grimaced. "Sounds like a good place for a trap."
Sam closed his eyes and cursed.
*
"Tough day, sweetheart?" The blonde bartender asked as Dean raised his hand for another glass of whiskey.
"You have no idea," Dean said as he took a sip. If he wasn’t feeling so shitty, he might've flirted with her. As it was, however, she seemed sympathetic and willing to listen.
"I gotta do something but my little brother doesn't understand." He laughed without humor. "He probably thinks I've betrayed him."
"What do you have to do?" She asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Work with the ‘enemy’.” He finger quoted the word. “It's the only way to keep him safe in the long run, though.”
“Ooh,” the bartender leaned in a waggled her eyebrows. “The enemy, huh?”
Dean grimaced. “Yeah,” he agreed, not nearly half as excited as she was.
She seemed to pick up on Dean’s mood and lost the smile. “I’m Linda,” she offered, extending her hand.
“Dean,” he replied, shaking her hand.
“Well, Dean, I’m going to mix something real nice for you, first one on the house,” she said, smiling.
“Better make it good,” Dean called as she turned around, pulling ingredients down from the shelves.
She looked around and winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll like this!”
Dean smiled back, letting Linda distract him from the shit show going on in his head. He absently took another sip of the whiskey, appreciating the burn as he swallowed. He closed his eyes and just listened for a moment. The soft rock from the bar, the multitude of conversations from the many people crowded in the room, the sharp smell of alcohol, and the warm, humid air.
“Voila,” She called as she slid the drink across the bar, leaving a trail of condensation in its path.
Dean opened his eyes and deftly caught the drink, appreciating the bright yellow green color. “What’s in it?”
Linda winked flirtatiously. “Try it and find out.”
Dean half smiled and raised his glass in an imitation of a toast before trying it.
He barely got to taste it though, before someone rammed into him from behind and felt a hand on the back of his neck. Dean was out of his seat and had a hand on the gun tucked in his waistband in three seconds, but quickly hid his gun out of sight when he realized it was just some drunk college boy.
“Sorry man!” He slurred. He ran into someone again because he was too busy looking and smiling at Dean to watch where he was going.
Dean took a moment, trying to calm his heart, which was beating rapidly with adrenaline the moment he felt the guy touch his neck. He was jumpy, especially with Walt and Roy after him.
Besides, Walt and Roy wouldn’t try anything here. It was one of the places with the most amount of people, and plenty of witnesses if they tried to take him somewhere. Dean wasn’t planning on getting drunk enough for it to affect him when he went back to the motel, anyway.
He turned back to the bar, and found Linda staring at him worriedly.
“It’s nothing,” Dean mumbled, sitting back down. Without looking up, he drained the glass in front of him, wincing at the bitter, burning taste.
Linda didn’t say another word, just passed him another whiskey with a sympathetic smile and turned around to talk to someone else.
Dean slowly let out a breath, and reached for his glass in front of him. His thoughts returned to Sam.
He felt a pang of guilt as he thought of Sam waking up alone. Bobby had probably already told Sam what was going on, and Dean hated the thought of his little brother finding out that there were a bunch of people who were willing to kill him.
Yeah, Dean reflected. Definitely better him than Sammy. His hand went to clasp the amulet hanging around his neck, but found only empty air. His stomach rolled in nausea at the thought, and Dean knew that it was time he went to bed.
Only as soon as he stood up, his vision swam and his legs collapsed beneath him. He belatedly threw an arm out to catch himself, but he was already on the floor. Suddenly, Dean felt hands on his back and under his armpits as someone tried to pick him up.
“I’m o’ay,” Dean said, his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth. He was placed back on his chair and realized that someone was trying to force water in his mouth.
He closed his mouth and shook his head, before groaning when the sensation almost caused him to lose what little food he had eaten earlier.
“Dean,” someone said, and with effort, Dean peered at the person in front of him, before realizing it was Linda.
“Linda,” Dean slurred, confusion lacing his tone.
“Dean, look at me. I think someone drugged you.”
Oh. That’s why everything went fuzzy. Her eyes were a bright blue.
“Dean,” Linda continued, “I’m going to take you in the back, you’ll be safe there.”
Dean nodded jerkily, hands gripping Linda as she and another person lifted him underneath his arms. His steps faltered and stumbled, but they practically carried him into the back room.
They set him down against a wall, the cool air chilling the sweat that had beaded on Dean’s face and back. He leaned forward and laced his hands behind the back of his neck, trying to move as little as possible.
“Call Sammy” He whispered, suddenly wanting his brother here to watch his back.
“Of course,” Linda said, shooing the other man out of the back while pulling her own phone from her back pocket and dialing.
“Sammy,” Dean said, louder.
“Hold on,” Linda snapped, pausing for a moment while the call connected. “He’s in the back room. I want him gone in no less than ten minutes.” Her voice left little room for argument. A moment elapsed before she snapped her phone shut and walked back into the bar.
The sound of the door closing heralded complete silence, broken only by Dean’s harsh breaths as the drug rendered him almost immobile and panic stricken.
His phone seemed to be burning in his pocket, a reminder that he could call for help if only he could get his hands to move. His fingers, though, were glued together behind his neck, and he could feel the unconsciousness creeping.
Dean desperately tried to reach his phone, but he could feel his body slipping under, vision blacking out, and his breaths slowing in contrast to his rising panic.
He was dying, he knew it, if only he could call Sammy, he could tell him he loved him and he was sorry one last time…
The last thing Dean Winchester saw before he fell unconscious was the back door of the bar opening and two blurry figures making their way over to him.
*
Sam’s eyes snapped open, hand instinctively reaching for a weapon as the car moved beneath him.
“Sorry, Sam,” Bobby grumbled, tired eyes finding Sam’s. “Ran into a pot hole.”
Sam breathed in relief, knowing he wasn’t in danger. Then, just like the last five times he had woken up, his eyes immediately scanned the screen in front of him, looking for Dean’s signal.
“Bobby,” Sam said, voice drawing tight with distress. “Bobby, Dean’s signal is gone.”
“Gone?” Bobby repeated, tiredness replaced with panic in his voice. “Whadda mean, ‘gone’?”
“I mean it’s gone,” Sam said, desperately refreshing the page.
“The signal has been lost.” The error message said, oblivious to the panic of the two men in the car.
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Sam said, trying to come up with a reason for Dean turning his GPS off that didn’t involve him injured or on death’s door.
“Where was he last,” Bobby asked, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“I don’t know, fuck, maybe the bar?”
“Get the address.” Bobby demanded at the same time as a highly noticeable increase in the speed of the car.
“Gimme a sec…” Sam muttered, furiously typing. “219 West Main Street.”
“How long?”
Sam grimaced. “Four hours.”
“Dammit,” Bobby cursed. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Ya brother’s a damn idijt.”
Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
*
The very first thing that Dean registered when he was pulled roughly from unconsciousness was the splitting headache.
Dean groaned.
“Oh, look, sleeping beauty’s awake.”
Dean’s eyes fluttered open, wincing at the light that seemed to be piercing through his skull. After a couple of seconds, though, he could see the room without being blinded. Roy and Walt were standing, hands clasped behind their backs.
“Roy. Walt.” Dean said, eyes flicking to each in turn before settling on the latter. He was tied to a chair, thick rope binding his hands and ankles. He was also tied around the middle, and for a second he cursed them for being thorough. Not thorough enough, apparently, as Dean felt his concealed knife rubbing against his forearm. He tested the restraints in minute movements, hoping to appear comfortable in the situation. “What’s with the bondage? Don’t we have a wendigo to kill?”
Roy snorted. “You see, Dean, the wendigo is for your brother. When he finds your poor, decimated body.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Walt stepped forward, a smirk on his face. “Look, Dean,” He stated, a sneer in his voice, “the apocalypse started a while back. And a lot of people died; people that we were quite close to.” He gestured towards Roy and himself.
“Okay… But I’m gonna have to apologize ‘cause I don’t see how-” Dean started, a cocky smirk on his face.
“Shut up, Winchester,” Walt snarled, grabbing a gun from his waistband and flicking the safety off before pointing it at Dean.
Dean, wisely, shut up.
He was not, however, cowed. With a short flick of his wrist, the knife fell out of its sheath and fell into his hand. Grasping it tightly, he waited, hoping for a moment where they were distracted so he could start on the ropes binding his hands.
“Now, rumor has it that you were the one who started the apocalypse. Broke the first seal, didn’t ya?” Walt singsonged, punching him across the jaw without warning.
Dean smiled, tasting blood in his mouth and feeling nausea roll in his gut.
“Broke down after four months of torture,” Roy spat from his position behind Walt. “Jesus, Winchester, I didn’t know you were such a pussy.”
Dean grimaced, a smile twisted by pain and self-loathing. He didn’t even try to defend himself.
“This is how it’s going to go,” Walt began, darkness in his eyes. “There’s a lot of people we lost in the apocalypse, a lot of people close to us. So don’t think we’re gonna let you off easy. We’re gonna make it hurt.”
Dean smirked. “You think you can make it hurt more than Hell? Go ahead. Bite me.” As soon as they would begin to lay into him, he’d break his bonds and tell them to go to hell for even thinking about hurting Sammy.
Dean breathed, trying to steel himself. He’d just have to survive this. And it wasn’t like Walt and Roy would give him a choice.
In and out. Just like Hell. In and out.
He tried to disassociate from himself as they began, trying to make the pain a distant memory. Flashes of immeasurable agony still flowed to the front of his mind, though, reminding him of the stench and feel of Hell.
You want this, Dean.
Alastair’s voice drifted out of the shadows. Dean, logically, knew he was dead, that Sam killed him –always cleaning up his messes – but the memories from Hell poured over his walls and defenses like water, and all his attempts to separate flashbacks from reality dissolved like salt. He flinched.
You deserve this, Alastair drawled, voice slow, and Dean could hear the smirk in his voice.
He did. Alastair never lied to him. He knew the truth would hurt more. And he did start the apocalypse, he caused all this hurt, this suffering. His head lolled, resting on his chest, accepting the torture Alastair was causing.
Don’t worry, Dean. We’ll purge you through fire.
The fire. Dean could feel the smoke, heavy and everywhere, filling his lungs, his mouth, his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. He coughed. Once. Twice.
Just take it, Dean.
The ambient sounds of Hell filled his ears. Distant screams from other prisoners. The steady, steady drip, drip, drip, of blood from the ceiling.
You’ll feel better soon.
But he was in so much pain already.
The pain is a tool, Dean. Use it. Sharpen it. Use it to destroy yourself. Then, when you are ready, use it to inflict on others.
Dean’s eyes opened slowly. There were two people in front of him.
Your pain is a tool, so use it.
Dean’s knife slipped out of his sheath with a soft ‘soosh’ sound and into his fingers, deftly cutting through the ropes that bound his hands in a matter of seconds.
Destroy yourself.
The knife, slippery with sweat he didn’t feel, cut his hand as he quickly brought it to his front and cut through the rope around his chest and legs.
The two in front of him were dumbfounded, caught off guard by his quick and pointed movements.
Use it, Dean. Destroy them.
The one closest to him came running at him first, grabbing an iron rod and swinging it at him. Dean ducked, allowing the man to carry his momentum past Dean, while throwing his knife out and cutting him on his way to the second man.
The second man, Roy, his mind provided, saw Dean coming and quickly grabbed a machete before standing in a defensive position. Dean came on swinging, a quick parry of knives before the knife and machete collided, causing the knife to slip out of Dean’s hand.
Roy tried to press his advantage but Dean grabbed his hand, and forced it to bang against the table and knock the machete out. He used his height, twisting Roy’s arm roughly up over Roy’s head, dislocating it. When he doubled over, hunching around his arm, Dean kneed him in the face. Dean saw Roy fall down out of the corner of his eye as he spun around just in time to dodge a punch as Walt came swinging, one hand holding his side that was sticky and red with blood.
Walt, not expecting Dean to dodge, stumbled forward, and Dean took the opportunity to land a kick right where he had cut him. Walt fell backwards with a shout, one hand clutching his side, the other wildly flailing for balance as he hit the ground. He lay on the floor, glaring at Dean, both hands now frantically trying to put pressure on his wound.
Dean smirked, idly making his way to the table and grabbing a pistol, casually inserting a magazine and racking it. He raised it, aiming at Walt’s chest. A sure shot, at this range.
Walt, knowing his position, spat, “Go on, Dean, do it. Show the world what a monster you are when Sammy’s not around to keep you on the straight and narrow.”
Dean stilled. Sammy.
A moment passed before the tight vice on his throat lessened, the haze cleared, and the pounding headache that he hadn’t noticed suddenly made itself known.
“Whatcha waiting for, Winchester? Get on with it!” Walt yelled.
Staring down the edge of the barrel, Dean noticed his hands were trembling faintly. His shoulder and chest were on fire, but Dean couldn’t remember what they had done to him. He blinked, eyes slow to open. How long had it been since he was drugged?
“S- Sam,” Dean broke off, licking his lips. He tasted salt, and raising his other hand to his face, he noticed he had been crying. He swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy. “Sam- Sam and- Sam and I- listen. We’re off limits. And,” Dean stopped again, getting a better grip on the pistol in his hands, slick with blood and sweat. “Don’t try to take us out again. We’ll kill you next time. The apocalypse it’s- man, it’s too big. It’s an all hands on deck situation.”
Walt snorted.
“I mean it, okay?” Dean said, a bit louder than normal, trying to cover up the anxiety from his… his thing. “You, or anyone else, who comes after us will get killed. Don’t try it again.”
Walt was sneering distrustfully at Dean, and yeah, okay, he could see why. Dean looked at them consideringly. Roy was still down and out for the count, and Walt didn’t look like he was going to move any time soon. Dean didn’t want to hurt them, still shaky from Alastair’s words in his ear, telling him to hurt, to kill.
So, with that, Dean snapped the safety back on and holstered it in his waistband, and turned around straight into the cold, dark barrel of a gun.
“This is for my sister,” Bucky snarled.
*
Two hours later, Sam and Bobby made their way to the bar Dean’s signal was last at. The Impala was parked outside, and they shared an uneasy look. At two o’clock in the morning, the bars were starting to wind down, and Dean should have been long gone by now. Sam rushed to the Impala, not surprised when he found it empty.
Logically, he knew that Dean was probably jumped, but Sam kept hoping that they would find Dean’s drunk ass somewhere within the general vicinity. Sam grimly shook his head towards Bobby, and together they straightened their FBI jackets, placed their ‘badges’ in their pockets, and grabbed a picture of Dean.
Sam, with his long strides, reached the door to the bar first and slammed it open, causing all eyes to be drawn to him. His usual anxiety at being noticed overpowered by his need to find his brother, but a quick sweep of the people proved fruitless as Sam didn’t recognize anyone.
With barely a pause, Sam strode up to the bartender warily looking at him, Bobby a few steps back and to his right.
Quickly flashing his badge, Sam said, “Have you seen this man?” He jabbed a finger at the picture of Dean that Bobby was holding up.
“Yeah, did y’all catch him?” The bartender asked, unconcerned.
Sam stilled, an eyebrow raising. “Catch him?” He repeated.
She, Linda, her nametag read, paused, realizing something was wrong. “Yeah,” She said slowly. “Two other agents came in, saying that this man,” She motioned to the picture of Dean, “was dangerous and they had information that he would be coming to a bar last night. They asked for me to drug him, and deliver him to ‘em if he came here.”
Bobby cursed, Sam turning to Bobby for a quick moment but then turning back, his hand making an aborted motion towards his hair before he reigned himself back in.
Bobby picked up his phone, and after a few seconds, held up a picture of Roy instead. “Did one of them look like this?”
“Yeah,” Linda replied, now obviously concerned.
“They were impersonating FBI agents,” Sam bit out to Linda’s dawning horror. “That man is not dangerous. We need to know where they took him.”
“I don’t know,” Linda said, her voice high and eyes wide. “He- he just gave me a number- a phone number- and gave me some money. Told me to call if he came here.”
“Give us the phone number.” Linda quickly grabbed her phone and with shaking hands gave it to Bobby, who compared it to the number in his phone.
Sam smiled without warmth at Linda. “If an agent gives you money for your help, don’t trust them.”
“Sam,” Bobby said, turning to him. “It’s Walt’s number.”
Sam closed his eyes and focused on not punching someone. When he opened them a moment later, he saw his own restrained fury apparent in Bobby as well.
“They were in a black pickup truck,” Linda offered. “I didn’t see the license plates but they went west.”
“Are there any abandoned warehouses that way?”
Linda hesitated, obviously trying to remember. “There’s one, I think, about a twenty minutes’ drive straight up that path. It’s where the road ends up there.”
Without another word, Sam spun on his heel and was out the door, Bobby following. Bobby didn’t question Sam when he threw open the driver’s side door, intent on driving.
There was a silence in the car as Sam sped up the road Linda mentioned. It was stony with rage, but mostly fear and worry. And the closer Sam got to the warehouse, the more his anger at Dean, Walt, and Roy dissipated into nausea and fear.
He just wanted Dean to be okay.
In ten minutes, Sam was throwing the door open and sprinting to the worryingly silent warehouse. He could hear Bobby doing the same beside him.
Panic set in right about the time that Sam spotted blood on the door. “No, no, no, no,” Sam chanted under his breath, pleading with anyone who was listening that Dean was alive.
Sam threw the door open with shaking hands, not hearing the crack as he threw it clean off its hinges. Blood was rushing in his ears as his frantic eyes scanned the room.
In the middle of the room, surrounded by blood, was Dean’s still figure.
“No!” Sam yelled, sprinting towards him. “Cas! Cas, please!” He prayed, heart in his throat, legs collapsing underneath him as he reached his brother.
He swallowed back the nausea when he saw the hole through his big brother’s head. “No! No, Dean,” Sam moaned, not bothering to acknowledge Bobby.
Sam desperately looked up, blinking the tears out of his eyes as he heard the flutter of wings that signaled Castiel’s arrival. “Cas,” He croaked out. “Cas, save him please,” He begged, holding Dean’s head in his lap.
Castiel, however, took one long look at Dean and then vanished without a word.
“Cas!” Sam yelled at the spot where Castiel should have been. “Castiel, you son of a bitch,” Sam shouted, voice cracking.
When those words failed to bring Castiel back, Sam hiccupped on a sob, and cradled Dean’s head in his lap. He ignored Bobby, who roughly put a hand on his shoulder and kneeled next to Sam.
Dean’s eyes were closed, a small mercy from the gaping hole in his forehead. Sam went to touch his face, before realizing that his hands were red with sticky, almost dried blood.
With growing horror, Sam looked closer at Dean, finding tacky, congealed blood all over his body. There were multiple cuts, bruises, and what looked like a broken arm. And that was just what Sam could see from Dean’s head in his lap.
“Bobby,” Sam rasped, his voice hoarse from crying. “Bobby they- they fucking tortured him.”
Bobby just grimly nodded, hand softly rubbing his shoulder. “We should go ..." He was still talking, but Sam tuned him out. Sam didn't want to leave.
Leaving meant... Burning him. Burning Dean. The thought alone caused Sam to gag. He couldn’t. Dean had been brought back before, he could do it again. He would do it again.
“Bobby why didn’t Cas bring him back? Why did he just leave?” Sam asked, hating the way his voice was so vulnerable, Bobby now silent when he realized Sam wasn't listening.
“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know.”
Almost as soon as the words came out of Bobby’s mouth, Castiel reappeared with a flutter of wings.
“Sam.” Castiel stated in his low voice. “Dean will be fine.” With that, Castiel reached for Dean’s forehead with two fingers, and Sam flinched away, trying to protect Dean from the angel.
Castiel stopped, fingers still outstretched. “Sam,” he began again. “Michael will not let Dean stay dead for long.” He stopped again, seemingly struggling for words. “I wish to heal him,” Castiel said, softly, after a moment.
Sam stared into the angel’s eyes, slowly letting logic take precedence over the protectprotectprotect thrumming through his mind. He loosened his death grip on Dean slightly, still warily looking at his friend.
Seeing Sam’s acquiescence, Castiel slowly touched Dean’s forehead, bathing all three in a warm light. A moment later, the light was gone, and Dean looked back to normal. Except, of course, for the lack of breathing and pulse.
“He should awake in a minute.” Castiel stood, a faraway look in his eyes that Sam had come to associate with angle radio. “I must go.”
Sam looked back down, not even hearing the wings that signaled Castiel’s departure. Tears dripped steadily down his face, despite knowing that Dean would be back. Because right now, Sam held his brother’s dead body in his hands, not breathing, and very cold in Sam’s arms.
*
Dean slammed back into his body with a gasp, pain lighting every one of his senses. For a moment, everything was too bright, too loud, too prominent for him to comprehend anything. The first thing that Dean did notice was his little brother crying into his neck.
And without knowing exactly what happened or where he was, Dean turned over, grabbing Sam and pulling him close, rubbing his back, quickly making shushing noises, trying to calm Sam down.
It came back to him pretty quickly though, seeing the abandoned warehouse he was in. Dean swallowed heavily, guilt catching in his throat as he realized that Sam had found him on the floor, too late to do anything. Looking over Sam’s shoulder, he saw Bobby, standing a couple of feet away, giving them space. Dean mouthed ‘thank you’ to him, for everything; from giving them space to keeping Sam safe when he was… gone.
Eventually, though, Sam’s tears slowed, but he kept his body glued to Dean’s like a leech. “I hate you,” he mumbled into Dean’s neck.
Dean sighed. “I know, Sammy, I know.” He knew, intimately, how it felt to have his brother’s dead body in his arms, to know he had failed at his one job – protecting him. And he hated that he forced Sam to go through it again, knowing how messed up he was after Dean went to Hell.
“Come on, boys, time to go,” Bobby said, regretful that he had to break them up. “The cops will be showing up soon, and we really need to be out of here by the time they do.”
Sam nodded, still glued to Dean. Dean didn’t move either, waiting for his brother to be ready.
After a moment, Sam started unwinding his limbs from Dean’s body, and Dean got his first good look at Sam since he came back.
He looked awful.
He obviously hadn’t slept, his eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and there was a faint tremor in his hands that Dean had come to associate with a nightmare.
The guilt built up in Dean’s gut and turned to nausea. “I’m sorry,” Dean murmured, standing before helping Sam up as well, never letting go of his little brother.
Sam still didn’t say anything, and together they walked to the car. Dean noticed that Sam was never more than a step away from him at all times, and his heart clenched even more. Bobby went to the driver’s seat, Sam and Dean heading to the back. Dean climbed in first, then turned and held in arms open to Sam, who clambered up into them. They cuddled, chest to chest, Sam immediately burying his face into Dean’s neck and hair. Dean pulled his legs up so they could close the door, tangling his legs with Sam’s and relishing in their closeness.
Dean shivered, the cold feel of death still causing goosebumps over his skin. Sam, in retaliation, tried to fulfill his greatest desire of melding completely into Dean’s skin, acting as a human blanket.
“I am sorry, Sammy,” Dean said, voice muffled by Sam’s hair.
Sam didn’t reply, and Dean shifted Sam closer, as if the physical closeness could somehow breach the gap that Dean had caused when he ran off and got himself killed.
They would need to have a conversation, and Dean held back a hysterical laugh – since when does Dean “No chick-flick moments” Winchester want to have a conversation filled with emotions?
But feeling his brother’s shuddering breaths underneath his arms, Dean knew he’d have to fix this. Somehow.
*
Cas. News from Heaven.
Dean prayed almost as soon as the trio got back to Bobby’s, awaiting the usual noise that signaled Cas’ arrival.
“Dean.”
Dean turned around, finding Cas standing behind him. He felt Sam turn as well beside him, still silent as ever.
“What did you find out,” Cas asked, not waiting for them to return his greeting, the most eager Dean had ever seen him.
“Cas, buddy,” Dean said, pausing as he sighed. He was reluctant to share the information he’d received. “Joshua told us to piss off. God doesn’t want to be found.”
The three other people in the room as stilled to the point that Dean swore that he would be able to hear a pin drop.
“What?” The heartbreaking, single word question sounded like it was punched out of the angel.
“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said, intimately knowing the feeling when your father abandoned you.
“Maybe – maybe Joshua was lying.” Dean closed his eyes, hating how easily he could empathize with Cas, wishing and searching for an explanation that would make everything alright.
“I don’t think he was,” Dean said softly, not bearing to look at the hurt undoubtedly swelling in his friend’s eyes.
“You son of a bitch.” Cas said, reminding Dean of his many days, searching fruitlessly for his own father. “I believed in…” Cas trailed off.
Dean kept his eyes closed and his head bowed, letting Cas have his moment. It startled him, then, when Cas’ voice came from right in front of him a moment later.
“I don’t need this anymore. It’s worthless.” Cas’ voice was almost dead, without any inflection. Dean opened his eyes and watched him place Sam’s amulet in his hand, before flying away.
It was completely silent in the room.
“Cas asked me to find Joshua when I was in Heaven because apparently he was speaking to God,” Dean said, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. “God said to piss off.”
Bobby shifted beside him, but Sam was the one that broke the silence.
“You were in Heaven?” And despite the disrespect and annoyance that the angels treated him with, Sam’s voice was still awed. After Dean nodded, he asked, “What was it like?”
“Not much,” Dean answered honestly with a shrug. “Mostly some empty fields and abandoned houses. I didn’t stop to explore until I saw Ash.”
“Ash was there?” Dean smiled at Sam’s sudden happiness.
“Yeah, Pamela, too. They’re… they’re happy, Sam.”
“Did you see Ellen and Jo?” Bobby asked, hope evident in his voice.
Dean dropped the smile. “No, Ash didn’t even know they were dead.” His voice cracked on the last word.
A moment of silence fell through the three of them.
Dean then looked at the amulet in his hand. He was tempted to throw it away, knowing it was useless. He almost began his way over to the trash, before pausing. The amulet didn’t have any higher purpose when Sam had first given it to him. It was just a gift from Sam that Dean had loved.
He remembered the nausea it caused when he couldn’t wrap his hand around the comforting metal at the bar in Montana. Maybe it was useless to find God, but it meant something to Sam and him.
So, in one fluid movement, Dean reached up and put the necklace back on, over his head. Once the amulet settled back in its place on his chest, Dean felt something loosen in his chest at the same time as he heard an almost-inaudible sigh of relief from his little brother.
Dean glanced at Sam, offering a half smile. Sam’s eyes softened, but were focused on the little glint of metal resting on Dean’s chest.
It only served as a reminder to Dean for the gap between them.
*
Dean pulled the Impala off the side of the road, parking it on the shoulder. There was no civilization around for miles, making it the first time they’d been alone for almost three days.
Three days filled with a noticeable tension between him and Sam. And after three days, they were both testy, fed up with the other. Bobby had practically thrown them out of his house.
Without looking at Sam, Dean got out of the car, and after a moment’s deliberation, sat on the hood of his baby without getting a beer. The beer would either end up spilled on the ground or thrown at each other, depending on how this conversation turned out.
Dean simply sat and waited for his brother to join him. It didn’t take that long.
His brother got out of the car and sat beside him, looking at the horizon. He was tense, and Dean hated it, knowing that he was the one that put the tension between those already tired shoulders.
Dean figured he’d better start.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up, Sammy.”
Sam snorted, but still didn’t look at him. “Really? That’s what you’re apologizing for?”
Dean offered a half smile. “I’m working my way up to it.”
“Don’t-” Sam broke off, shaking his head. “Don’t turn this into a joke, Dean. You died. I can’t- I can’t keep doing this.”
Dean understood the toll it was taking on his brother. He was the one who would hum Sam back to sleep, reassuring his brother that he was still alive, that it was just a dream. And Dean felt guilty – he did. It’s just.
“I would do it again, you know.” A beat passed. “I won’t lie to you.”
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam’s cuttingly sarcastic tone hit Dean like a knife. “Thank you so much for trusting me so much that you won’t lie to me, but you’ll omit crucial information like, oh I don’t know, the fact that over half the hunter population wanted my head on a stick.”
Dean winced. “Sam-”
“Oh no,” Sam continued like he hadn’t heard Dean. “You won’t lie to me, but you’ll stick a target on your back and willingly walk to your death like brainwashed cattle.”
“That’s not what happened, Sam.”
“Oh really?” Sam finally turned to him. “Enlighten me, then.” He raised his hands in a mockery of friendly gesture.
“Bobby called me to say they wanted to kill you because they thought you started the apocalypse.”
“I did!”
“No!” Dean yelled, cutting Sam off. “No, just… just no, Sammy.” He said, suddenly losing all fight, drained. Just the thought of Sam thinking that this was his fault caused his stomach to roll. He closed his eyes and swallowed, ignoring the dryness of his throat.
“The apocalypse was not your fault.”
“Then whose was it, Dean? Yours?”
“Yes!” Dean’s vehement reply shut Sam up for a second, and Dean pressed his advantage. “Lillith was the final seal – if you didn’t kill her, do you honestly think she would have packed up and went home? ‘Oh, too bad Sam Winchester didn’t kill me! Guess Lucifer won’t be released after all this hard work!’”
Sam took a step back, as if struck.
“No, Sam! If you hadn’t done it, Lillith would have either killed herself or gotten some other person to do it for her!” Dean took a deep breath and punctuated every word with a step forward. “Lucifer would have risen anyway, Sam. Whether or not you had anything to do with it!”
Dean was chest to chest with him now. “I thought you knew this.” He continued quieter now. “And it’s why I didn’t want to tell you that hunters were gunning for you. I didn’t want you to have any misplaced guilt, Sammy. I care too much for you.” He punctuated his speech with a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. He took a careful step back after a moment, trying to ignore how difficult it was to even put that small of a space between them.
Sam stood there, eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them, Dean could see the sorrow in his eyes. “And yet you think it’s your fault.” It was not a question.
Dean snorted. “Of course it was. None of the seals could’ve been broken if the first one hadn’t been broken first,” he finished quietly.
“The apocalypse was not your fault!”
“How is it not? The first seal was broken when I started torturing souls in Hell, Sam! It didn’t even take me half a year!”
“It was forty years for you!”
“And yet, Dad didn’t break and it was over a century for him,” Dean pointed out, voice full of self-loathing.
“Dad wasn’t righteous and you know it. It wouldn’t have mattered when he broke. Besides, the demons wouldn’t have stopped until you had enough, Dean. It wasn’t your fault.” Sam’s voice gave Dean no room for argument.
Dean stopped, shaking his head. “I fucking broke, Sammy.” His voice hitched. “I deserve whatever they gave me.”
“So you would rather just let them torture and kill you?” Sam accused.
“What? No!” Dean said, surprised that Sam would think so low of him. “No. Roy and Walt, they tied me down to kill me, but I took them down instead.” Dean swallowed and purposefully didn’t think of his flashback. “I didn’t even hurt them. But they had picked up a third hunter that I wasn’t expecting. He got the drop on me.” Dean shook his head. “Sam, I had every intention of coming back to you. I’d never abandon you.”
Sam’s eyes finally softened at Dean’s emphatic response. “C’mere,” He said, opening his arms. Dean came willingly, practically suffocating himself in an effort to get close to Sam.
“‘m sorry, too, Dean.” He said, softly. “But you’ve got to trust me, man. Everyone – demons, angels, monsters – they’re all trying to separate us, trying to get us to turn on each other. I get why you didn’t want to tell me, but all it did was make the situation worse.”
Dean nodded slightly into Sam’s chest. “I won’t do it again.”
Sam just sighed. “I know you will, though. Just tell me next time, won’t you?”
Dean could do that. “Course, Sammy.”
They stood like that for a few moments, before Dean pulled away, giving Sam a blinding grin. “Come on. I heard there’s a chupacabra in Texas that needs killing,” Dean said, walking around to get in the car.
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s abrupt departure, but got in the car anyway. Sliding in, he sneakily claimed one of Dean’s hands for his own, enjoying the feeling of closeness with his brother again.
“Bitch,” Dean shot at Sam, but didn’t let go of Sam’s hand.
“Jerk,” Sam replied, voice fond.
Dean looked at Sam once more before pulling back out onto the highway. Sam was smiling again, eyes closed and head tipped back, hair gently dancing in the wind. Overcome with love, he allowed himself one sappy moment that he would never think about again.
“I’d never willingly leave you, Sammy,” he said quietly, too quietly to hear.
Mom’s words played in the back of his mind.
Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy, Daddy… Even Sammy. You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you.
Dean wouldn’t willingly leave Sam, sure. But he wasn’t so sure that the opposite was true.