Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean was digging through the Impala's glove box when his phone began to ring. Fumbling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen—Cas's name was displayed—and then answered. Shoving the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he continued to search for the battered map of the United States that he still pulled out occasionally. They didn't actually need maps that much, but when Dean wanted to visualize something, he still preferred the physical one over something online.

"Hey."

"Dean, you are on speaker. Jack is here as well," Cas said and Dean nodded absently as he pushed aside a stack of napkins.

"Finish your hunt? Was it a rugaru like I said?" Dean grinned triumphantly as he pulled out the map from where it had been hiding underneath some jerky that was probably long past the expiration date.

"It was. And your homemade flamethrower was…" Cas paused, and Jack interjected enthusiastically.

"Awesome! It was awesome, Dean!"

"I was going to say excessive," Cas tacked on dryly, making Dean smirk.

Shoving the napkins back into the glove box, he snapped it shut and closed the car door. Crossing over to an old and wobbly picnic table that was next to an equally old and wobbly oak tree, Dean sat down. The area was off to the side of the motel and it would have been just as easy to go in, but it was nice out today, probably one of the last really nice days of the year.

"Efficient, that's what the flamethrower is, even if it's not as much fun as a grenade launcher."

"Grenade launcher?" Jack asked, and Dean could hear the innocent excitement in his voice.

"Oh, yeah," Dean said even as Cas sternly reprimanded,

"No, Dean."

"Fine. You and Sam can both be buzzkills, but me and Jack are going to go get some target practice in when we all get back."

"Can we?" Jack said as Dean unfolded the map and laid it out on the table. He glanced briefly around to see if Sam had returned from the sheriff's office. He'd called not long ago and said that he was walking back, and Dean had news about the hunt.

"Yeah, of course! We'll go find something fun to destroy. We just can't let Sam know, he's a stick in the mud," Dean said as he ran a finger down Vermont until he found Centerville. Once he had, he began to trace the roads, looking for Hettinger. "Hey," he said abruptly. "That rugaru wasn't some supercharged, Michael-version, right? Just a normal one?"

"It wasn't," Cas confirmed, and Dean hated the gentle note of sympathy that had entered his friend's voice.

Michael's monsters…and well, everything that had happened while he had been possessed still made his stomach knot up and made him feel like he didn't belong in his own body. He never should have allowed Michael in. What had he been thinking? Had he honestly believed that Michael was just going to let him—his perfect vessel—go?

Closing his eyes, Dean tried to push the invasive thoughts down.

There hadn't been any other choice. It had been either let Michael in or let Lucifer kill Jack and probably torture Sam horribly before killing him as well. Dean still felt that it had been the right move to make, it just...he was having trouble stomaching what had happened.

"Are you headed back to the bunker after this? Wait, hold that thought. You're pretty close to Vermont, aren't you?" Dean had found Hettinger, and he tapped his finger on the map, thinking.

There was a short pause on the other end. "Not far, I think. We are in New York."

"Nice. Well, if you are up for it and want to, you can meet me and Sam in Vermont. Sam caught a hankering for a case up here where bodies have been disappearing from a funeral home. He didn't want to hand it off to anyone else—" He had probably more so wanted to keep Dean busy, but that didn't need to be said out loud— "so we made the trip up. We just got in last night. I was also talking to Mom, though, and she said that she might come up as well for a night or two. Says that she needs a break from Bobby. We could all make a couple of days out of it."

Mom and Bobby. That never stopped being weird and slightly wrong to Dean, but he was just going to be glad that Bobby was being left behind. He liked him, he supposed, but he wasn't Bobby and Dean was still more than a little irritated about what he'd said to Sam when Maggie had been missing. Bobby had apologized for it, or so Sam said, but Dean wasn't as quick to forgive as his brother, especially when it involved Sam.

Sam had given everything that he had and then some to those hunters, why couldn't they just be grateful instead of demanding? Why couldn't they see that they were slowly killing him?

There was silence on the other end and Dean waited, his elbows perched on the table as he looked down at the map. New York wasn't that far, especially if they were on the east side of the state.

"What do you think, Jack? Either way is fine with me." He heard Cas ask in a muffled voice as if he had covered the phone with his hand. He couldn't hear Jack's response very well, but it sounded like a yes. He hoped that it was. He was fine with it being just him and Sam—in some ways he craved it—but Jack in particular brought lightness and innocence back into their sometimes very dark world and they needed that.

Dean looked up from the map in time to see Sam crossing the street towards the motel, a folder clutched in one hand. He watched his brother, half hidden behind the oak tree, and felt his heart grow heavy.

Sam's shoulders were slumped, and he was rubbing at his forehead with his free hand like he was fighting a headache or was dead tired. It was probably both. He was crushing himself with everything that he was trying to do and carry, and, as proud as Dean was of his brother, it worried him more.

Sam's steps slowed even further before he came to a complete stop just a few feet in front of their door, and Dean watched as he took a deep breath before he straightened. Squaring his shoulders, Sam plastered his, 'everything's fine, I'm fine' look on his face before entering the room.

Sam wasn't fine.

"Dean? Are you still there?"

Dean glanced absently at his phone, his thoughts still on his brother. "Yeah, hold on. Sam just got back, lemme go grab him."

Hurriedly folding the map back up, he crossed the parking lot and opened the door to see Sam throwing his suit jacket onto the table.

"Cas and Jack are on the phone," he said in way of greeting and then put the phone on speaker.

"Hey!" Sam called over with a smile. He began to roll up his shirt sleeves and came to stand next to Dean. "Finish the hunt with no problems?"

"Yes. There were no issues." Cas said and Sam nodded in satisfaction.

"They're still in New York, I asked them if they wanted to meet us here," Dean explained and Sam nodded again. Dean turned back to the phone, raising his voice slightly. "So we aren't actually in Hettinger right now. We are in a town about two hours north of that, but there are some people that we need to talk to in Hettinger. If we meet you there, then we can do that and maybe go to the bar afterwards and take the rest of the night off?"

"If we go to a bar I can try to beat Cas at pool again," Jack chimed in excitedly and Sam smiled, shaking his head even as Dean smirked. Both Cas and Jack were terrible at pool—at least compared to them—and it would no doubt be entertaining.

"It sounds like a plan, then," Cas said dryly.

"Right. Do you need directions to Hettinger?"

"No," Cas responded instantly. "Google is less confusing than you are."

"I feel like I should be offended by that," Dean said indignantly and Sam laughed.

"He's not wrong," he said and Dean shoved him playfully.

"I taught you to drive, didn't I? Never led you astray? Besides, I think that I know the back roads of the United States better than almost anyone else."

"So? Knowing something and explaining it to someone else is completely different. Also, I do most of the navigating if needed because you are the one behind the wheel, dumbass."

"I'm going to hang up now. I'll call you when we get close so that we know where to meet up," Cas interjected quickly before the line went dead.

Sam shook his head again with a smile and moved to sit down at the small table, pulling his laptop towards him. "So, what's in Hettinger?"

Dean made his way to the coffee pot and topped off his half-full mug before pouring a fresh cup for his brother. He offered it to Sam, who absently took a sip before shoving it aside so that he could pull his laptop closer.

"Mary Jones, Christina Wentworth, and Lance Deringer all died in Hettinger. Not only that, but they all died at the same hospital."

Sam looked up at that, his face creasing into a frown. "I mean, I didn't think Hettinger was that big of a town. It probably only has one hospital."

"Right, but for whatever reason, their bodies are the only ones that have gone missing, even though the funeral home has had four other bodies brought in recently. The difference? They died here in Centerville. Also, you will be interested to know that Wentworth and Deringer didn't even live in Hettinger. Both lived here in Centerville and just happened to die in Hettinger. Wentworth was in a car crash while passing through and Deringer went in for a broken leg that he had gotten after a hiking accident."

Sam's eyebrows rose at that. "A broken leg? Who dies of a broken leg? Did they do an autopsy?"

"Oh, they did, and this is bound to thrill your little psychopathic heart." Dean reached across the table, tapping at the report he had emailed and printed after talking to the hospital staff on the phone. Sam reached for it, scanning it quickly.

"Insulin? He died of an Insulin overdose?" Sam shifted in his seat, hunching down to better read the report. "It doesn't look like he was even a diabetic. Why would he be taking…but then again, insulin is incredibly dangerous if given in the wrong amounts. They probably just thought he was having a reaction to another drug when he slipped into a coma from the insulin overdose."

"Right? And here is where it gets even odder. Wentworth's injuries were pretty bad from the car crash, but the doctor didn't think she should have died. She also abruptly slipped into a coma while they were treating her for a head injury. I don't think that they performed an autopsy, but I would bet you all the money in my wallet that insulin would have been found if they had."

Sam's mouth dropped open a little even as he continued to read the reports. "Huh. That's…yeah, that's a lead. And what did Mary Jones die of? She lived in Hettinger, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did. She had cancer, pretty late stage. That one wasn't so much of a surprise although she too slipped into a coma right before she kicked the bucket. She was going to be buried up here in Centerville because that is where most of her family currently is. That's why she was in Phillip's funeral home."

"So…the bodies disappear from the funeral home in Centerville, but this all started in Hettinger," Sam mused aloud and Dean sighed softly, scratching at his forehead before meeting Sam's eyes.

"Are we sure that this is our kind of thing? They aren't dying from some sort of supernatural cause, and it could just be some seriously screwed up human who has a disturbing fetish for dead people."

Sam screwed up his face before shaking his head. "No. This is our kind of thing, I just don't know what it is yet."

Dean thought about debating it. He wasn't as sure as his brother, but Sam's instincts were his own, and if Sam's senses were tingling about this one then it probably was something supernatural.

"So, are you going to go interview the hospital staff or family in Hettinger?" Sam asked, bringing the mug of coffee to his lips. His phone pinged and Sam abandoned the cup in favor of his phone. He checked it, and Dean could see the brief spark of relief that was almost instantly swallowed up by the seemingly ever-present worry that was drawing increasingly dark circles underneath Sam's eyes.

"How many hunters do you have out right now?" Dean asked as casually as he could as he leaned back in his seat.

"Only seven, if you don't count Cas and Jack," Sam said distractedly as he typed out a reply. There was always someone out on a hunt, always someone for Sam to be concerned about and waiting for an update from.

Dean reached out, tapping the report to get Sam's attention back on him and their hunt. "So? Hettinger?"

Sam nodded slowly, still looking at his phone. "No, yeah. We need to pursue that and it is worth the three of you checking it out. Hey, did Mom ever get back to you about if she is coming?"

"No, she didn't," Dean said hurriedly as he frowned and added on. "What do you mean the three of us? You're coming, right?"

Sam stared at his phone for a second, looking resigned, before lowering it with a sigh. "When I was talking with the sheriff, he was notified that another body was being brought into the funeral home tonight. Their funeral isn't set to take place for another two days, but the sheriff was going to send a couple of armed officers over to watch the body anyway."

"And what does that have to do with you not coming to Hettinger?" Dean challenged.

"Because we still don't know what is taking bodies or how they are doing it. I couldn't feel good about myself if I let some unprepared officer possibly face off against a monster. We'd be prepared for that—hell, we would even be fine if it was just some insane idiot—but they wouldn't be. They'd just die."

Dean chewed on his lower lip, trying to think of a way around Sam's reasoning. "I mean, fine. I get your point, but what are the chances of them even trying to take the body tonight? Weren't all the other ones taken the day before the funeral? And—" he added, sticking a finger in Sam's direction. "Did this dude die in Hettinger? If not, I doubt whatever freak is out there is even interested in it."

"Well, now that you've mentioned it…"

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean spat, shaking his head.

"Nope. Rob Mills. Died in Hettinger two days ago, so you should ask about him too when you go there. And you know, here's what I don't get. If they are killing them in Hettinger, why are they waiting to take the bodies? That's clearly their end goal."

"No freaking clue, man. I gave up on trying to understand crazy people ages ago. Maybe it's because they did die in the hospital? More security, you know? It's probably harder to sneak a body out of a hospital than a funeral home. But regardless of the why, the body should be all right for one night. You don't need to watch it. You should come to Hettinger with me."

"I'm not risking someone else's life like that," Sam said stubbornly, daring Dean to defy him.

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration but didn't fight it no matter how much a part of him really wanted to.

Sam was right. It had to be done, but he wasn't going to leave Sam to do it alone. Cas and Jack would be able to handle the interviews with the hospital. It was just…a night out with everyone had sounded ideal.

"Dean, you can still go," Sam said, guessing his thoughts. "It'll be easier for you to go than for us to try and explain to Cas and Jack what we are looking for over the phone."

Dean shook his head. "What have we been telling everyone, dude? Buddy system and to be extra careful until we know what Michael is up to. He's setting traps for hunters, and that's nothing to screw around with."

"I highly doubt that this is Michael's work."

"You don't know that and you weren't willing to give this case over to just anyone else. That means that you thought that it was dangerous," Dean pointed out, and Sam made a face.

"I didn't give it to anyone else because I'm not sure what it is that we are after and it didn't look cut and dry. This isn't a beginner's hunt and I needed to get out of the bunker for a little bit. So did you, it just made sense."

Dean shook his head. "That doesn't mean that you should be by yourself. Hunting alone is the definition of stupid."

"I'm not—" Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just going to be watching cameras, that's not really hunting. And like you said, none of the bodies have disappeared until the night before the funeral. I'm just going there as a precaution. Go meet Cas and Jack in Hettinger and enjoy a night out. Please. I'll be fine. I'm just going to be doing research at the funeral home instead of at the bar so it's not like I would be a lot of fun even if I did go, not if my phone keeps going off." He gave Dean what was meant to be a comforting smile, but it just made Dean's stomach knot up.

Dean knew that Sam was saying that just to placate him and he stared at Sam, at a loss of how to help him carry some of the weight that was crushing him.

Sam had helped him to start getting out of his funk after Michael, and he desperately wanted to do the same for him, but his brother was stubbornly refusing it. Sam wanted to go, he could read the disappointment on his brother's face, hear the excuse in his voice, and he knew that he didn't want to be left behind yet again. He was just so intent on looking out for everyone else that he was starting to lose sight of the fact that he deserved good things as well. That he didn't have to suffer in place of everyone else.

Sam's phone pinged again and he rubbed a hand across his face, ending their silent conversation, before checking it.

His hands were trembling, even if it was just slightly, and Dean's frown deepened. He didn't think that he'd seen Sam eat yet today, and he knew for sure that Sam hadn't gotten much sleep. He'd still been awake when Dean had turned in after midnight, exhausted from a long day of driving, and had been up before him when he'd gotten up at six.

Lunch, and a drive—where Sam would have hopefully slept—had been in order, and that was what Dean had partially been planning on. He supposed that if he was watching cameras with Sam he might be able to convince his brother to lie down on a couch or something and at least take a nap.

"Really, Sam. I'll stay with you."

"No, I'm serious. We're asking Cas and Jack to help us, the least we can do is actually work the damn case. You know what you are looking for and besides, they aren't going to have as good of a time without you there. That's why they are coming, not to find out why bodies are disappearing."

Dean hesitated, chewing on his lower lip again. Sam was still making some valid points, and if they could wrap this up sooner rather than later, then he might just be able to convince him to take a break before they headed back to the bunker.

If he could do that, then Dean might get Sam to eat more than a few bites and sleep for more than two hours at a time.

"Okay," he finally agreed reluctantly, trying to make his displeasure clear. "But I don't like this and if something goes bad then you are getting a big, fat, I told you so. And once we're back from Hettinger, I'll watch cameras with you. That way you're only going to be alone for a couple of hours."

"I'm not a kid, man."

Dean kept talking over Sam, intent on getting his next point across. "And before either of us go anywhere, we are getting lunch."

Sam's lips thinned into a line but before he could get bitchy over the order his face smoothed out. "Okay, we can do lunch," he said and Dean shook his head in exasperation. He probably shouldn't have been surprised. Sam—even while being so busy that he wasn't eating or sleeping—was making sure that Dean knew that he was his first priority.

If Dean wanted it, or if it was going to help him, then Sam made damn sure that it happened. Dean's stomach churned again and his next sip of coffee tasted like ash.

Sam was handling him like glass. Because he had been possessed. And it had been horrible beyond description but if anyone understood that, it would be Sam.

Dean hadn't gotten it, not really. Hadn't understood the true horror of what Sam had been through, not until it had happened to him and now more than ever, he felt sick about the whole Gadreel mess. Sam had forgiven him long ago, but now that Dean understood what he had been truly asking of his brother, of what he had put him through…the justifications that he had made back then just didn't seem to be as valid as they once had.

Sam was also watching him with that thoughtful look that he was prone to recently and Dean cleared his throat, before standing and breaking the moment. "I'm going to go change. I'll be right back."

"Sounds good," Sam said, glancing down and his attention was already split between his phone and his laptop.

Dean turned, moving into the bedroom to change into his suit for the interviews. They had splurged on a nicer room that had a closing door that separated the bedroom from the living area with the hope that Mary would indeed come and that they could offer her some privacy.

From the living area, he heard Sam's phone go off again and he shook his head. He swore that the next opportunity that he got he was going to toss the damn thing out the window.

When he reemerged, working on tying his tie, Sam was still reading something intently on the computer. Swatting his shoulder, Dean gestured towards the door with his head and Sam rose slowly, still reading, before finally tearing himself away.

"What sounds good for lunch?" Dean asked as they headed towards the Impala.

"Not that grease-hole that you picked last night," Sam said and Dean made a face. It hadn't been that bad and the french fries had actually been pretty damn amazing.

They ended up instead at a small mom-and-pop bakery that served lunch instead. Sam halfheartedly picked at his thick sandwich even as Dean devoured his. The bread was to die for, and maybe Sam did know how to pick things occasionally.

Sam had only made it through half of his by the time that Dean was done, his mind elsewhere. Once he noticed that Dean wasn't eating, Sam set his aside. "I'll just get a to-go box and finish mine tonight."

Dean's worry spiked again. Sam wasn't exactly a small guy, and he needed to eat more, he couldn't continue on like this. He was too distracted, he wasn't taking care of himself—not that it was anything new but it was reaching new, alarming, heights.

Perhaps if they took that break then they could have a couple of needed conversations without Sam getting called away. Maybe then they'd both get their heads back on straight.

Sam offered to take a cab to the funeral home as they were headed out of the bakery, but Dean turned him down.

"It's not that far, I'll just drive you," he said and Sam didn't fight him on it.

The car ride over was silent, both lost in their own thoughts. It wasn't broken until they reached the funeral home, and Dean pulled around in the circular driveway.

"Hey, you be careful and call me if you need anything, okay?" he said, putting the car into park.

"I'll be fine. And the same goes for you. Call me, I'll have my phone on," he said, grinning a little in self-deprecation.

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. "Like I hadn't noticed. You only get like, a thousand notifications, every hour now."

"Just trying to keep everyone safe."

"I know," Dean said more seriously and reached over to thump Sam's shoulder before hesitating. "You sure that you don't want to trade places? I can babysit and you can take Jack and Cas out to paint the town red."

Sam laughed a little, his lips quirking upwards in a sort of half smile. "No, I'm sure, Dean. They'd rather be with you and I've got a lot of work to do tonight. I'll stay busy."

Dean frowned, but didn't call Sam out on what he was sure was a slip of the tongue. He didn't know why he didn't. It was a lot to get into for one, and perhaps it was also due to a little bit of selfishness on his part. It felt good to be needed and loved, and while Dean didn't exactly need that from anyone but Sam, it still…it felt good. It meant that he hadn't totally screwed everyone over as much as he feared that he had. He just wished that Sam could see that he was wanted as well, that it wasn't them picking Dean over him.

"Okay, then. I'll see you whenever we get back. I'm guessing that it will be around midnight," Dean said and Sam nodded as he pulled himself out of the car. He turned around long enough to smile at Dean and then headed towards the polished doors of the funeral home.

Dean watched until Sam was inside, an old habit leftover from childhood despite the fact that Sam was closer to forty now than thirty.

Once the door closed behind his brother, Dean put the car back into gear and then fumbled blindly through his collection of old tapes.

Shoving one blindly into the player, he turned the music up loud enough to drown out his thoughts and hit the gas.

#

Sam listened to the powerful rumble of the Impala as Dean pulled away and shook his head.

Dean. Always the protector who never took enough for himself. It was time for Dean to take a step back and put himself first. To deal with what had happened to him in a somewhat healthy way…in a way that Sam had never been given the chance to.

Shaking off the morose thoughts, Sam looked around the entrance of the funeral home. A receptionist was watching him none too subtly from under her glasses and Sam crossed over, pulling out his FBI badge as he went.

"Agent Plant, here to see Mrs. Philips," he said and she nodded.

"She's been expecting you. Her office is just up those stairs, last door on the right."

"Thanks." Sam offered her a brief smile and then took the narrow, steep, staircase two at a time.

Mrs. Philips was sitting at her desk and nursing what looked to be a very bad headache. He imagined that losing three bodies over the last month couldn't be very good for business and probably explained the sour look on her face.

"Agent Plant," she said, looking up at his knock and then continued before he could say anything. "I hope that you catch the bastard that is behind this because that sick son of a bitch is a truly horrible person."

"I agree, and I'm going to do all that I can to put an end to this," Sam said gravely.

"You'd better. I've been losing business over this whole fiasco. I can't even understand how the hell they've been getting in to do it."

Sam didn't know exactly, but he could make some educated guesses. He'd broken into more than one funeral home in his lifetime, it wasn't actually that difficult.

"The doors didn't look forced, correct? Nor were any of the windows?" Sam asked anyway and Mrs. Philips nodded, her lips thinning.

"And the security cameras…?"

"I had them installed after the first body disappeared, but it was a rush job. They don't hold a lot of storage, and don't run on battery. I have better ones coming, they just haven't been installted. But even when we do, I don't think that it's going to do any good. They somehow have an inside knowledge of what is happening here, even though I trust everyone who works here." It looked like this had cost her something to admit, and her shoulders stiffened as if she expected Sam to start accusing her of breaking into her own business.

She probably did. Sam knew for a fact that she was prime suspect number one to the police and only some very solid alibis had kept her from being arrested. Sam didn't know if that was going to work for him as he knew of more than one way in which she could have been in two places at once. She was on his list to look into, but he wanted to run her background and do more research before he started questioning her deeply. He, quite frankly, didn't have time to waste at the moment.

"Last question," Sam said, holding up one finger. "Do you know anyone from Hettinger?"

"Hettinger?" Mrs. Phillips frowned in surprise.

"Yes. It's a small town about two hours—"

"No, no, I know where it is. I grew up there. I moved out about twenty years ago when I got married. Why do you ask? Does Hettinger have anything to do with the bodies going missing?"

"Possibly. We're still working on it, but that's for me to do tonight. You go home and get some sleep. Leave like normal and lock the doors behind you, just like you would if I weren't here. Do not tell anyone about me, understand?" Sam said, straightening and giving a silent nod towards the door.

Mrs. Philips nodded quickly, looking taken aback by the abrupt end to their conversation. Sam didn't care. He had a lot to do, and her sticking around wasn't going to help him get it accomplished. She stood from her desk, glancing at the clock as she did so. "You'll be here when I come in tomorrow?"

"Yes." Sam nodded in affirmation and backed up a step to hold the door open for her. She stood, gathering up her purse before looking at him again.

"I have the cameras pulled up on this computer. Feel free to make yourself at home. I have some water and snacks in the bottom drawer on the far right. Everyone except Macy has already gone home. It will be just you."

"Good." Sam ushered her out of her own office and then waited several minutes for her to leave as she and the receptionist, Macy he supposed, shared a conversation before leaving together.

At last, he was alone.

With a sigh, Sam dropped into the cushioned rolling chair and leaned back, rubbing at his forehead. His head was starting to ache. Well, actually he couldn't think of a time that his head hadn't hurt since Dean had disappeared and Michael had taken his place. It just got worse sometimes, and now was one of those times.

He'd only gotten about an hour of sleep last night, which probably wasn't doing him any favors.

Helping himself to some of the Advil that he had found in one of the drawers of Mrs. Phillips's desk, he focused in on the security feed. Everything looked normal, everything looked right.

That probably wasn't going to change.

His phone pinged and Sam checked the notification. Alyssa and Frank had made it back to the bunker safely. Good. That meant that he only had six hunter pairs out right now. Or he would until Travis finished up his research and headed out to a small town in Georgia to go on a salt and burn.

Sam stared at his phone for a moment, thinking. He wasn't sure that Travis was ready. Well, he was. He was smart and had gone on more than a few hunts, but he had never led a hunt and that was what Sam was unsure about.

All it took was one wrong decision or one piece of bad luck and then someone was going to end up dead.

Sam knew that when that inevitably happened it was going to be his fault. It didn't matter that he understood, theoretically, that he couldn't keep everyone safe and that he had done his best, but in his heart…He had let them all down the moment he had let them become hunters and helped train them, but he couldn't go back now so all he could do was try and help where he could.

Closing his eyes, Sam took a single moment for himself as he waited for the Advil to kick in. Once it had, he heaved himself out of the chair and went to scout out the funeral home so that he could be prepared on the off chance that something did happen.

The small, cramped, office upstairs was nothing like the main floor. There, three large and spacious showing rooms took up most of the space. The largest and most elegant even had a pair of sliding glass doors off to the side that led to a cement patio surrounded by a small garden.

The garden was peaceful and would have been beautiful if it hadn't been the tail end of autumn. Most of the flowers were dying now, even if the bushes were still somewhat green. A small cast iron statue of a thin and spindly angel with her wings spread had been stuck into the ground near the door. It made Sam pause for a moment, wondering briefly how the various mourners from different backgrounds might feel about that.

The basement was about as cramped as the upstairs had been, with a large storage room filled with boxes as well as the embalmment room.

Sam examined that room briefly before pulling open the container that contained the body of Rob Mills.

This was another reason why he had needed to stay behind. They, obviously, hadn't had a chance to examine the rest of the bodies, and this one might provide further clues.

It didn't take him long to do a thorough and complete examination.

There was nothing essentially wrong with Rob Mills, nothing that would indicate why his body might be targeted.

Maybe it was just some witch harvesting organs or ghouls being oddly specific. Neither of those explained why someone was killing people in Hettinger and then waiting for them to arrive here before stealing them but it was a start.

Sam stopped briefly to consider that maybe Dean was right and this was a human but then changed his mind just as quickly. No. This was their kind of thing; his gut was telling him so.

His phone pinged with an incoming text and he glanced over at the metal table where he had left it. Stripping off the pair of disposable gloves that he had been wearing to do the examination, he threw them away before pushing the body back into its container.

It was a question from Travis about how to get people to open up when they clearly knew something but were unwilling to say anything. Apparently, he had been on the phone with an officer in Georgia.

Sam paused, lips pursed as he tried to figure out how to answer the question through text or over the phone. He didn't know if he knew how to answer it in general. That was something that just came naturally to him after years of doing it. He hadn't realized how much of hunting came naturally to him or had been drilled into him since he was a kid until he tried to help others do it.

Calling Travis, Sam paced the length of the embalming room as he talked him through it and listened to his rant. By the time he finished and returned to the office upstairs, it was nearing eight.

He still had hours to go before the night was over.

Settling himself into the chair, Sam pulled out his phone and a pad of paper. He hadn't been lying about having a lot to do. He needed to look further into creatures that might be interested in taking bodies and also start running a background check on Mrs. Phillips as well as the staff of the hospital in Hettinger. And if he wasn't working on that, then he had at least four other hunts that he could think of off the top of his head that also needed research done before he felt comfortable sending his hunters out. And then there was the whole Michael problem and figuring out why he had just abandoned Dean and what he was doing.

They had to figure that one out—if only for Dean's peace of mind—and Sam dearly wanted to give him that. Dean was too good of a person to have worry and discontent weigh him down. Dean hadn't deserved anything that had happened to him.

Sam was about three hours deep into a series of photocopies of an old scroll on Michael—and Lucifer, but Sam was diligently ignoring that bit—when his phone began to buzz with an incoming call.

Trying to mute his frustration at the interruption, he glanced over and saw that it was Dean who was calling. The irritation fled as he swiped up to answer.

"Hey. Did you find anything in Hettinger?" He stifled a yawn and leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut. He was so tired that his whole body ached, but he could sleep once he was dead. He didn't have time for that right now.

"Not as much as I would have liked. The hospital staff is seriously trying to keep this 'hush-hush' and out of the press. Bit of good cop, bad cop, did convince them to run some tox labs on all the blood that was taken as a precaution from the bodies. They'll give us a call tomorrow with the results along with a list of everyone who was working those shifts."

"I can cross-reference that with police records and background checks once we get it. That should hopefully narrow it down quite a bit."

"Don't you know that it is never that easy? Be nice if it were though." Dean snorted.

Sam rubbed at his stiff neck and gave a hum of agreement before saying, "I do think that you are on to something with the idea of Hettinger being tied into all of this. The funeral director, Mrs. Philips, she's from there as well. I'm running background on her and I'll let you know if I find anything. Maybe we are looking at more than one person, like a family or friend group. Would explain Mrs. Philips's alibi."

"Yeah, maybe. Everything quiet on your end?"

"Yeah. Not even a peep."

"Alrighty then. We can theorize tomorrow or when I get back. Oh, and I'm thinking it will be more around one instead of midnight. We haven't even left yet, we were...well, we're leaving now." A note of guilt entered Dean's voice, and Sam figured that they must still be at the bar and Dean had stepped out to cut down on the noise.

A wave of loneliness swept through Sam. He wanted to be there. Ruthlessly pushing the intrusive thought aside, he forced himself to straighten. He had chosen not to go, he couldn't complain about it now. That was childish.

"That's okay. It's not like I have anywhere else to be."

"Well, sit tight, stay alert, and I'll be there soon."

With that, Dean ended the call and Sam tossed his phone back onto the desk and then stood, feeling restless.

He had chosen not to go, so why did he feel so cut off from the others?

Rubbing at his eyes, he stifled another yawn. He was just tired, that was all, and he had been sitting and doing research for too long. He'd just walk around and do a security check, and then he'd get right back to it.

A glance at the security feeds revealed that everything was normal.

Sticking his hands into the pockets of his pants, Sam wandered down to the front doors, testing their locks, before heading down to the embalming room. The body was right where he had left it.

Still, Sam lingered in the main hallway. He didn't have much of a desire to go back into the stuffy room where nothing waited for him but seemingly unanswerable questions. For once in his life, he thought that if he looked at one more article or read one more book he might start screaming.

Outside, the wind was picking up and he could hear it blowing and tugging at the shutters. The shadows of a nearby tree, reflected in by the streetlights from outside, danced across the floor and Sam watched it listlessly as he sank down to sit on the bottom stair. He dropped his head into his hands, massaging his temples in an effort to ease the ache that was still there.

He was so tired.

Dean had sounded tired, but he hadn't sounded sad. That was good. And it was good that Cas and Jack were there as well to help take Dean's mind off everything that had happened. If Sam couldn't be there, then there was no one he trusted more to do that.

Sighing, Sam ran a hand back through his hair with both hands and gripped it at the roots.

Dean should never have said yes for him. Dean had already done so much for him over the years and already had so much trauma and baggage because of him. Sam had never wanted him to experience this. To know what it was like to have an angel—and an archangel at that—take over your body…Sam shuddered at the memory of Lucifer that the thought evoked.

As horrible as the price had been, Sam couldn't stop being grateful that Lucifer was dead and that was just one more thing to feel conflicted about. He just…he didn't know what he wished. Actually, he did. He wished that he had been the one to pay the price for Lucifer's death. It should have been him.

Sam pressed his head back into his hands as if that could get rid of the unwanted feelings that were bubbling up.

Outside, the lights that flooded the entryway flickered and then went out completely, dimming the faint shadows on the floor.

Sam started, his head flying up in surprise.

The electric clock over the receptionist's desk was blank now and the faint vibrating of the heater had gone quiet. It was almost like the power to the funeral home had been cut off…

No way. No way in hell was whatever it was they were hunting trying to break in tonight. That wasn't what was supposed to happen, but even as he hurriedly stood Sam could hear the faint sounds of gravel crunching outside as someone approached.

Someone—or something—was about to come through the door whether Sam liked it or not.

Chapter Text

The doorknob rattled as a key was inserted.

Sam stared at it in shock for half a second, still in disbelief that the funeral home was being broken into, before backing up a couple of steps so that he was encased in the shadows of the staircase. He didn't have time to do anything else besides grab the gun out from his waistband before the doorknob turned, opening.

His heart rate spiked as he flipped the safety off. He didn't have that many weapons on him considering, just the gun, a silver knife, and a small flask of holy water. When he'd left, it had felt like a lot to take on a simple night of watching cameras, but suddenly it felt very insufficient.

The door opened, and a woman in a long, puffy, coat entered, tucking a key into her pocket. For half a moment, Sam thought that it was Mrs. Phillips, but it couldn't be, he realized a moment later. She was too short for one and her hair was the wrong color.

He continued to watch her from the shadows, his surprise growing. She was making herself right at home. She hadn't even brought a flashlight to help her find her way as she headed straight for the stairs that led to the embalming room. Although it did appear like Mrs. Phillips had been true to her word and hadn't told anyone about Sam. She didn't seem to be expecting any additional security besides the cameras, which would have been taken care of when she cut the power.

As he watched her walk across the entryway, Sam had mere seconds to decide if he was going to remain in the shadows and watch or if he was going to attack.

On one hand, he had no clue what she was and if his weapons would even work against her. He could probably stay right where he was and never be noticed…but on the other hand, he did have the element of surprise and that wasn't to be taken lightly. Besides, how many times had they faced off against complete unknowns before and came out victorious? They might never have another chance like this again and it was better to attack now than wait for her to find him.

This could be their one shot to put an end to whatever was happening here, and Sam didn't think he knew how to sit something out if someone else was in trouble.

Making his decision, Sam jumped off the steps and landed right behind the woman. Wrapping one arm around her chest, he yanked her back and dug the tip of his gun into her side.

"Don't move—" he began to say but with a startled shriek, the woman was shoving him back and breaking his hold with a strength that she shouldn't have had. Sam stumbled into the wall but quickly found his balance as he snapped his gun back up to train on her chest, eyeing her more warily.

Whatever she was, he didn't think that she was human.

She had leapt back as well and they stared at each other, several feet separating them. For a moment, Sam could see fear in her face before she abruptly began to laugh, the fear dispersing into coldness.

"Go ahead. Try and shoot me, I dare you. They'll be picking you up in pieces," she said, her voice coming out deeper and rougher than he had been expecting.

It was Sam's turn to smile.

"I'm not scared of you," he said, holding the gun steadily on her even as he took a step closer. "See, I hunt things like you for a living."

Her lips curled up into a malicious grin as she began to advance and Sam moved to the right, forcing them in a wide circle. "Yeah, well, whatever you mean by 'hunt', I'm sure that you've never come across someone like me before."

"Lady, you'd be surprised by the things that I've come across."

They continued to circle each other, neither quite willing to make the first move as they sized each other up. She had no visible weapons, but Sam was too experienced a hunter to assume that meant that she wasn't dangerous.

Sam's back was to the stairs that led to the embalming room when she grew bored of their little dance. With nothing more than a twitch in warning, she lunged at him with abnormal speed, her hands outstretched and reaching for his throat.

The only thing that saved Sam was years of experience and quick reflexes. Changing his aim to her shoulder instead of her chest on the off chance that she was human, he fired off two shots in quick succession.

His first bullet slammed into her shoulder but the second one just winged her. She staggered into him with a grunt as her momentum continued to carry her forward and Sam shoved her back, easily keeping his own balance.

"Don't come any closer," he insisted, keeping his gun trained on her as she let out a hiss, her opposite hand coming up to press against the bloody hole in her coat.

"You son of a bitch," she swore roughly as her hand came away stained red. Before Sam could respond, she let out a long, inhuman shriek and rolled her head back, allowing her jaw to drop open. Her mouth deformed into a gaping hole, showing off a pair of thin, long, fangs. Something yellow and thick and nothing like anything that Sam had seen before was dripping from them.

"Oh, wow. That's just gross," he muttered, shifting his aim to center mass as whatever reservations he might have had about her being human faded. Whatever she was, the world would be better off without it.

She let out another shriek that threatened to pierce his eardrums and then charged. Sam didn't hesitate this time to unload his clip into her chest and she staggered back with the force of the bullets.

She stared at him a moment before her fangs receded and her jaw snapped shut. She went down onto her knees, gasping, as blood began to soak through, staining her white coat a deep scarlet.

Sam took a cautious step back, keeping his distance and still holding his gun at the ready while he waited to see what would happen next. She bent forward and blood began to drip rapidly down onto the floor before she coughed. Globs of blood splattered across the wood and Sam tightened his grip on his gun.

Any moment now the death throes would start or she would collapse…only, she didn't.

"Ow," she muttered instead, bringing the arm that wasn't bracing herself up to wipe at the blood on her mouth and smearing it across her cheek. She winced, breathing heavily, but then pushed herself upwards to kneel straight.

"Damnit." Sam's brain jumped from one bad conclusion to another. This wasn't good. That meant that normal weapons probably didn't work against her, even if they did have the power to hurt her momentarily. His gun was all but useless.

A pit of worry began to bubble up in his stomach, but he forced it back down as he exchanged his gun for his silver knife.

Everything had a weakness, he just had to find hers.

She coughed again, clearing the last of the blood from her lungs, before smiling crookedly up at him, showing off her bloody teeth. "Told you that you shouldn't mess with me." Shrugging off her coat, she tossed it aside, revealing that underneath she was wearing a pair of scrubs.

Sam tightened his grip on his knife, keeping one hand up to ward off any coming attacks, and glanced back to see how far away the main door was just in case he needed to make a run for it.

It was too far away, but he might be able to circle them back around and then make for it. He tried to move in that direction, but she wasn't having it as she leaped forward, forcing him back.

Sam ducked her advance, slashing out with his knife. His first swing didn't catch on anything but her sleeve but the next one created a long, ragged, cut along her collarbone that instantly began to leak blood. It didn't do anything else. In fact, it didn't even seem to faze her as she pushed past the knife, crowding in on him.

Alright, silver was a no-go.

He jerked back and tried to shove his knife into her jugular all the same to keep her away from him but she had already gotten a handful of his shirt. Letting out that awful shriek again she yanked him closer to her face before throwing him back with superhuman strength. Sam crashed backward through the door and into one of the viewing rooms. His head rebounded off the tile, and he blinked hard to free his vision of the starbursts that resulted.

She was on him in the next moment, her hands locking around his throat. Sam didn't give her time to get a good grip. Locking his legs around her, he rolled, putting himself on top.

Raising the knife with his right hand, Sam brought it slashing down straight towards where her heart should be. Maybe that was the secret, maybe he had to cut it out, but before he could try that theory, she reached up and grabbed his forearm, holding him off with an ease that was starting to concern Sam. He dropped his knife, caught it with his left hand, and slammed it downwards.

It would have worked beautifully if she hadn't moved faster than he possibly could have and neatly avoided the knife. She let out a scream and thrust herself upwards, forcing them to roll once again. She didn't allow them to stop until she was on top. She laughed even as warm blood dripped down onto Sam from the multiple wounds across her body and planted one knee on his right shoulder to keep him pinned as she loomed over him.

Sam still had the knife in his left hand, and he slashed it up at her, once again aiming for her jugular. Before his knife could sink into her flesh, she caught his arm just above the elbow in one hand before wrapping her other around his wrist.

Violently and with brutal strength, she snapped his arm backward into an unnatural position. With an audible crack, the bone there broke.

Sam's vision went white.

He might have screamed. He might have even completely passed out, he didn't know. All that Sam knew was that when everything stopped being bursts of bright, hot pain, he'd dropped the knife.

Above him, the woman was just staring at him, watching him work through the pain. "I always wanted to try this, but they watch too closely at the hospital. I couldn't afford to leave any evidence behind, to lose my job, but with you…" She giggled, and Sam could feel her hands wrapping around his throat, effectively tearing his attention away from his now useless and throbbing arm.

She began to squeeze with all her strength, strangling him. Sam wheezed raggedly and tilted his head back in an effort to fight for air. His flask of holy water was in his pocket but she was kneeling directly over it, pressing it into his flesh, and there was no way that he was going to be able to grab it. He tried to wriggle free but that had no better results and he brought his good hand up uselessly to try and claw at her face. He dug his fingernails into her cheek and then ripped them backward with as much force as he could. It was enough to take chunks of skin with it, but she just increased the pressure in response.

Letting out another giggle, she rolled her head back so that her fangs could descend.

White spots were once again dancing in front of his vision as Sam struggled in vain to breathe. He couldn't breathe—he couldn't—this was it. He was going to die, strangled to death by what he didn't even know.

Her grip loosened a little as she bent down, ready to sink teeth into him and Sam used what little remained of his strength to thrust his good hand up. He caught it against her chin and there was enough force behind it to snap her jaw shut before her fangs had a chance to recede.

She screeched in pain and let go with surprise.

Gasping and coughing for air, Sam shoved her off him and then clambered unsteadily onto his feet. There was no time to waste, and he dived for the open door that would lead back into the main room. He wasn't stupid. There were times when running was the best option and to stay right now would be nothing short of suicide.

"No!"

She sprang up from the ground and, before he could take more than a couple of steps, tackled him sideways and backwards.

It was just bad luck that the glass doors that led out into the garden were right there, and they hit them hard. Sam hadn't even realized that they had been in that particular viewing room until he was shattering the glass with his body. Pain flared across dozens of different locations as the glass sliced through his skin like a hot knife through butter. It flared even hotter and more intensely a second later when they hit the cement patio, the woman on top.

For a moment, Sam couldn't breathe for the pain and he wheezed out a gasp, trying to convince his body to move, to do anything. She was panting hard as well, blood and sweat lining her face as she stared at him with increasing hatred.

She was going to kill him.

The knowledge settled something cold in Sam's chest and he scrambled backward with his good hand, looking for something—anything—that he could use as a weapon. It didn't even have to kill her, he just wanted to subdue her long enough for him to get away.

First, cold concrete and then coarse, dead, grass met his fingertips, but neither of those would do him any good. Sam dragged his hand upwards desperately, looking for—and there it was. His hand closed around something cold and heavy. Yanking it upwards and out of the ground, he swung it hard and smashed the side of it into the woman's head. She tumbled to the side with a grunt as blood began to seep from her hairline.

Sam didn't waste his advantage as he rolled over and straddled her hips, pinning her to the ground and raising his weapon. It was the spindly cast iron angel that had been stuck into the ground right outside the door. Thick blood now stained one of the angel's wings.

The woman groaned underneath him, shifting and preparing to attack again but Sam wasn't going to give her the chance.

Gripping the heavy figurine so that the long, straight rod was downward, Sam raised it above his head. Without hesitating, he slammed it down into the woman's chest and into her heart. Yanking it out sent a gush of blood spreading across his knees and down her chest but Sam didn't stop as he stabbed her again and again and again until he was panting and the woman wasn't moving.

She lay underneath him, fresh blood trickling out of her mouth and her unseeing eyes staring up into the dark clouds that were covering the sky.

She was dead.

Sam slumped forward, leaning heavily against the figurine. Iron. Who knew. He needed to start carrying both an iron and a silver knife with him everywhere he went from now on. Or maybe it was just the fact that he'd repeatedly stabbed her in the heart, that could be it too.

Closing his eyes, Sam tried to steady his heavy breathing and swallowed thickly. Now that he wasn't moving or focusing on surviving, pain was wrapping around his whole body and demanding his attention. With every breath that he took, he could feel the pieces of glass that had embedded themselves into his skin burning. His back and arms had to be cut up to hell, and he could feel the warm slickness of blood testifying to that.

But he could handle all that. It was just pain, and Sam and pain were more than familiar with each other.

His arm, on the other hand…Sam wasn't sure that he could handle that.

Taking another moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath in preparation. It would be fine. It couldn't be that bad.

Forcing his eyes open, Sam glanced down and then looked away immediately, his stomach lurching uncomfortably. The bone was sticking out of his forearm and his whole arm had been bent to an unnatural angle. He didn't need a doctor to tell him that it wasn't good and that he would probably never regain full use of the arm, if they could save it at all.

Taking a few more deep breaths to get the nausea under control, Sam looked down again and then tentatively tried to move his fingers.

Nothing happened besides the pain flaring up along with the nausea.

Yeah. It was bad.

Gingerly and slowly, he brought his bad arm up to cradle against his chest to protect it so that he could move. It was a mistake and he didn't stop himself from crying out against the sharp pain that resulted.

There was no one around to hear anyway.

Slowly the pain returned to a more manageable level, but it left Sam feeling oddly lightheaded and numb.

Using the angel that was still embedded in the woman's chest, he pushed himself upright and then staggered away from the body so that he could throw up. That hurt too, and Sam doubled over, his good hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to get himself under control.

"Damnit."

Dean was going to be less than thrilled when he saw the mess that Sam had gotten himself into. That probably meant that he was going to have to sit through a lecture about how Dean had told him that he shouldn't be hunting alone and how Dean had been right and Sam hadn't been.

But Sam had honestly thought that this wasn't going to be a big deal. He had…it had just been watching cameras. She wasn't supposed to come tonight. She wasn't—nothing bad was meant to happen.

It didn't matter, though. Sam had killed her. He'd come out on top, if a little battered, but Cas would be able to fix him up as good as new and that would calm Dean some. He just had to get back to them first, that was all.

Sam still didn't move, letting the wind sweep across him and blow his hair back off his face, drying the sweat there. He breathed the fresh air in slowly, trying to will his legs to move. The adrenaline was fading, and he was fairly positive that shock was taking its place, leaving him sluggish and slow.

He needed to call Dean. Have him come and pick him up and deal with the woman's body. No. Dean wasn't in Centerville just yet. He'd have to call a cab or walk back to the motel—no. Sam didn't think that he'd make it that far. He was just going to call Dean and then wait for him here.

Dean would drop everything and come running; he'd be here as soon as he possibly could.

The thought was motivating, and Sam reached for his pocket and his phone.

Only, it wasn't there. A small pit of desperation wormed itself into Sam's guts as he began to frantically search his pockets before the urgency faded and resignation took its place. That's right. He'd left his phone in the upstairs office earlier after Dean had called.

Dean was going to rake him over the coals about that one, and it was going to be well deserved. That was only if Dean found out, though. If Sam moved now to get his damn phone then Dean didn't have to know a single damn thing.

Wincing, Sam took an unsteady step towards the shattered door and swore softly as his body protested the slightest movement. He was getting too old for this…

He had almost managed to shuffle to the door when a long, ragged, wheeze came from behind him.

Sam froze, his heart starting to thud against his chest. There was no way that she could…He was imagining things. Going into shock. She was dead. He knew that she was dead.

The wheeze was followed by another, and then a shrill scream broke the night air. Sam spun around, staring at the body.

It wasn't a body anymore.

Her eyes were squeezed closed, and she was thrumming with tension as she arched her back and continued to scream. Something greyish was frothing up from around the end of the angel and Sam took a step back, watching in fascinated horror.

Was it…healing her?

It was the only explanation that he could think of as he watched the grey substance continue to ooze out.

Whatever she was, she was alive and breathing again.

The internal warning that he needed to run and not look back was building rapidly, but Sam stared a second longer, unable to tear himself away.

He'd read something about this, hadn't he? Something that took bodies, but that had incredible healing powers, so much so that the creature bordered on immortal?

Even as Sam watched, the woman fumbled for the end of the rod that was still embedded in her chest and gripped it tight. With another scream, she wrenched it out of her chest and dropped it off to the side. Her chest heaved as blood spurted lazily out of the wounds, but she brought both of her trembling hands up to cover it.

Sam's eyes widened with sudden understanding as a thicker, but similar grey substance, began to drip out from her hands, covering the injuries. For the first time, Sam felt real fear start to course through his guts. He remembered now, he knew what this monster was. They weren't common, he'd only ever read about them, and at the time had been glad that they'd never gone up against one. He'd never wanted to. He still didn't want to.

Horror cut straight through the shock, leaving Sam's head feeling clearer.

He had to run, he had to get out of here. There was nothing that he could do to stop the Du'a jiraataa, and if he stayed then he was most certainly going to die.

"Son of a bitch, ow," he heard her mutter as she started to push herself up. She looked around and her gaze landed on him, making her lips twitch upwards into a terrifying smile. Sam was already turning on his heel and fleeing. He could forget about going after his phone and even calling Dean. Right now, he just had to get out of there.

He was ducking through the broken glass door when a hand wrapped around his arm, yanking him ruthlessly down.

The ground came rushing up to meet him as his already unsteady legs gave out and he hit the ground hard on his bad side. Bile rose in his throat as his broken arm flared with a sudden and intense agony, and it was all that he could do to stay conscious.

There was nothing that he could do to stop her as the Du'a jiraataa rolled him over off the patio and straddled him. The grey matter was still bubbling and oozing up from her chest and it dripped down onto Sam's face, mixing in with the fresh blood that was still leaking from her clothes.

"Get off!" Sam bucked his hips, feeling slightly desperate, but she just laughed, leaning down with both hands on his shoulders to keep him pinned.

"Oh, do struggle," she crooned, "It just means that you're strong. That you're perfect." She let go with one hand, dragging her nails up Sam's cheek before flattening it across his forehead to hold him still.

"Get off me, don't— you don't want to do this." Sam tried to wrench himself free. Laughing, she increased the force that she was using to pin him down and once again rotated her head, allowing the fangs to drop.

The fear was boiling up hot and sharp in Sam's stomach, and he fought the urge to start truly panicking. No one really knew what they did with the bodies. He didn't want—Dean would go crazy looking for him. Dean would kill himself trying—

Sam's thoughts were drowned out as she pressed his head forcibly to the side, leaving the left side of his neck exposed. Swiftly, she bent down and buried her fangs deep into the muscle where his shoulder met his neck.

Sam froze, unable to move even if he had wanted to as the flashback of getting his throat ripped out by vampires only a few months ago invaded his mind.

Fighting to control the panic, Sam opened his eyes again and breathed in the scent of the grass that was shoved up into his face and focused on that. Not on the way that he could feel the fangs in his neck and shoulder, tearing into muscle and flesh. Not on the way that in just moments, she was probably going to rip his throat out.

Not on how he was about to die again.

She bent down further, her teeth digging in deeper, and Sam cut off a panicked moan before it could be given voice to. He wasn't giving her that satisfaction. He kept his eyes open, staring into the grass even as he prepared himself for the worst of it.

It would be over soon. Last time it hadn't taken long.

Only, she didn't rip his throat out. To his shock, she released him in a way that almost bordered on gentle and straightened slowly, staring into his eyes. It belied the violence that followed a moment later as she abruptly leaned back down and pressed her mouth over the bite mark, although this time Sam couldn't feel any teeth. He tensed, unsure of what was happening, and then her whole body convulsed and his shoulder was burning with an unnatural pain as something was forced into the wound.

He struggled to break free, his back arching off the ground as his teeth ground together. The burning feeling only intensified until he couldn't stop the scream that was ripped from his throat. He dug his heels into the ground, desperate to escape but he had nowhere to go.

After a long moment, she leisurely released him and then sat upright as her tongue flicked out to catch a drop of his blood that was about to fall from her lips.

Sam slumped back into the grass, gasping desperately and trying to compose himself. The burning pain was dissipating as swiftly as it had come but it left Sam feeling feverish and weak.

He didn't have the strength to do more than flinch away when she gently caressed the side of his face.

"You truly are perfect," she murmured, still lazily smiling before it faded and her voice dropped lower as she straightened. "Now there is only one thing left, and I would say that karma's a bitch, wouldn't you?"

Sam blinked up at her, trying to force his brain to focus and his body to move. This wasn't the time for weakness.

Moving one knee up to pin his good arm firmly to the ground, she stretched, reaching for the same iron angel that Sam had used on her. Sam bucked, trying to upset her balance but his movements lacked any real strength.

The Du'a jiraataa straightened, the angel in hand. Blood and tissue were dripping off the iron end as she raised it high overhead. Keeping Sam firmly pinned to the ground, she brought it down hard with both hands.

It plunged straight through Sam's shoulder, going all the way through until the angel was sitting flush against his flesh.

Sam's scream of pain gurgled off into choked silence as she yanked the rod free again. Blood immediately began to flow, soaking through his shirt and into the grass. She brought it down again, aiming for his chest and no doubt his heart just like he had earlier.

Sam rolled as much as he could and, while the rod missed his heart, it still sank deep into the flesh high up on his chest. She cackled at his attempt even as Sam's hearing faded, his vision threatening to go as well. She pulled the rod free with sickening slowness and now Sam's shirt was completely soaked through with warm blood. Without giving him a moment to recover, she thrust the rod down almost directly on top of the previous wound before pulling it out.

"The others didn't bleed like this when I killed them. They died slow and miserable in their sleep." She regarded him for a moment, the angel still in hand, before she licked her lips. Abruptly bending down, she licked a wide swath down his cheek and neck, making Sam shudder.

With a pleased hum, she repeated the motion. "Just a little taste. For the road, hmm? It has been so, so, long…" She hesitated another moment before ducking low to drag her tongue across Sam's shoulder where it was covered in blood.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to ignore the decidedly unpleasant sensation. She shifted as she moved lower, alleviating some of the pressure on his right arm, and Sam tugged it out from under her, freeing it. She didn't seem to notice, or if she did she didn't care.

This was going to be his last opportunity to save himself and he took it. The holy water was still in his pocket, and he hadn't tried that yet. Just maybe this would be the thing that would work against her. He inched his hand towards his pocket and began to wriggle it out. Freeing it, he popped the cap off. The woman was now lapping at the blood that was pooling in the hollow of his throat and Sam was grateful for the distraction just as much as he was disgusted by it.

She bent downwards with a low moan, one hand flexing against Sam's shoulder.

With one smooth motion, Sam flicked the flask upwards, sending an arc of water into her face.

It worked better than Sam had been hoping as she flinched violently back with a shrieking hiss, both hands shooting up to cover her face. The skin had been burned a vicious red where the holy water had landed and Sam went to toss the remaining contents onto her but with a yell she batted it away, sending it flying across the grass.

"You—I—" Words didn't seem to be able to describe her fury and she bent down, pinning him more firmly as she got directly into his face. Letting her fangs descend, she screamed as loudly as she could, sending spittle flying across his face.

Lunging upwards with all the strength that he possessed, Sam grabbed one of her fangs and wrenched it sideways as hard as he could. It ripped out of her gum, tearing off at the root. Without giving her time to process what had happened, Sam shoved the fang sideways like and knife and punched it through the side of her cheek, tearing it open. Pulling it back out of her mouth he jabbed it upwards and sank it deep into something soft, maybe an eye or perhaps a cheek. He went to strike again but she pulling away from him, screaming.

Staggering upright, she continued to wail.

"You—" She stopped, spitting blood and more of the grey stuff. Letting out a yell, she whirled around and aimed a kick at him. She caught him in the chest and flung him backward. She then turned away to double over, both hands still over her mouth and bloody face as she howled.

It was the window that Sam needed to escape, and even then he wasn't sure that it was going to be enough.

Closing his eyes, he shoved himself into a sitting position and tried to ignore the agony threatening to stop him. Blood was pouring down his shoulder and chest from his own wounds but he couldn't think about that.

Taking a deep breath, Sam shifted to get his knees underneath him before pushing himself up. He managed to get to his feet, but he only made it the yard or so to the cement patio before he collapsed back to the ground, his legs refusing to support his weight.

He tried to get up again but his legs were shaking as the world spun in a lazy circle around him. Sam couldn't run. He could hardly even stand.

For an awful second Sam sat there, panting harshly and leaning on his good arm, and unsure of what to do.

The holy water had worked against her. He didn't have any more of that, but maybe…maybe the inherent pureness of the holy water was a starting point. Maybe other such 'pure' things would work against her.

Ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to topple him, Sam dipped his fingers into the blood that was flowing freely from his shoulder and then began to draw a rough circle around him on the cement.

The Du'a jiraataa had gone down onto her knees and was still cradling her face but he wasn't going to have much time, mere minutes at best. She had brought herself back from the dead, she would be able to heal herself now.

Dipping his fingers back into the gaping hole in his chest, Sam began to scribble symbols around the inside of the unbroken circle. As he did so, he muttered in Latin as well, sealing the sigils with a spell and his own blood.

Sam felt her eyes on him and he glanced briefly up from his work. She was staring at him with pure hatred and Sam could now see the extent of the damage for himself. Her cheek was torn open and one of her eyes was bloodied and disfigured.

"You bastard," she snarled, revealing that she was still missing one fang and she staggered to her feet. Sam tried to curb the panic that was making his hands shake worse than they had been before. He wasn't ready. He wasn't going to have enough time. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy killing you. I'm going to make you suffer. I'm going to feast on your flesh, you son of a bitch!"

Sam hurried, forcing his shaking hands and blurry vision to cooperate. He was so close, only a couple more…

He didn't dare breathe or look over at her as he hurriedly forced the last few figures out, even as her sneakers appeared in his vision.

She went to step across the protective circle and Sam jerked his head up, breathing hard and trying to think of anything else that he could use to protect himself. For a split second, he thought that it hadn't worked and that she was going to be able to cross it and kill him but then she stopped, a look of utter shock on her mangled face.

Sam smirked, sinking back onto his haunches and clutching his broken arm closer to his chest. She tried again, only to be met with the same result.

Iron and silver may not have affected her, but the protective sigils did just as the holy water had. She wasn't going to be able to cross that. Salt might have worked, too, if Sam had some on him.

"You can wait for me to die, but you aren't getting my body. Not ever. There is no way that you are going to be able to break that circle," he said, trying to sound smug and not half-dead. Warm, fresh, blood continued to pump fast and hot down his chest and shoulder.

She hissed at him, moving back a step before lunging forward as if speed would help her cross. It didn't. He watched as she began to prowl around the circle with newfound energy, looking for a weakness that he knew she wasn't going to find.

His own energy was rapidly disappearing as his blood continued to soak into his clothes and stain his skin. He needed to put pressure on his wounds, stop the bleeding, and wait for Dean to get here or for the Du'a jiraataa to leave.

"It's not going to work," he repeated tiredly after a minute as she continued to pace.

She didn't listen as she continued to circle him, her face a mask of fury, until Sam couldn't stay upright any longer. He slumped down to lean against his good arm, his head hanging. The cement and the symbols blurred dizzyingly together, and Sam blinked hard, trying to clear his vision.

He had to lie down, otherwise he was going to pass out. Biting off a groan, Sam allowed himself to crumple onto his side in a somewhat controlled fall where he curled up into a ball, making sure that every part of him remained in the circle.

From his new position, he could feel the warmth of his blood soaking into the cement and across his face. He needed to stop the bleeding.

Shakily, Sam ripped off a tattered part of his shirt and then began to pack it into the wound on his shoulder, trying to slow the steady stream of blood as best as he could. Several major arteries ran through the shoulder and he was starting to grow concerned that one might have been nicked. There was a lot of blood.

Dean and Cas would take care of that. He just had to remain alive long enough for them to get here. Breathing heavily through his nose, he repeated his actions for the wound on his chest. He wasn't sure that it had helped as much as he had hoped. He could still feel blood seeping through the makeshift bandages and he pressed his good hand against them, trying to increase pressure and encourage clotting. The bite mark burned dully, but at least that one wasn't bleeding heavily.

Outside of the circle, the Du'a jiraattaa continued to pace, her sneakers going up and down his line of vision and making him increasingly dizzy before they abruptly stopped.

"This is ridiculous. You won't be able to hide from me forever. Eventually, you are going to have to leave that damn circle, and then I will find you."

"My brother will find me first," Sam slurred softly, and when had his voice gotten that weak?

"I don't have time for this," she huffed, and then her shoes moved away, followed by the sounds of glass crunching under her feet as she reentered the funeral home. Sam painstakingly raised his head a couple of inches and tried to track her movements. It proved to be too much, and he dropped his head, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing slowly until he didn't feel like he was about to pass out.

For what felt like a long time, he lay there and listened to the sounds of her moving around the funeral home. He did feel a stab of momentary regret for Rob Mills. No doubt she was taking him with her, that was why she had come after all. He'd failed him. He'd given it his best shot, and he'd failed.

Eventually, the front door slammed behind her, and then stillness descended upon the funeral home.

It wasn't long after that that the power flickered back on and bright, overhead lights, flooded the garden, making Sam wince. He squeezed his eyes shut against them, but there was relief that accompanied the pain.

If she had turned the power back on, it meant that she was gone for good.

He could leave the circle.

Allowing himself a long groan, Sam blinked his eyes open and flinched back when he saw that he was lying in a puddle of his own blood. It was clumped in his hair, and was slick across his face, hands, and chest. His shirt was saturated.

He needed to get to a phone. He had to call Dean. He had to get up.

Clouds had started to gather in the sky, blocking out the stars as well as the light of the moon. It was a pity. There was danger in the night, but there was also something strangely wonderful about it, especially in the stars. He'd seen some pretty amazing things over the years, but few could compare to the nights when he and Dean would stop on a clear night and—

Sam jerked himself back to the present, shaking his head. Dean. He had to find a way to get in contact with his brother. His phone was just upstairs. He only had to make it that far. That was it. He just had to get up onto his feet.

He didn't move.

When he got to his phone maybe he would call 911. He didn't know how much time had passed, but Dean might still be too far away to be able to help him. It would save everyone time and Dean a lot of worry. Not that his brother would be any happier about getting a call from the hospital. Or maybe he would just have Dean call 911 for him. Send the ambulance to the funeral home.

He was fairly positive that he needed a hospital. He definitely needed one for his broken arm, but his other shoulder was royally screwed up as well. Sam was going to be laid up for weeks without the use of either of his arms and that was going to suck.

Dean was going to freak out when he saw Sam. He was also probably going to use this as an opportunity to try and lecture Sam about how he should be sleeping and eating more. Sam knew that. He did. He just...he was having trouble convincing his body of that.

Before any of that could happen, though, he had to get to his phone.

He just had to get up and get his phone.

Sam closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how to get up. He wasn't even sure he had the strength to sit up.

A vague sense of panic began to take root, and Sam let go of his shoulder. If he didn't get help then he was going to bleed out. He'd already lost too much blood, and it wasn't showing signs of stopping. He had to move.

Grunting, he forced a hand underneath himself and pushed up, ignoring the stabbing pain that went through his chest and his shoulder as he did so. He could do this. He had to do it. He made it first to his knees and then tried to get to his feet.

The world spun sickeningly out from under him, and Sam staggered to the side, trying to catch himself. He ended up back on his knees and bracing himself on his good hand, but he was trembling badly and his arm was threatening to give out at any moment. Panting heavily, he blinked black spots and sweat out of his vision.

He couldn't give up. He had to try again.

Biting down on his lower lip, he tried once again to stand. This time he managed to make it to his feet through pure stubbornness, but he didn't make it any further than that as his legs gave out and he crashed back down onto his knees before toppling over to lie on his back. He slumped across the concrete, wheezing raggedly.

Well, that had done absolutely nothing.

Sam groaned softly, bringing his hand up to clutch at his shoulder once again. He'd just lie here for a minute. Regain his strength, and then he'd get up, go get Dean.

Painstakingly, he rolled until he was on his side, relieving the pressure on his back where he could feel small pieces of glass digging into his flesh. It would be fine. He'd get up in just a moment. He couldn't do it right now, but he might be able to if he let himself rest.

It was cold out, and Sam shivered, trying to curl inward and focus on anything but the pain. He glanced up, but he still couldn't see the stars and he felt like he had lost something.

But it was alright. Dean was coming. He'd get Sam out of this mess that he'd gotten himself into. Sam took a calming breath, trying to breathe in and out of his nose as he continued to clutch at his shoulder.

Dean was coming, and then maybe they'd go out star-gazing again. Maybe he could even convince Dean to stop on the way back to the bunker.

Although maybe not. It was the middle…of October? He was fairly positive it was October, but he couldn't remember for sure. Whatever month it was, it was too damn cold to go out star gazing for hours. But soon. As soon as it warmed up, they would go find some secluded field and watch the stars.

Dean just had to come and get him first, but Sam wasn't going anywhere.

He'd wait right here for Dean.

Dean would come.

Chapter Text

It was just before one in the morning when Dean guided the Impala back into Centerville, his music still playing too loudly.

Despite the good beer, food, and company that he had enjoyed over the past few hours, it had still been a long drive back from Hettinger. Long, lonely, and silent with far too much time to think. Dean would always appreciate having Sam in the seat next to him, but nothing quite drove home just what a difference his brother made then drives like this.

They might not have shared a single word on the way back or they might have talked the whole way. Either way, Sam being there would have made all the difference.

Glancing in his rearview mirror, Dean made sure that Cas was still following him before he turned off onto the correct road that would take them to the motel. He was going to stop there first, get Cas and Jack situated, and change out of his suit before leaving to keep Sam company at the funeral home.

Mary had also texted right before they left Hettinger, saying that she was only about two hundred miles away from Centerville, and Dean was playing with the idea of waiting at the motel and saying hello first. Part of him was a little peeved that she hadn't even solidified with them that she was indeed coming before just announcing that she was almost there, but he pushed that aside. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was coming.

Pulling into the parking lot, Dean sat there for a second, letting the car idle as Cas pulled into the spot next to him. He could see him and Jack talking and he smiled briefly at both of their clear enthusiasm.

Jack meant so much to Cas, and it was good to see them both so happy. God knew that someone should have that chance.

Taking a deep breath to shake the heavy thoughts that were threatening to settle, Dean clambered out of the car, plastering a smile on his face. The wind was picking up, promising a storm and Dean hoped to hell that they weren't going to have to be out digging up graves or tracking to finish this hunt. That sounded miserable.

"This is us," he said, gesturing at room 117. Jack nodded eagerly, turning to take in the motel.

"And Sam is still at the funeral home?" he asked.

"Unless he's ganked the monster and hitchhiked a ride back. Knowing Sam, I wouldn't put it past him." Dean pulled out the key card and opened the door before ushering Cas and Jack in. The room was dark and silent, and he flipped the light on.

Taking off his suitcoat, Dean tossed it onto the back of the chair that was by the table and then absently shut the lid of Sam's laptop that was still open, even if it wasn't on. Sinking down to sit on the couch, he gave a low groan and lifted his feet to rest on the small coffee table. God, he was getting old.

"Wow. This is…actually nice," Jack said, looking around the suite.

"Yeah, I know. Not the usual digs. We were hoping that Mom would come down so we paid extra for a nicer room.

Cas turned to look at Dean, a quizzical look on his face. "Charlie set you up with a credit card that could pay for rooms like this regularly, right?" he asked, tipping his head to the side.

Dean opened his mouth and then shut it again with a frown before saying. "I guess. I dunno, Sam and I never thought about it that way. Huh."

Jack moved past him, studying the wall of information that Sam had been putting together the night before. Dean had been adding to it that morning, and maybe he would work on updating it while they waited for Mary to arrive.

Sam would be alright being alone for just a little longer. A stab of guilt went through Dean, but he ignored it. He'd just say hello to Mary, and then he'd go.

"What do you think it wants with the bodies?" Jack asked as he bent closer, examining the pictures of the victims.

"Probably something gross. To eat them or to use them for spell work or something like that," Dean said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. Jack nodded and went back to reading. Cas, who had come to stand next to Dean, gave a little sigh.

"Jack has been very interested in hunting since he became human," he said softly as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. His tone was thoughtful and maybe hinged on worried. Dean shrugged, giving Jack a long look.

"It's all he knows. For better or for worse, we all raised that kid in this lifestyle. He's just trying to figure out his place now that his powers are gone," he said just as quietly, stealing another glance over at Jack.

"I know." Cas shook his head, still wearing that pinched look, but there wasn't much Dean could do about it unless they all left the life. Right now, that wasn't even a possibility.

Holding back a yawn, Dean glanced at his watch. Mary would be here soon, and then they would all be together. Well, everyone but Sam would be there.

His conscience twinged again. His brother really didn't deserve to be the only one left out. Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating even as he glanced down at his phone, trying to calculate how long it would actually be until Mary got there. It should only be another twenty or thirty minutes…Sam would understand.

Dean shook his head, embarrassed by his own train of thought. Sam would understand. Hell, he probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash at it even though Dean knew that it would quietly hurt him. Sam deserved better than that.

"Right. I'm going to the funeral home to make sure that Sam is still kicking and isn't drooling over his phone. I think he said that the manager gets in around seven or eight, so we should be back around then."

"Can I come?" Jack asked, looking over excitedly and it made Dean smile. He could once remember a time when he had also been thrilled by hunting and when it hadn't been such a damn heavy responsibility.

"Hell, why not? If Cas is okay with it, that is."

Before Cas had a chance to answer, Dean's phone pinged and he stretched back to the table to grab it. It was Mary, texting the group chat between him, Sam, and her, and Dean sank back down.

"Mom's just pulling into town," he paraphrased out loud. "Says that she should be here in about ten minutes. You know what? I think I'll just wait and go after I've said hello."

Cas turned back around with a small frown before saying, "I don't think that your mother came to see me."

Dean looked up, his eyebrows raised in a silent, confused, question. Cas made a face and expounded, "She is here to see Sam and you, but that is rather pointless if you are both watching the funeral home. What if Jack and I went to trade places with Sam? He could come back here, and then you could both spend time with your mother."

Dean oohed in understanding. "I mean, if Sam's okay with that and Jack's not sick of being around you yet." Dean tossed Jack a smile, who only frowned.

"I do not understand. I like being with Cas very much. He teaches me all sorts of things."

"I know, I know, I was teasing," Dean said hurriedly and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Damned angels.

"Oh. I see." Jack went back to studying the wall and Dean turned back to Cas.

"You sure that you're okay with taking Sam's place? You both just got off a hunt, and have been traveling all day. I didn't invite you over to shove all our crap onto you. We said that we would do this hunt, and we are going to."

"I am sure," Cas said confidently, before doing that thing with his face that meant that he was choosing his next words carefully. "I have…I haven't been able to do much for Sam or you during the last few months. I wasn't able to free you from Michael or even find you, and thus I was unable to help Sam. But I can do this. I can allow you both to spend time with your mother."

"Cas, you've done more than enough," Dean said, his voice dropping lower with emotion. Even a few years ago, he might not have said it quite that bluntly, but a lot had changed. He was trying to be more open, to be better.

He and Sam were both working on it.

Cas gave him a sad little smile that said that he didn't believe him, but Dean didn't know how to press the issue any further. Words weren't his forte and Dean knew that more than once he'd put his foot in his mouth and hurt his friend deeply. No wonder Cas didn't always believe him.

"I'm going to change before Mom gets here," Dean announced, standing. "Let Mom in if she knocks. She knows the room number."

When he reemerged in a flannel and jeans, both Cas and Jack were studying the papers on the wall. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Dean grabbed his phone from where it was still resting on the arm of the couch.

Pulling up Sam's name—it wasn't hard as his brother was usually the first or second person that he'd most recently texted—he sent over a message.

'Change of plans. Cas and Jack are going to switch you places so that you can come back. They should be there in about twenty minutes, so have your ass in gear and be ready to go.'

Now all that he had to do was wait.

Crossing to the coffee machine, he turned it on. It really was too late for coffee, but he doubted that Mary had driven all this way just to go to bed. They'd talk for a couple of hours—he'd feel better afterward—and then they would get some sleep.

Sam wasn't getting coffee, though. He was making sure that Sam got some sleep tonight even if he had to tie him down to the bed and steal his phone.

A knock at the door had him turning around. Setting aside the pot, he crossed to the door and opened it.

"Dean," Mary said, smiling up at him before she went up onto her tiptoes to hug him. Dean returned it, pulling her in close and breathing her in before releasing her.

"Mary!" Jack said excitedly, coming around them as Dean let her go. Mary blinked in surprise at the sight of him, but that didn't stop the joy from spreading across her face as she hugged him hard as well.

Dean watched it and tried not to let the bitterness that surged up show on his face. Mary and Jack had gotten close while in the alternate world, he knew that, but it didn't stop him from wondering sometimes if that was partly because Jack was uncomplicated to her. He was almost like a son that she had adopted and fostered, one whom she hadn't doomed to a life of misery, nor abruptly found herself a mother to when they were already grown.

Mary and Cas exchanged smiles as Dean took Mary's bag from her.

"Where's Sam?" she asked, looking around.

"He's on babysitting duty. Cas and Jack were going to go switch spots with him so that he can come back."

Mary nodded.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence.

Dean loved Mary with every fiber of his being and then some, but he was still trying to figure out just how exactly they all fit together, and how to interact with her in the same natural ease that he did with Sam, or even with Cas. Hell, Charlie—their Charlie—had been easier than his own mother.

"Coffee?" he asked at last and Mary nodded gratefully, her hands in her back pockets. Dean moved to the small kitchenette, even as he looked over his shoulder to say to Cas, "Oh, and I texted Sam. He knows that you are coming and what the plan is."

"Good." Cas nodded, digging out his car keys. "And what is the address of the funeral home?"

"Oh, right. That might be important to know."

They spent the next couple of minutes getting Cas situated before chatting briefly about Jack and Cas's previous hunt, and then they were gone.

It was just him and Mary.

It never stopped being amazing to him that Mary was around once again, even if it had been his reality for a couple of years now. But then again, most of the last year had been spent with Mary gone to the other world and the year before that, she had been avoiding them.

No wonder there were still awkward silences.

"So…how was the drive?" Dean asked, handing her a cup of hot coffee and coming to sit down on the couch next to her. Mary sat down as well, bringing one leg up underneath her other as she breathed in the aroma.

"Good. It was really nice."

Dean nodded, sipping at the burning liquid. "And Bobby?"

"Good."

Dean nodded again, musing over his words and wondering what to ask next. "You hungry? I think that there's some leftover pizza in the fridge, but we can go out and get something if you want."

"Nah. Don't worry about it, I ate not that long ago and it might be hard to find someplace open." Mary relaxed back into the couch with a sigh. "So…how have things been? Tell me everything. Has there been any progress on Michael's new monsters?"

It was a topic that made Dean's stomach knot up every time, but it was something familiar and Dean launched into it. He was about halfway through the explanation of what Sam and he were currently researching when he was struck by a sudden realization, and he paused.

"Sam didn't answer me," he said, looking for his phone and then standing to grab it from where he had left it by the coffee pot. Mary cocked an eyebrow and Dean explained himself further even as he turned the screen on, half expecting to see a notification with Sam's name on it. "I texted him to let him know that Cas and Jack were coming. He didn't answer me."

"So? He's been pretty busy, and you know it. He's been running around in about four different directions at all times since you went missing."

Mary didn't get it. Sam had been attached to his phone like it was another limb, trying desperately to make sure that everything and everyone was fine. Sam would have seen his text, and his brother would have answered, even if it was just a thumbs-up or an okay.

Something uneasy stirred in Dean's stomach and he tried to push it away. He was overreacting. It was a missed text, nothing else.

Mary seemed to agree with that sentiment as she reached over, covering his arm with her hand and giving him a beatific smile. "Dean, I'm sure that Sam just got another text and forgot to reply to yours. He gets enough of them. Either that or he fell asleep. He's watching cameras and I'm sure that is boring as hell. Put that on top of everything else that he's been trying to do and I, for one, wouldn't be surprised."

Dean knew how hard Sam was working, he knew it better than Mary did. He could see through the cracks in his brother's mask, see how hard he was trying to hold it all together, but he was damn sure that Sam had never let Mary see just how deep it ran and just how drained he was.

Mary tightened her grip.

"Dean, he's fine. And if not, then Cas and Jack will be there to help. He's a grown man and one of the best hunters that I have ever seen. He knows how to look after himself."

"Yeah, I know, I just…" Dean wiped a hand over his face. Sam was hunting. And sure, they didn't expect anything to happen but that didn't mean that it wouldn't. Every day they saw people's lives turned upside down when something went wrong out of the blue.

Pursing his lips, Dean hesitated a second longer before sending a quick, 'You okay?' text.

Sam would answer that one. Even if he had gotten so caught up in everything else that he had forgotten to answer the first one, he wouldn't ignore that. Hell, even if they were so pissed off at each other that they weren't talking they answered that kind of inquiry. Sam was anything but pissed at him right now, even if he should be. Instead, he was going out of his way to make sure that Dean was okay. He'd answer that.

Dean stared at his phone a moment, waiting for it to vibrate with an incoming message, before turning to face Mary with some effort.

"So…how have things been for you and Bobby? The cabin workin' out okay?"

Mary relaxed a little, sinking back into the couch cushions. "It's been good. Really good. Bobby and I have been watching a lot of TV and reading. Just catching up on everything, you know? I think that it has been good for him. He seems happier, at least."

"Good. Great." Dean offered another weak smile before rubbing a hand over his face. "What, ah, shows are you watching?"

Mary hesitated a moment and then began a shallow explanation that trailed off after only a minute. Dean didn't have the energy to keep the conversation going, and silence fell.

It was overwhelming and, after a moment, Dean surged to his feet and rocked back on his heels, fighting the urge to pace.

If Sam wasn't answering him for some stupid reason, then Dean was going to raise hell and then some with him.

Mary didn't seem to know what to say and Dean gave in to the temptation to pace a tight line to the coffee pot and back. There was nothing for it. He wasn't going to rest easy, not until Sam responded. He'd been in this business too long to let something like this slide. Bad things could happen even on the least dangerous of hunts.

Shaking his head, he called Sam and listened as it rang and rang and rang until flipping over to voicemail.

His concern skyrocketed and he swore quietly. He stood there a moment with his hands on his hips as he made his decision.

"I'm going after him," he said abruptly, turning towards the door.

Mary also stood. "Woah, hold up there, Dean. There is no reason to panic yet."

"He's on a hunt, and he's not answering his damn phone," Dean protested, gesturing with his own.

"I know, I know, but it's only been what? Half an hour since you first tried to text him? Two minutes since the last time and not even that since you tried to call? That's no reason to freak out yet. Let's just give it another ten minutes or so before we go breaking down the door. Sam wouldn't want us to get freaked out by nothing. He'd take offense at that," she said.

Dean chewed on his lower lip and shook his head. She was wrong. Sam wouldn't take offense. Sam wasn't that easy to offend, especially not over something like this.

"Dean, give it five minutes. You haven't even really given him a chance to call you back. Five more minutes, and then we'll go. I promise."

He wavered for a moment, debating the outcomes in his head.

"Cas and Jack probably just got there and more than likely he's talking to them. Five minutes, Dean, and then we can go."

Dean hesitated for another long moment before nodding. "Okay. Five minutes—that's it," he said roughly. As soon as he said it, he regretted doing so but Mary was patting the couch next to her, indicating that he should sit.

"Why don't you tell me about this hunt?" she said, giving him that smile again, and Dean felt a sudden surge of frustration and anger.

He felt like he was talking to his dad again with the hunt being the answer to anything and everything. He'd never stood up to his dad, and right now wasn't the time to do so with his mom either, so he simply kept his tone flat as he said, "Bodies have been disappearing from a funeral home. Sam wanted to look into it."

"Right," Mary said, nodding along. "And what makes you think that it's not some whacky human taking bodies for who knows what? It wouldn't be the first time."

"Sam—ah, Sam said that it's his gut instinct that this is our kind of thing, and he usually has pretty damn good instincts, so..."

"And Sam was going to the funeral home because…?" Mary prompted after a long moment of silence.

"Because they brought in a body today. The funeral isn't until Friday, but the owner wanted police protection, and Sammy wasn't about to let anyone else walk into something potentially monstrous. I offered to stay with him, but he wanted me to go to Hettinger, to talk with the hospital myself." Now that Dean said it out loud, it sounded like a weak excuse. Why had he let Sam talk him into going?

Mary nodded along even as Dean glanced at his watch, his guts curling with unease.

The ringing of a phone a moment later startled Dean and he grabbed for his, expecting to see Sam's name there, but the screen was dark.

Mary was fumbling out her phone.

"Is it Sam?" Dean asked tightly, sitting forward only to have Mary shake her head.

"No, it's Travis," she said before answering it and leaving Dean to wonder who the hell Travis was. She was silent for a moment, listening, before saying. "Yeah, I can help. Did you try—No, I'm—uh-huh. Yeah, I'm actually with Dean right now and have been waiting to hear from him. We'll give Sam a call again, and then call you right—"

Dean leaned forward, yanking the phone out of her hand. "You tryin' to get a hold of Sam?" he asked briskly, not caring that he was being rude.

There was a pause on the other end. "Dean?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn't sure he could put a face to it. He just hadn't invested the time to get to know Sam's hunters, and they hadn't seemed interested in getting to know him.

"Yeah. Why are you trying to get ahold of Sam? It's almost three in the morning, you don't need him." And Dean really didn't like the implications that no one was able to reach Sam.

"I don't know if that's any of your business, buddy," Travis said tightly, and Dean snorted out a laugh.

"If it's about Sam, then you better damn well bet that I'm making it my business. You shouldn't be trying to reach him at all hours of the day."

"Sam said to call if we need anything," Travis responded stubbornly, "And thus far he hasn't had an issue with it. Give the phone back to Mary. I have to talk with her."

Dean snapped, anger making his voice harsh. "Yeah, Sam might have said that, but that doesn't mean that you actually do it! Haven't you guys put Sam through enough? He's killing himself trying to help you, you do realize that, right? Yet you're still taking advantage of his generosity—" Dean hurriedly stood, putting himself out of reach of Mary as she scrambled to get her phone back from him. She stood as well, attempting to pull his arm down but Dean just shrugged her off, continuing his tirade. "—calling him at two in the freaking morning and expecting him to jump at your every need and solve all your problems. It's no wonder that he doesn't get any damn sleep or forgets to eat. You guys survived a war and yet you can't even figure out a ghost from a ghoul. How is Sam supposed—"

Mary finally succeeded in wrenching the phone from him and gave him a dark glare. "Travis—" she said quickly, turning her back on Dean. "Don't take what Dean said…" she trailed off, listening but Dean turned away with a scoff. He didn't give a rat's ass what Travis thought of him.

"Look, I'll call you right back. I'm sorry," Mary said behind him and then hung up, tossing the phone onto the couch.

"Dean—" She reprimanded sharply, turning on him but Dean just shrugged, looking at his watch. Sam's five minutes were just about over, and then he was going to raise hell. "Dean, look at me." Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes, but he did clench his jaw as he half-turned to face her. "Travis was trying to help, you didn't need to turn on him like that."

"Whatever." Dean crossed to the other side of the room where his jacket was waiting and shrugged into it.

Mary's gaze softened a little, her shoulders dropping. "Dean, he was worried about Sam. That is why he called. He said that Sam hasn't answered any of his calls or texts for the last couple of hours, and he just wanted to know if I'd heard from him."

Dean froze for a millisecond, feeling like a boulder had been dropped into his stomach, before wrenching his coat on. "Why didn't he lead with that? Son of a bitch, something's wrong. Something is really, really, wrong and I need to get to Sam."

#

Jack had a flashlight out and directed at one of the folders that he had taken from the motel room table, trying to read as Cas drove.

"And what do you think would be interested in dead humans?" he asked, looking up and over at Cas. Cas frowned a little.

"I'm not sure. Witches, maybe? And don't forget ghouls. They like to eat humans."

Jack smiled. "I will never forget ghouls. They were my first real hunt."

Cas smiled in a way that made Jack feel warm inside. "That was an interesting experience, one I don't think that I can forget either. Dean forced me to wear a cowboy hat."

Jack laughed, looking back at the folder. His smile faded a little. The security guard who had died that day still haunted Jack. He hadn't meant to do that, hadn't meant to kill him…and maybe it was good that his powers were gone.

He couldn't save anyone, but he couldn't kill them either.

Rubbing at his chest, he suppressed a cough. Without his powers, he was going to die. Maybe sooner rather than later if he didn't stop coughing up blood. When that happened, was he going to end up in Hell? He was Lucifer's son after all, and had hurt people.

Jack shook the thoughts off with a shudder. He was fine. Everything was going to be fine, he just had to keep going, keep working, and help as many people as he could.

That was what Sam and Cas did when things got hard. Dean too.

So he would just wait and see. Maybe he was just getting a cold or something equally as embarrassing. No reason to worry anyone just yet, and, even if it was, he was going to spend all the time that he could with those that he loved and helping others.

That was something else his family—his real family, not Lucifer—had taught him.

"Are you alright?" Cas shot him a sideways, pensive, look. Cas was hard to fool, but Jack forced the smile back onto his face all the same.

"Just tired—" Another lie, one that he had learned from Sam over the past few months, "And I was thinking. Why are they taking the bodies from the funeral home, instead of waiting to dig them up after they were buried? Sam and Dean do that all the time."

Cas coughed, smothering what sounded like a laugh. "I don't know. It could be there is some sort of timetable of when they need the bodies, or maybe they just don't want to do the digging that would be required. I have often wondered at the motives behind different creatures' habits, but rarely have I been given a suitable answer. Sometimes creatures just do things because with no reason behind it."

Jack nodded, thinking it through before glancing down at the phone that was on his knee. "You're supposed to turn left at the next stoplight," he said reading the directions off the map that he had pulled up.

He continued to give directions, and it was only a few minutes later that they were pulling up to the funeral home and pulling around to park in the half-circle driveway.

The funeral home was quiet.

All the lights inside were off, but the streetlight illuminated the driveway. It looked empty, but that was how it was supposed to look, Jack reminded himself as he tucked the file underneath his arm and got out.

It smelled like rain—and the gathering clouds overhead promised it—and he breathed it in as deep as he could without provoking a coughing fit. Cas's door closed, and then he headed towards the door. The wind was cutting and cold, and Jack shivered, pulling his coat closer around him as he followed.

They made their way up to the front steps and to the door. Cas knocked, and they stood there for a minute, waiting for Sam to come and open it. Jack shuffled a little, burrowing further into his coat in an effort to keep warm, and glanced up at the sky. The clouds obscured the moon and most of the stars.

"I don't think that he heard us," he said. Cas nodded in agreement and knocked louder. After another long moment of silence, Cas shook his head and pulled out his phone.

"I'm going to try calling him," he said and Jack nodded, wishing that Sam would hurry up and open up the door already. It was bound to be warmer in there than it was out here.

Cas was silent as he waited for the call to connect, and then he was shaking his head and lowering the phone with a frown. "He didn't answer. Maybe he left the door unlocked…" There was a worried tone in Cas's voice now and unease sparked in Jack's chest.

Cas shouldn't be worried. There was nothing to be worried about.

Only, Cas had frozen next to him, his hand wrapped around the door handle and an almost comical look of surprise on his face. He pulled his hand back and Jack's whole stomach dropped.

His hand was spotted heavily in blood, as was the underside of the metal handle. It was almost like someone had grabbed it with bloody hands to close it.

"Cas, what does—"

"Shh," Cas insisted, probably pointlessly even as he let his angel blade slide into his hand. They had already been knocking. If anyone was inside then they already knew that they were here.

"Get behind me," Cas ordered sharply as Jack fumbled his knife out, the unease creeping up his throat even as he tried to push it back down. This was a hunt. This was supposed to be exciting. It might have been if Sam hadn't been in there somewhere and not answering.

Grabbing the door handle again, Cas pushed, and the door swung open easily, already unlocked. Jack's stomach tightened. He didn't have to be told that that wasn't good.

It was eerily quiet in the room and Jack moved to take a step forward, but Cas threw out an arm, keeping him a step behind.

There was a light switch right by the door, and after a moment of hesitation, Cas reached over and flicked it on, flooding the room with light. Jack wished that he hadn't.

Blood was splattered across the lobby floor. Someone had carelessly stepped in one or more of the puddles at some point, and crimson footprints dotted the lobby and the stairs, showing a haphazard path across the room.

Jack lurched back when he realized that he was half standing on a very faint one that led outside.

"SAM!" Cas had apparently given up on silence as he took another step into the room, gripping the angel blade tighter.

There was no answer and Jack's insides were twisting together painfully. "SAM!?" he called as well. No answer came.

Cas turned to him with a sudden sense of urgency.

"We have to find Sam. Something evil has been here, I can feel it. It could have taken him or left him injured somewhere and he may need our help. I think that whatever was here has left, but we can't know that for sure. You must be careful. If anything feels wrong, even in the slightest, then you come and get me. Even if you find Sam and he's hurt, but it doesn't feel right, you come and get me first, do you understand?" he asked harshly.

"Yes," Jack said, his mouth dry. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go.

"Good. You take upstairs, I'll take the main floor and the downstairs. Be careful, and keep your phone on you."

Jack nodded and turned to face the stairs.

He wasn't an idiot; he knew why Cas wanted him to take the upstairs. There were two sets of footprints there, the first one going up and the second going down. Even on the off chance that whoever had done this was still here, it probably wasn't upstairs. Cas was trying to protect him, and for once, Jack didn't mind.

He didn't want to find anything bad or get jumped by something, not when his hair was already standing on end and he felt on edge.

Cas was already moving hurriedly away, heading towards where the footsteps were most distinct. Jack glanced once more around the gory room, his stomach in his throat, before heading for the stairs and trying to avoid stepping in any blood.

He could hear Cas calling for Sam again from downstairs, and Jack picked up the pace. The quicker they found Sam, the quicker they could get out of here. "Sam?!" he called as well, trying to open the first door. It was locked, and the flaking footsteps led past it, towards the last room on the right.

Swallowing thickly to keep his stomach where it was supposed to be, Jack inched forward, holding his knife hard enough that his fingers were starting to hurt. If he still had his powers, then maybe…but no. For better or for worse, he didn't have them and all that he could depend upon was himself.

The last door was hanging half open and Jack took a deep breath. Sam needed help, and Jack didn't have time to be nervous.

"Sam?" he called again pushing the door open all the way even as his heart pounded against his ribs, but it didn't matter.

The room was empty, although Sam had clearly been in what looked like the office at some point. His jacket had been tossed over the back of the chair, and his tie was lying across it.

Someone else had been here as well and had taken it upon themselves to destroy everything that they could.

Files had been scattered everywhere and it looked like the computer had been smashed into pieces. What turned Jack's stomach the most, though, were the smears of blood that covered everything. Some of the papers even had what looked to be fingerprints across them, as if someone had rifled through them with bloody hands.

In the dead silence the sound of a phone ringing, even though it was quiet, made Jack jump. He swiveled around, blade out and looking for someone to attack. Nothing was there, but the phone continued to buzz angrily and Jack sheathed his knife before looking around for it.

It wasn't on the desk, and it wasn't in Sam's suitcoat pockets when he checked. Moving around the desk, he continued his search as the phone quit buzzing. Dropping down onto his knees, he looked under the desk. He didn't find anything there and looked to the other side.

There, just underneath an old radiator that was in the corner, was a phone. Sam's phone. Jack bent down further, stretching to grab it. It must have been on the desk or in the way, because the back of the phone had spiderweb fissures in the case like it had been stepped on or thrown, and the screen itself was shattered at the bottom left corner, with the cracks continuing up the rest of the screen.

A sudden wave of hot tears pressed up against Jack's eyes, and he had to fight them back. He didn't think that Sam was here anymore. Sam was missing. Sam wouldn't just leave his phone lying around like that and seeing it thrown so carelessly aside made it hit home that Sam probably wasn't okay. He might be seriously hurt somewhere—he could be dying—and they didn't know.

Sam had to be fine. He was always fine, even when everything was falling apart, he was fine.

Brushing bits of glass off of Sam's phone, he turned it on. To his surprise, the lock screen came on without an issue, although certain parts of the screen had morphed into green splotches.

Sam had several new notifications, and Jack squinted, trying to read what was there between the cracks.

There were a handful of missed calls—the most recent one was from Dean—along with a couple of missed texts and calls from Travis and a handful of other unread messages from other hunters. Dean had texted as well, and Jack's stomach did an odd flip-flop as he hesitated. He knew that he probably shouldn't, but then he pushed it away and swiped down so that he could read them.

The first one was Dean explaining that Cas and Jack were coming over, and the second was a simple 'You okay?'. Even as Jack held the phone, it buzzed, and another text from Dean popped up.

Call me. Now.

Jack didn't like this.

Feeling faintly ill, he stood up, examining the trashed room and the smears of blood with increasing horror. Something very dangerous had come in here and Sam had been completely alone.

The phone began to vibrate in his hands and Jack closed his eyes before glancing down at the screen.

Dean was calling again.

Jack's stomach was doing somersaults and he didn't dare answer the phone. There was no way that he was going to do that, not until he knew for sure that Sam was missing and not somewhere in the funeral home. Even then, he didn't think that he could do it, not with Dean. He couldn't tell him that.

Dean loved him—Jack knew that—but he could also be mean when he wanted to be. When Dean himself was scared or hurting, he became someone different and scary. Jack didn't like that Dean. He would never forget his first few weeks alive, of Dean telling him that he was going to be evil and that he wanted nothing more than to see him dead. Even if he had forgiven Dean for his harsh words and treatment of him, it would forever haunt him. He still had to strive for his respect and to please him like he didn't have to with Cas or Sam.

He didn't want to talk to that Dean again.

Gripping the phone tightly as it continued to vibrate, he stared at Dean's name and just wished that he'd stop calling. Cas could handle this better than he could, and Jack hurriedly turned from the trashed room.

There was nothing else here that was important, and he needed to find Cas. It was also possible that he had found Sam downstairs and then they would have some news that they could give Dean.

"Cas?" he yelled as he made his way hurriedly down the narrow stairs, clutching Sam's phone in his hands and praying that Dean didn't call again until they knew something.

#

Cas watched just long enough to ensure that Jack was going up the stairs before turning towards the last door on the left. It was hanging open awkwardly, and no doubt whatever fight had been started in the lobby had carried through into that room.

"Sam?" He called in a lower voice as he entered the room, feeling more confined than the lobby had been. He flicked on the light as well, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow.

This room was bloody as well and Cas was glad that Jack had gone upstairs without a fight. There was still no answer from Sam—and Cas was hoping that it was because Sam was gagged or perhaps unconscious, because that was better than any other alternative he could think of—but his knife lay abandoned on the floor.

Picking it up, Cas tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping as his concern increased exponentially. He'd been a warrior long enough to know that scenes like this hardly ever led to good things but he didn't want to give up hope. Maybe it was possible that Sam wasn't here anymore because he had left of his own volition. He might have needed to seek medical aid or had fled when he realized that he was outmatched.

The room was colder than the other areas of the funeral home, and Cas looked around to see the shattered remains of a glass door. The wind was blowing the curtains back and forth, lifting them up and off the floor. Cas immediately headed in that direction.

Ducking under what remained of the glass door, Cas stepped through.. It triggered a motion sensor, and the floodlights came on, illuminating a small garden.

It looked like it was meant to be a peaceful place for people to come and mourn, but that wasn't what it was now. Cas felt his breath catch in his chest as he took in the scene around him. The cement patio and the surrounding dying grass were covered in blood—too much blood—but that wasn't what had drawn his attention.

Sam was lying stretched out on the patio. His back was to Cas with his head tilted forward and cushioned on an arm that had been outstretched awkwardly in front of him.

He was resting in a literal pool of blood, and his white shirt had been saturated with it.

"Sam!" Cas strode forward, his heart in his throat as glass crunched underneath his feet. Dropping onto his knees, he grabbed Sam's shoulder and rolled him easily over onto his back to face him with his hand stretched out to provide whatever healing was no doubt in order. He froze, and then his hand was jerking back like he had been burned.

Sam was cold to the touch, and his eyes were open, staring sightlessly ahead.

"No."

Cas shook his head in denial, and he bent forward pressing two of his fingers against Sam's forehead.

Nothing happened.

"No," he protested more intently. Not Sam Winchester. Not like this.

Changing his position, he laid his palm flat against Sam's forehead and channeled everything that he had into Sam, into healing him, but it was no use.

Sam's soul wasn't there for him to tether and tie back to his body, and Cas wasn't strong enough to pull it back from wherever the reapers had taken it. He hadn't been strong enough in years now, but maybe…if he just…Cas tried again desperately, willing life back into Sam, willing his soul to return to his body.

Nothing changed.

Sam's heart refused to start beating, and Cas drew back with the dawning and horrible realization...Sam Winchester was dead.

Chapter Text

Cas stared at Sam's body with shock, unable to look away from the gut-wrenching sight before him.

Sam Winchester was dead. His friend. One of the few people in the world who had been able to understand some of the things that Cas had been through. A friend who would and had done anything he could for Cas.

Not only that, but he was a good person. One of the best, in fact, and the world didn't understand how much it owed him. It could not stand to lose Sam Winchester.

But Cas couldn't bring him back.

His eyes slowly filled with tears that burned but Cas didn't try to stop them. He was honored to weep for a man like Sam. Gently, he laid a hand on Sam's arm, as if he could offer some final comfort for what must have been a painful, violent, death.

His skin was already cold to the touch and he had likely been dead for at least an hour, probably longer. They had never had a chance of saving him.

"Sam, I—" Cas wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. There were no words that could cover the depths of what he was feeling. Rarely did he wish to return to being a full angel with his grace intact. Most of the time, he knew that he was a better being because of its loss and the knowledge and growth that had come with it, but at times like this it was different.

He might have been able to save Sam before, but now… now he was useless and Sam was dead. Did not the world—and Dean—need Sam more than they needed a sorry excuse for an angel?

Cas was having trouble wrapping his mind around it. It just didn't seem possible. Sam couldn't be dead. He was a Winchester. They didn't die and, even if they did, it wasn't for long.

But this time Lucifer wasn't around to bring Sam back, and he knew better than to let Dean try anything. He wouldn't even try himself despite how he might yearn to. Not after Sam's violation under Gadreel. Not when Sam had forced a promise from him after that experience that if he died, Cas wasn't to bring him back in any way unnatural, nor was he supposed to let Dean try.

Dean.

What was Dean going to do?

Licking his lips and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, Cas sat back on his heels. To say that Dean wasn't going to handle things well was an understatement. He'd be crushed. He wouldn't—Dean wouldn't survive it. He would become a husk of a man, one that saw little purpose or even joy in life. And then there was Mary and Jack…

Cas sucked in a steadying breath and turned back to Sam.

He would worry about the others in a moment. That time would come sooner than Cas wanted it to, and when that happened they would need him to be strong, especially Dean and Jack. He was going to have to be someone that they could lean on, and he couldn't do that and grieve Sam the way that he wanted to.

Sam would understand—he would want him to look out for the others—but Cas was taking this moment as his. He was going to grieve and mourn for his friend.

A stronger wave of emotion flooded through Cas.

Sam had been a good friend, despite the fact that Cas hadn't understood or even really liked him when they first met. He'd just been the boy with the demon blood, and Cas had caused him so much pain in his life. He'd never admitted to letting him out of the panic room, silently letting him take the blame for everything that had happened, and then he'd broken Sam's wall, making his life a literal hell.

Yet Sam had forgiven him. Had become and stayed a dear friend through the years. They had been through much together. So many ups and downs and almost world-ending situations…

Sam would be missed, probably more than he would have ever understood during his life. Another pang of soul-deep sadness seared through Cas.

Carefully, he reached down and tenderly straightened Sam's head to a more natural position and curled Sam's arms up to rest over his stomach and chest. His left one gave way oddly, revealing a badly broken arm, and Cas gentled his touch, not that it would do much good.

Sam was in a place where he felt no pain.

He hoped that he was at peace. Maybe not with his father, but with Bobby. He would look after Sam, Cas did trust that.

"Cas?!"

The sound of his name being yelled through the funeral home made Cas flinch and he ducked his head. Closing his eyes, he laid his hand against Sam's shoulder, squeezing hard, and tried to say something but he still hadn't found the correct words to cover how he was feeling.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself together.

Jack needed him, and Jack couldn't walk in on Sam like this. It would scar him for life.

Giving Sam one last, long, look, Cas pushed himself up and then ducked back into the viewing room and headed towards the main lobby.

He was just in time to throw out an arm to stop Jack from entering the room. Jack looked up at him, his eyes wide and flustered. He held up a phone—Sam's phone, Cas realized a moment later—which was vibrating.

"Dean keeps calling. I don't know what to do," he blurted, shoving the phone in Cas's direction as if Cas could fix the problem, and his stomach tightened. There was no way that he was going to be able to fix this one. Their whole lives had changed. He took it all the same, glancing down to see that Dean was indeed calling.

"Did you find Sam? He wasn't upstairs, but they trashed the room and I think that they were looking for something," Jack said breathlessly, looking around anxiously.

"Jack…" Cas didn't know how to do this. Jack thought the world of Sam. He'd been so upset when he'd thought that Sam had died last time, what was he going to do now?

Jack frowned, glancing back through the room. "Cas, did you find him? We need to find him, is he back there?" he asked in the same frazzled voice as he took a step forward, no doubt going to check for himself that Sam wasn't there.

Cas moved back a step with him, tightening his grip on his arm and bringing him to a halt.

Sam's phone stopped buzzing but, only a second later, his own phone started to vibrate and Cas closed his eyes. It had to be Dean calling, probably wondering why Sam wasn't answering his phone. Dean was smart, he had to know that something was wrong if he was trying to get a hold of his brother.

Dean was just going to have to wait for a moment, though. He could live one more moment in ignorant bliss.

"Jack, you do not want to go back there," he said as gently as he could as he steadily met his eyes.

"What? Why not?" Jack stared at him, uncomprehending, and Cas's insides twisted. Jack had already lost so much in his short lifetime. Why was he—they—losing this now as well? It just wasn't fair or right. It hurt more than Cas could express.

"It's…you don't need to see, alright?"

Jack's eyes were narrowing, a frown deepening the lines on his forehead as he looked Cas up and down.

"You have blood on your hands and knees," he said before Cas could figure out how to say what he needed to say. He blinked in surprise and then looked down at himself. His hands and knees were indeed stained scarlet with drying blood that he must have picked up from Sam. There had been enough of it, that was for sure.

"Jack—"

"Where's Sam?!" Jack's voice had risen, taking on a slightly desperate quality now and there was nothing for it.

"I found Sam, Jack," Cas said firmly, gripping Jack's biceps to keep him in place. "And you don't need to see him like this. It isn't—it won't be something that you will want to remember. You'll want to remember Sam how he was, so please wait for Dean and I to clean him up first."

Jack's face screwed up in confusion before the realization of what Cas was saying hit. His eyes went wide, and he shook his head.

"What? No. Cas, Sam can't be—He's not dead!"

"I'm so sorry," Cas said, wishing once again that there was some way that he could make this better, that he could take away the pain. Jack looked away, licking his lips, and his eyes were watery when he turned back.

"No. Sam's just—he's not—"

"I'm sorry," Cas repeated helplessly.

"No!" Jack repeated more fervently this time, trying to tear himself out of Cas's hold. "No—I—I want to see him. I'll show you, I'll—"

"Jack, I'm telling you, it's not pretty. There is a lot of blood, and Sam's—"

"I don't care!"

Sam's phone interrupted them as it began to vibrate again and Cas's closed his eyes.

He didn't want to do this, telling Jack had been hard enough.

Jack took advantage of his momentary distraction to break his hold and slip past him and into the viewing room. Cas cursed softly and swiftly followed him as Jack looked wildly around before seeing the shattered doors.

He ducked through the glass and then stopped short. Cas came to a stop behind him, watching as he stood there, completely rigid. Cas hesitated briefly before wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulders. He didn't say anything. There was nothing that he could do or say that was going to make Jack feel better. Not right now, anyway.

Jack continued to stare at Sam's broken body, before taking the last few stumbling steps to Sam's side. He crumpled to his knees and then reached out, his hand hovering over Sam's arm, but he didn't touch him.

The tears that had filled his eyes earlier began to spill over, staining his cheeks as his breathing became ragged.

Cas's phone began to vibrate with an incoming call, and he couldn't put this off any longer. If neither of them answered, then Dean was likely to come barging in, and he deserved a warning before he saw Sam like this.

"Jack, I have to talk to Dean," he warned, crouching down and searching Jack's face. Jack didn't respond as he continued to fight off tears, staring numbly at Sam. Cas squeezed his shoulder hard before turning and moving away in some sort of attempt to offer Dean privacy for the news that he was about to deliver.

His phone had fallen silent by then, but it had hardly done so before Sam's phone once again began to buzz. Dean's name was on the shattered screen, and Cas took a deep breath before swiping up and bringing the phone to his ear.

"I swear, that if—" Dean was saying on the other end, his frustration evident before he realized that the line had connected. "Sammy? Oh, thank God. Why the hell did it take you so long to answer your damn phone? Seriously, you'll answer everyone else's calls now but not mine?"

Cas didn't know how to do this.

"Dean, it's me," he said, hunching inwards, and Dean paused his angry monologue for only a moment in confusion before starting up again.

"Cas? Why didn't you answer your damn phone either? You know what, never mind. Give Sam his phone back. I need to tell him what exactly he can do with it."

Cas didn't want to do this. He had never wanted to do this. He'd do almost anything else over this.

"Dean, I'm so sorry."

There was a strangled pause on the other end, and Cas waited, holding his breath.

"It's fine. You were probably busy and couldn't get to your phone. I get it. Just…hand the phone over to Sam. I need to speak with him. Right now."

That wasn't what Cas had meant, and he was sure that Dean knew it.

"Dean, I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do. We got here too late, Sam's—" Dead was on the tip of his tongue, but Cas couldn't say it out loud. It still felt unreal.

Dean laughed nervously, blatantly refusing to pick up on what Cas was trying to say. "Man, hand the phone over. I—this isn't funny. I really need to talk with Sam."

"Dean, you need to come to the funeral home."

Cas waited for Dean's answer, but the only one he got was the dial tone. Dean had hung up on him.

Bowing his head, Cas pressed his lips together. Dean was not going to take this well and Cas understood but it still made his own heart hurt. Taking another deep breath, he tucked both phones back into his pocket for safekeeping.

Steeling himself, he walked over to where Jack was kneeling. He had apparently decided that touching Sam was okay because he was cradling his hand gently in both of his. He looked up at Cas's approach, his face stained with tears.

"Why?" he managed to get out in a ragged whisper, pleading for Cas to have the answers.

Cas sighed, kneeling next to him. "I don't know. Sam was very good at what he did, but sometimes that doesn't matter. Sometimes that isn't enough."

Jack bowed his head again, letting out a low, keening, sound as his shoulders began to shake once more. Cas wrapped his arm around him and Jack melted into his embrace, clutching at Sam's hand like that could bring him back.

Cas let him have the moment, taking what he could for himself as well. Sam's eyes were still open, and Cas longed to close them. At least then Sam would look more natural and like he was just sleeping, but that wasn't his right.

After a minute or so he broke the silence, saying to Jack, and maybe to Sam as well, "I called Dean." Jack stiffened but Cas continued. "And he's on his way. He'll be here soon. Listen, Jack, he's not going to be happy and he's going to need some space to grieve and be alone with Sam. When he gets here, I want you to go back upstairs or into another one of the viewing rooms and find some long curtains if you can. We'll need to wrap Sam up for…" Cas had to stop, the pain an almost physical knife in between his ribs. He had lost so many people that he loved and respected over the years. It should have felt normal by now, but it didn't. It still hurt. "We'll need to wrap him up for transport."

"No. We can't—we're just taking him back to the motel. Then we can bring him back, can't we?" Jack said instantly. "Somehow, someway, we have to bring him back. Lucifer brought him back before. We can find Michael, or—"

"Sometimes people can't be brought back," Cas interrupted as firmly as he could.

"Maybe other people, but we bring people back. We don't just let them die," Jack repeated stubbornly, and Cas wished that it was that simple.

"Sam doesn't want to be brought back. Not if it disrupts the natural process or hurts someone else. We can't just bring him back."

Jack pulled away from him, giving him a hot glare. "Stop acting like this! This is Sam, he's not just anyone! And you don't know that he wouldn't want to be brought back, you can't just assume that!"

"Yes, actually, I do know that," Cas said wearily. "I swore to him, Jack, that if he was to die, I was going to do my best not to let Dean do anything to bring him back. To ensure that if he died, he would stay dead and be at peace."

"But what if he doesn't want that anymore? What if it's changed?" Jack was now pleading, staring at him so hopefully that Cas almost couldn't find it in himself to shatter that hope, but he shook his head stalwartly.

"I can't tell you what you want to hear, Jack. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just fix it! You're an angel!"

The words stung, even if Jack didn't mean them to. "Jack, if I could—"

Jack turned away from him, cutting him off with an angry sound as his face screwed up in a mixture of pain and rage. He shook Cas's hand off even as he clutched Sam's harder. A moment later, his shoulders began to shake and he bent forward, sobbing.

Cas tentatively reached forward again, laying an arm around his shoulders. This time Jack didn't shove him away and Cas inched closer, gazing down at Sam as Jack continued to cry.

The throaty roar of the Impala was their first warning that Dean was about to arrive, and Cas hurriedly stood. "Jack," he said, trying and failing to keep the urgency out of his voice even as he tugged Jack up by the arm. Jack hesitated, his focus still on Sam, but Cas tightened his grip. "Jack, go upstairs. Please, just go and don't come back until I get you."

Dean was going to be here any second, and Jack didn't need to witness what was about to happen. Cas didn't even really know himself what that might look like, but he did know that he wanted Jack far away from it.

"Jack, now!"

Jack turned numbly but the sound of a car door slamming brought life back into his face. Shooting one last look at Sam's body over his shoulder, he turned and scurried away.

Cas passed him as he strode swiftly towards the door to try and head Dean off.

#

Dean wrenched open the motel door without waiting to see if Mary would follow. Something was wrong with Sam and had been for possibly a couple of hours. That was…this could be bad.

He had his phone out and was calling Sam before he even stepped off the porch. It rang endlessly, finally switching over to voicemail and Dean's panic was only increasing. "Sam, answer your damn phone. People are trying to get a hold of you," he snarled as he headed for the Impala before sending him a brief text demanding that he call him.

Behind him, Mary yanked open the door, stepping out. "I'm coming with you," she announced but Dean didn't care. He threw open the Impala's trunk even as he dialed Cas. Cas should be at the funeral home as well by now. He'd be able to tell Dean why Sam wasn't answering…only Cas didn't pick up either and Dean swore loudly before trying Sam again. He was going to keep calling until one of them picked up.

This was utterly ridiculous. Phones were meant to be answered.

He began to sort through the weapons there, grabbing only the essentials. If Sam needed help then Dean wasn't going to have a lot of time to react and they needed to be prepared. His hands were starting to shake as he shoved shotgun shells of both salt and iron into his pocket, but he couldn't do anything about it.

Mary joined him, breathless and still shrugging into her coat. The wind was whipping her hair across her face and she shook it out of her eyes, only for it to blow right back in.

Sam still wasn't picking up, and Dean tried Cas again. Grabbing his sawed-off, he tucked it under his arm before slipping an angel blade into his pocket.

Mary leaned in, grabbing her own assortment of weapons with an efficiency and ease that normally might have impressed Dean. Tonight, it only frustrated him as he tried Sam's phone once more, his hand on the trunk and ready to shut it as soon as Mary had finished.

"C'mon, damnit," he muttered. "I swear that if—" The line connected and Dean jerked around, his full focus on the phone even as relief swept over him. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. "Sammy? Oh, thank God. Why the hell did it take you so long to answer your damn phone? Seriously, you'll answer everyone else's calls now but not mine?"

There was a pause on the other end before Cas's deeper voice came over the line. "Dean, it's me."

Dean's stomach did a sickening flip and he paced a step away from Mary, who was shooting him a concerned look. "Cas? Why didn't you answer your damn phone either? You know what, never mind. Give Sam his phone back. I need to tell him exactly what he can do with it."

Again, there was a long moment of hesitation. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean's brain wasn't comprehending what Cas was saying and he stuttered to a stop. No. That wasn't—Cas couldn't mean what he thought that he did. "It's fine. You were probably busy and couldn't get to your phone, I get it. Just…hand the phone over to Sam. I need to speak with him. Right now."

He needed to hear Sam's voice, to know that even if he wasn't okay that he was alive. Cas would get him help if he was in trouble, Cas was there, and Dean would be there shortly. It would all be okay.

"Dean, I'm so sorry. There was nothing we could do, we got here too late, Sam's—" Cas cut himself off, his breath hitching.

Dean's gut clenched, but that couldn't be. He knew those words, knew that tone of voice. He'd used them himself to deliver bad news to people, bad news that couldn't pertain to him. Not to Sam. This must just be some sort of insane and very insensitive joke that Sam and Cas were playing on him. "Man, hand the phone over. I—this isn't funny. I really need to talk with Sam."

"Dean, you need to come to the funeral home."

Dean wasn't consciously aware of hanging up as he slammed the lid of the trunk shut—Mary just managed to jump back before it hit her—and then strode around the car, heading for the driver's side.

Cas didn't know anything. He was just being idiotic.

Yanking the door open, he turned over the engine and then pulled out of the parking spot. Belatedly, he realized that he'd left Mary behind, and he watched her throw her hands up in exasperation in the rearview mirror but he didn't stop.

A moment later his phone began to vibrate with an incoming call, but Dean ignored it. Hey, it was what everyone else was doing tonight. He might as well join in on the fun.

The funeral home wasn't far away, a twenty-minute drive at most if one was following the speed limit, and Dean wasn't. The boulder in his gut wasn't letting him.

Cas hadn't meant what he'd hinted at. He just…it couldn't be that. Dean hadn't been there. If Sam was going to go before him, then Dean was going to be there. He'd been there every other time. It...Cas couldn't have meant that.

Pulling into the half-circle driveway, he parked haphazardly next to Cas's car. The lights were on at the funeral home, bathing the outside a warm yellow, but he couldn't see anyone inside.

Slamming the car door, Dean stalked forward and threw open the unlocked door.

"Dean—" Cas was hurrying towards him, one hand outstretched, but Dean's brain had stopped.

Blood was everywhere, the scent of iron thick in the air, and Cas…Cas was covered in it. His hands were stained red, and splatterings of it were on his trench coat and his shirt. His knees were soaked with it, like he had kneeled in a puddle of blood

Dean's throat constricted as terror threatened to consume him. He had to find Sam. He had to get to him right now.

"Where's Sam? Where's my brother?" Dean demanded hotly, trying to move past Cas, but Cas stuck out an arm, his face hopelessly sad as he attempted to stop him. Dean shoved him roughly in the chest with both hands, sending him staggering back a few steps.

"Where is Sam?" he snarled more forcibly.

"Dean—"

"Tell me where my brother is right the hell now!" Dean felt wild with fear, but Cas wasn't rising to the bait.

"It's not—Just be prepared. It's not going to be easy to see," Cas said calmly, and Dean fought the urge to grab him by his trench coat and shake some sense into him.

"I don't care! Just—I have to see Sam!"

Cas took another step back, putting some space between him and Dean, and then pointed at a door just to their left. "He's in the garden. Dean, I'm so—"

Dean didn't want to hear anything else that he had to say and he certainly didn't want to hear any apologies. Pushing his way past Cas, he marched through the door and looked around. The shattered sliding door led into what he supposed was the garden and Dean headed straight for it. Ducking through what remained of the door, he straightened and then stopped, unable to move even if he had wanted to.

A truck couldn't have hit him any harder than the image before him.

He had known, theoretically and in some sort of abstract way, what Cas had been trying to tell him. His mind had been trying to warn him that he was going to find Sam's body, but he…he wasn't prepared.

He wasn't prepared to see him lying there, unmoving, and in the middle of a pool of blood. One leg was bent unnaturally underneath the other, like Sam had fallen and hadn't been able to get back up. His head was turned towards Dean.

Sam was staring at him, but there was no life in his eyes, no sign of recognition or awareness.

"Sammy—" The word was ripped from Dean. This couldn't—there was no way—This couldn't be how Sam died. "Fix him—!" he demanded, rounding on Cas, who had followed him, and jabbing a finger back at Sam.

"Don't you think that I tried? His soul is gone, there was nothing that I could do," Cas said slowly, his face creasing in misery.

No. This couldn't be happening. Not to Sam.

Stumbling forward, Dean dropped down onto his knees next to his brother, his hands hovering uncertainly over him, his eyes searching Sam's but there was nothing there to comfort him.

"Sammy…" His voice broke on the whisper that was meant for Sam's ears alone. He dropped a hand, resting it against Sam's shoulder. "Here, lemme just…" He didn't know what. He gently laid his other hand against Sam's cheek and then closed his eyes against the flood of tears that were waiting.

Sam's skin was cool to the touch and waxy. There was no warmth of life there, and Dean had been around enough bodies to know that Sam had been dead for a while now. But that was just—

"You're okay, it's—I'm—" Dean couldn't form the lies as his throat closed up, the lump there swelling until he couldn't speak. This couldn't be real. "Sam—" he managed to rasp out before a sob shook him. Desperately, he pressed his fingers against Sam's throat, searching for a pulse that he knew wasn't there. He laid his other hand against Sam's bloodied chest, waiting for a breath or a beat of his heart. For anything.

There was nothing, and Dean couldn't deny it anymore.

Sam was dead.

Dean stared down at him. His little brother. His best friend. The one person with whom he could share anything, who had been through so much with him and had his back at every turn.

Sam, who had always been too good for the world, who helped everyone that he could. The world couldn't lose him; he had done too much. Dean couldn't lose him. What was he going to do without him?

Dean slipped an arm under Sam's shoulders, lifting him until he was resting against his chest. Sam couldn't be dead. He just—Sam's head lolled limply forward, and he eased it back so that it was resting in a more comfortable position.

Sam didn't fight him on the manhandling. It wasn't natural or right. Sam had a stubborn streak like no other, and he fought Dean about everything.

Dean wrapped his arms around him and crushed him closer to his chest even as he twisted his hands in Sam's shirt desperately. He dragged him in even closer as he began to rock. He bowed his head, burying his face in Sam's hair. The smell of blood filled his nose, drowning out the fruity smell of the shampoo that Sam used.

Sam had picked up a new bottle of it just a few weeks ago when they'd been out shopping. Dean had teased him about it and his girly hair, and Sam had laughed along with him with a genuine, good-natured, smile on his face.

He was never going to get to tease Sam about his hair again. He was never going to see that smile again. 

For whatever reason, that sent the grief and realization sweeping over him all over again, and he clutched Sam closer with a moan, his fingers digging into Sam's flesh. It would probably hurt if Sam was alive. 

He couldn't do it. He'd lost Sam so many times, and Dean knew what life without his brother was going to be like. It tore at his very soul and pierced him straight through his heart. He didn't want to do this without Sam. He never had.

Dean clutched Sam's body closer and hoped against hope that if he just held on tight enough, he could draw Sam's soul back long enough for Cas to heal him. That he would come back to Dean.

"You're okay, Sammy. You're okay, I've got you. I gotcha, don't you worry," he whispered, his voice barely discernible as he struggled through the tears that were clogging up his voice.

He felt numb. Like he was in shock.

Sam was…dead, and he didn't want to be brought back. This time there was to be no alternative route, no way to undo what had been done. There was no hope of seeing Sam again this time. There wasn't even a cage in hell to research how to get him out of. He was never going to forgive himself for letting Sam come here alone.

Dean didn't know how long he sat there, rocking Sam's body as tears silently coursed down his face. In fact, he wasn't aware of much else besides the cooling body in his arms until the first drops of rain splattered onto Sam's hair and face, smearing the dried blood there and breaking Dean out of his trance.

Turning Sam's face further into his chest to protect him from the elements, Dean hunched over him, using his own body as a shield as it began to drizzle, staining the pavement a darker grey and lightening the blood there to a more pinkish hue.

The action sparked additional movement, and a moment later a pair of dress shoes appeared in Dean's line of vision before Cas crouched down next to him.

"Dean?"

"No." Dean's voice was thick and hoarse from the tears and he looked away from Cas, resting his cheek against the top of Sam's head now. He wasn't ready to let go. He wasn't ever going to be ready.

"Dean, we need….we need to move Sam. Dean? Dean, I think that it's going to start raining harder soon. You will get soaked."

That was the last thing that he cared about. Sam wasn't going to care about it much either so there was no reason for them to move. If he moved—if he moved Sam—then he was going to have to start a life without his brother.

So no, he was content to remain right here.

Cas fell silent for a long moment before trying again. "It's going to be morning sooner rather than later. We need to leave before Mrs. Phillips comes back or any other workers arrive. If that happens, then they will call the officials, and they will take Sam away from you."

Dean shook his head, snorting and clutching Sam tighter. He'd like to see them try.

"We need to get him someplace safe. This isn't it." Cas's hand came to rest against Dean's shoulder and he stiffened. "Here, let me…" And Cas was moving, reaching for Sam and Dean wrenched himself back, tugging Sam with him.

"No, Cas, don't—" Dean pleaded, holding on tighter.

"It's going to be alright, Dean. It's going to be okay."

Dean didn't believe that, not even for a moment. Sam was dead, that was about as far from alright as it was going to get. Cas got that pinched, sad look on his face again, before twisting on his heels and beckoning with one hand. A moment later, Jack appeared, his face pale and his eyes red, holding what looked to be a set of long curtains.

Dean knew what the curtains were for, and his stomach clenched.

"No. We're not doing that," Dean insisted, trying to hunch further over Sam and protect him. The drizzle was quickly becoming heavier, and Cas's coat was getting wet. Dean could feel the coldness seeping under his collar but it was better than moving.

"We need to get Sam ready. We have to move him, we cannot stay here and we cannot walk around with a body out in the open," Cas insisted firmly as he accepted the pile of material from Jack and began to shake one out. Dean shook his head again.

"No."

"Dean, I won't hurt him, I promise." Cas was reaching for Sam again, trying to pry his body from Dean's arms and Dean roughly pushed him back with one hand.

"No. Don't. I'll—I've got him. I'll take care of it."

Cas hesitated, looking unsure as he searched Dean's face but Dean broke the gaze, looking back down at Sam.

"Give us a minute—alone—then I'll take care of it," he requested and Cas chewed on his lip, glancing over at Jack who couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from Sam, before nodding. Standing, he laid the linens down next to Dean and then stepped away respectfully and ushered Jack back as well.

Dean closed his eyes. He needed more than a minute. He needed a whole lifetime before he was going to be able to let Sam go.

He didn't think that he could do this.

Biting off another sob, Dean bent over Sam.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Sam was supposed to get old. Maybe have a family. He wasn't supposed to die bloody; that had never been what Dean had wanted for him or pictured. Sam was supposed to get to live a life even if Dean didn't.

He knew that more than a minute had passed. Cas was no doubt waiting, but he couldn't—he couldn't wrap his brother up in those. That wasn't—he couldn't do it.

It took all the strength that Dean possessed to straighten. Keeping Sam pressed against him as much as possible and off of the cold concrete, Dean began to spread out the curtains one-handed and tried to ignore the way that he was trembling.

He went to lower Sam down and found that he couldn't. Instead, he drew Sam in closer until his head was resting in the crook of Dean's arm. Some of his hair had been glued with dried blood to the side of his face and Dean pried it free before tucking it back behind Sam's ear.

Sam was still staring sightlessly forward, and Dean's nose burned as fresh tears sparked. There was no life in the hazel eyes. No love, laughter, or even anger. Sam's eyes had always been so expressive and Dean could read what his brother just by looking into them.

Now, there was nothing.

Raising his hand, Dean went to close them but stopped.

This was the last time that he was going to be able to look into Sam's eyes. How long would it be before he forgot exactly what color they were? Or how they would light up when he was happy. If he closed them now, they were never going to open again.

Dean blinked rapidly and drew in a ragged breath. Sammy, I can't do this, he thought desperately as he dropped his hand down to rest against Sam's chest. I can't. I can't do this without you.

The tears were starting all over again as Dean tried to meet Sam's eyes but found that he couldn't. They were empty, devoid of everything that had made them Sam. This wasn't his brother. This was just a corpse.

Licking his lips, Dean hesitated for just one more second before sliding his hand down over Sam's eyes, closing them for the last time.

Another shuddering sob overtook him and he bent over, a horrible sound tearing itself out of his throat against his will.

He couldn't do this.

Sam just looked like he was sleeping now, but that wasn't any better. Dean couldn't look at Sam, he couldn't think about it, he just pulled Sam back in and closed his eyes.

They were both wet from the rain when Dean opened them again.

The curtains had also become damp, and Dean abruptly decided that he wasn't wrapping Sam up in those. Not yet. He wasn't ready to do that.

He wasn't ready for any of this.

Taking another shuddering breath and blinking his vision clear of tears as much as he could, Dean forced himself up onto his knees. Sam wasn't exactly light, but Dean shuffled him as gently as he could over his shoulder and into a fireman's carry. He was dead weight, and Dean staggered to the side as he tried to find his feet and almost crumpled back down onto his knees.

Gritting his teeth, Dean forced his legs to hold him through pure force of will. He wasn't going to drop his brother, he wasn't going to put him through that.

"Dean?" Cas must have been watching because a moment later he was right there and grabbing his arm, helping him to balance. Dean shrugged him off as he shifted Sam into a more secure position and then moved determinedly forward, his back bent under the weight.

Cas didn't try to offer help again, trailing after him. Jack stood by what remained of the glass door, uncharacteristically quiet.

Dean picked up his pace, pointedly not looking at any of the blood that marred the floors. He did allow Cas to pass him and open first the funeral home door and then the Impala's.

Then Dean came to a stuttering stop, Sam's weight still pressing down on him. What was he going to do now? Where were they going to go?

"I'll drive. I'll come back for my car," Cas said instantly, holding out his hand for the keys, but Dean shook his head.

"I'm okay to drive," he said thickly. Even he knew that wasn't true. Everything felt unreal and also all too real, but he did know that he wanted to be alone with Sam. He didn't want anyone else around right now.

"I'm not sure that's wise," Cas hedged, still holding out his hand but Dean had made up his mind.

With all the care that he could muster with two hundred pounds of dead weight, Dean lowered Sam down into the back seat of the Impala. Easing him in all the way, he took his time to try and arrange his limbs in a way that looked at least somewhat comfortable.

Not that it mattered.

Sam was dead.

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to fight off the fresh wave of tears as he smoothed Sam's hair tenderly out of his face again before patting Sam's chest and backing out.

"Dean, I really don't think that you should be driving. Please, let me," Cas said immediately when he reappeared, his face lined with concern.

Dean wasn't listening. "I'll meet you back at the motel," he said stiffly as he strode around Cas to the driver's side.

Cas opened his mouth to say something but then wisely didn't. Dean was ready to resort to violence to get this. He needed this. Needed to be alone with Sam in the Impala like it had always been. Needed this one last time.

Although it wouldn't be the last one. No, that would be when they found a suitable spot to build a funeral pyre. That would be their last ride together.

Dean's vision blurred and he hastily turned the engine over before guiding her blindly onto the road.

I'm trying, Sam. I'm trying, but I don't think I can do this, he thought as he rubbed a hand across his eyes. He glanced in the rearview mirror, seeking out his brother like he had done thousands of times before, but this time there was no answer or guidance to be found there.

#

Dean wasn't really aware of how he got from the funeral home back to the motel. It was probably good that it was so early in the morning and that very few cars were around because Dean's vision was blurred the whole way.

Mary was sitting on the curb, her coat wrapped around her and hunched inwards to avoid the rain. As Dean pulled in, he looked away from her, concentrating on maneuvering the car. How was he supposed to tell her that her son was dead? That Dean hadn't looked out for him and left her baby alone to die?

She stood as soon as the car came to a stop and began to cross over to the driver's side, her face tight. Dean's stomach turned over, and he knew what he had to do. Maybe. He needed to do what was right for Sam, which was to get him away from prying eyes. Mary didn't need to see him like this, all bloody and mangled.

Sam wouldn't want to be seen like this, right?

Cutting the engine off, he got out.

"Dean? Is everything alright? No one would answer my calls. Is Sam okay?" Mary asked in one breath, but Dean turned his back on her as he pulled open the back door and ducked in.

"Dean?" Mary pressed more sharply even as Dean stopped, the reality hitting him all over again as he gazed down at Sam's lifeless body. Sam was covered in blood, his skin grey and gouged open in certain spots.

He was dead.

Dean wasn't going to be able to get Sam over his shoulder again, not from this position. Levering Sam up, he wrapped one limp arm around his neck to help balance the additional weight and then tugged Sam up against his chest with his arm around his back. He began to ease him out, trying to be gentle.

Mary let out a gasp behind him, but he didn't—couldn't—focus on that.

Slipping his other arm underneath Sam's knees, he counted silently to three and then lifted him. Leaving the door of the Impala hanging open, Dean staggered towards the motel room. Mary just stood there, staring at them with horror as all the color drained from her face.

"Sam…" she whispered, before moving and reaching out as if to touch Sam's cheek, but Dean pushed past her, not caring that he was being rude. He reached the door and gestured pointedly at it with his head. Mary leaped forward, dug his wallet out of his jacket pocket, and pulled out the key card, opening the door for him.

Dean turned sideways and eased through, careful not to knock any part of Sam against the wood frame. Mary hurried in after him, letting the door fall shut.

"Dean, what happened?" she demanded hotly.

The bedroom door was already open, and Dean slid through it and then carelessly kicked it closed behind him, slamming it shut in Mary's face.

He wanted to be alone. Sam would only want him around for this next part.

Hugging Sam's limp body closer to him, he leaned back against the door for support as his knees threatened to give out.

He wanted Sam alive.

He wanted to bring him back.

Sam didn't want to be brought back.

Sucking in an unsteady gasp, Dean pushed off the door and carried Sam towards his bed.

"Dean?" Mary called through the door but Dean didn't answer. His arms were starting to burn from the strain of his brother's weight but there was no relief to be found as he lowered Sam's body onto the bed.

Sam's head lolled forward into what looked to be an uncomfortable and unnatural angle. Dean straightened it, laying his head back reverently into the pillows, and then stayed there, unable to tear himself away.

He studied his brother for a long time, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Dean couldn't go on without Sam.

He couldn't—but he had to.

Taking a shuddering breath, Dean closed his eyes and moved away. Each step felt like he was dragging weights behind him, but he made it to the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. He had to pause there and lean against the doorframe.

Sammy, please, I can't do this.

There was no answering reply, and Dean clenched at the doorframe until his fingers were white. He stopped trying not to cry and just let the tears flow as an ugly sound was torn from his throat. If it wasn't for the doorframe, he was fairly positive that he would have ended up on his knees.

He bent inwards, another keening sound breaking free before he managed to stop it. Gasping, he let go and staggered to the sink. Grabbing the nearby, small, plastic, trash can, Dean emptied it of what little trash they had collected and filled it with warm water instead. Grabbing all the washcloths from the rack, he stumbled back to the bed.

He'd never buried Sam before.

Most of the times that Sam had died there either hadn't been a body to take care of or he hadn't been dead long enough for it to matter. He'd cleaned Sam up the first time—when Jake had stabbed him in the back—but he hadn't prepared him for a funeral. Bobby had tried to talk him into it, but he hadn't been strong enough then. Dean wasn't so sure that he was strong enough now, but he'd also done a lot of growing since then, both of them had.

Dean knew what Sam wanted and knew that this time he had to respect his wishes, even if it tore Dean apart in every way to do so.

Blowing out an unsteady breath and sniffing through his tears, Dean laid the washcloths out next to Sam and set the water on the bedside table. "I—" The tears clogged up his voice and Dean blinked rapidly up at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists. "I'm listening this time, Sam, I swear. I'm going to take care of you. That's my job," he managed to get out, his voice rough.

Soaking the first washcloth, he wrung it out, and then took Sam's left hand and began to wipe the blood away from his fingers.

Dean's strokes slowed as he noticed the odd angle of Sam's arm. It had been broken, he discovered as he pulled Sam's sleeve up to further investigate.

Anger soared hot and bright through the grief and he clenched Sam's hand in his. He was going to find the son of a bitch that had done this, and he was going to make them pay in every way possible. Just as quickly as it had come, however, the anger was smothered by the overwhelming grief that was threatening to bring him to his knees.

He had to look after Sam before he could do anything. He was going to take care of him, and then he was going to raise hell and if he died trying, well, so be it.

Dean didn't know how long it took him to clean Sam up. He kept having to stop, the tears and grief a physical burden that weighed him down and paralyzed him but eventually it was done.

The water in the trashcan was more red than not, and the pile of now-used and similarly stained washcloths rested next ot it. On the nightstand, there was a plastic cup holding the glass shards that Dean had painstakingly pulled from Sam's back, arms, and hair. He'd also had to remove rags from the wounds on Sam's chest and shoulder from where his brother had tried to pack the gaping holes and stop the bleeding.

If only Dean had been there, then he wouldn't have had to do this. Then Sam wouldn't have died.

Sam now lay on the bed in fresh clothes and free of blood. His limbs—with the broken arm set back to as natural of a position as Dean had been able to—were arranged how Sam liked to sleep. If it wasn't for the coldness and grey color of his skin, Dean might have been able to convince himself that he was, in fact, just sleeping.

Rigor mortis had begun to set in, and until it passed, Dean wasn't going to be moving him. He had until then to figure out what he was going to do, and how on earth he was going to find the courage to give Sam what he wanted with a proper funeral.

Burying his face in his own blood-stained hands, Dean chewed his lower lip, trying to keep himself in control.

He would never forget Sam—Sam was too much a part of him for that to happen—but how long would it take before he needed pictures to remind himself of what Sam looked like? Or the way that his smile brought out his dimples when he was truly happy.

Dean scoffed, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Not only could he never forget his brother or those details, but he'd be dead before he even had the chance. He was living on borrowed time; it wouldn't be long before he grew careless on some random hunt or while chasing down the thing that had killed his brother and got himself killed without Sam there to watch his back.

Sam wanted him to go live that white-picket-fence life, he knew that, but he wasn't going to. Hunting was his life, for better or for worse, and settling down with Ben and Lisa had been a mistake he believed in hindsight. He'd almost ruined their lives, and he hadn't been all that happy either.

He was doing his damn best to respect Sam's wish to not be brought back, and that was all that Dean could offer. He wasn't even sure he could do that, not when Sam shouldn't have died. Not when he could call Rowena and ask for help. Or there was Michael, he could probably bring Sam back.

But at what price?

Dean wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, sniffing loudly. With everything that they knew, couldn't they find something…easy? Something that would bring Sam back without screwing anyone else over, something that wouldn't destroy Sam's faith in him again?

But Sam didn't want it.

Dean didn't know what he was going to do.

Biting off another sob instead, he reached out, grasping Sam's forearm. He wasn't going to do anything. Not until the rigor mortis faded and he could move Sam again. Not until someone broke down the door and told him that he had to.

Until then, he was going to remain right here with his brother where he belonged.

Chapter Text

The sun was trying to shine weakly through the curtains when there was a soft knock at the door. Dean ignored it. He didn't care what it was, it could wait. Or it couldn't, but Dean wasn't going to answer. He didn't care anymore.

He was drained.

Dean hadn't shed any more tears in the last hour, but that was probably due to a lack of tears rather than an actual desire to stop crying. His eyes still burned, and they felt puffy and irritated.

The knock sounded again, and still Dean ignored it.

After the third time, the door opened slowly, but Dean continued to stare at Sam, at the face that he knew so well. It closed with a soft catch, and then there were footsteps.

"Dean?"

It was Cas, his voice deep and worried. Dean didn't say anything.

"Dean?"

Cas was now standing next to him and they both gazed down at Sam's gray face.

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it again to cut off a sob as he blinked rapidly. He was wrong about the tears. There were still some. Pulling in a shuddering breath, he reached out a hand, letting it hover over Sam's right shoulder and chest area.

"I think this is what killed him," he said, his voice hoarse with disuse.

He could feel Cas looking at him but kept his eyes determinedly on his brother. Cas moved around them, coming to stand on the other side of the bed. Silently asking for permission, Cas waited for Dean's nod before easing back Sam's shirts.

Dean had painstakingly stitched his injuries, even if he hadn't bandaged them, and Cas winced as he took in the ugly wounds there.

Dean closed his eyes, unable to look at them. "He would have been bleeding pretty bad. The one in his shoulder probably nicked the artery. I mean, he was cut up and bleeding a lot in general, but those…I think those were the ones that killed him. He bled to death."

Cas smoothed Sam's shirt back into place, looking hesitantly over at Dean. "He's not in any pain now."

Dean shook his head, fighting against more tears. "I could have saved him," he managed to get out in a choked voice. "If we hadn't stopped at the bar, if we had gotten back here just a couple of hours earlier, he would have been fine. We could have gotten him to a hospital, and they would have stitched him up and given him all the transfusions that he needed. Or you could have healed him. He shouldn't have died, Cas. He shouldn't—this was preventable. I knew that he was alone. If I would have just stayed—"

A sound Dean couldn't stop, one that he didn't even really recognize, forced its way up through his throat. He leaned back, blinking hard and bringing a hand up to cover his mouth as his shoulders heaved.

Sam was dead.

Cas moved back around to stand next to him. "You didn't know. None of us did."

"I should have!" Dean couldn't meet Cas's eyes; he didn't want to see the truth and reprimand there or, worse, the forgiveness. "He's my brother, my little brother, why didn't—I should have known that he was in trouble. I should have known that he needed my help. I knew as soon as he didn't answer my text that something wasn't right but by then it didn't matter. If I had just tried to get in contact with him earlier, then I would have known. I should have been there. Sam needed me, and I wasn't there."

"You had no reason to believe that you needed to check in again. How could you have guessed that? Not when both of you believed tonight to be relatively safe and when you had called and checked in with him recently," Cas reasoned in far too practical of a tone for Dean.

"I just should have known! I should have felt it in my gut. Sam died, and I didn't—I didn't know. I was probably having a drink, maybe even flirting with that waitress or-or laughing with you guys. I should have felt his soul. He would have come and found me before the reaper took him away."

"You're not psychic, Dean, and as close as you and Sam were does not mean that you would have known or felt Sam there. It probably reassured him to see you happy one last time instead of mourning for him. This is not your fault," Cas said in that same, calm, and gentle voice—like he was trying to talk to a wounded animal—one that was starting to piss Dean off.

Cas could say anything that he wanted, but that didn't make it true. Dean should have checked in with Sam more often or, even better, he should have just stayed with Sam in the first place. He had let Sam convince him to leave him, Dean hadn't even really put up that much of a fight.

It was his damn fault, and there was no way around it.

It had no doubt been an agonizing death. Sam had suffered—alone—in the cold with no relief. Dean could have prevented that. There was no way that he was going to get around the truth of it.

"Sam wouldn't want you—"

"Don't you say that," Dean snarled, jerking his head around and finally meeting Cas's eyes. They were shining with tears of their own, but that didn't stop Dean. "If the next words out of your mouth are that Sam wouldn't want me to blame myself, then you can get the hell out of here."

Cas knew better than to say anything else and he held up his hands in a silent peace offering. Dean looked away again. Cas was no doubt working up to some great speech, one where he tried to tell Dean that Sam would want him to move on, that he wouldn't blame Dean.

Well, Cas could shove it where the sun didn't shine because Dean wasn't interested.

Sam was dead, and the blame rested squarely on his shoulders.

Cas hesitated, glancing back over at the body on the bed, before speaking. "Jack and Mary would like to see Sam. Can they come in?"

For some reason, the words surprised Dean and he looked up again sharply. "No."

"Dean—"

"Not yet."

"They loved him too, they—"

"No." Dean glowered at Cas as he stood and pointed at the door. "Get out. I want to be alone with Sam." He couldn't handle their grief, not on top of his own.

"I don't think that—"

"Get the hell out!" Dean gestured at the door again.

Cas shook his head sadly, his arms rising slightly in a helpless gesture, and then he turned to leave before swiveling back around. "There are some things that you need to hear, Dean. After you brought Sam back, Jack and I picked up Mary, and then we all went back to the funeral home to try and figure out what happened."

The sudden change of subject confused Dean, and he stared at Cas for a full second, trying to get his brain to wrap around the words, before dropping back into his chair lethargically. "Did Sam kill it?" he asked dully. He hadn't looked around for a second body. Hadn't really cared about that at the moment. Even now he was fighting to dredge up any real interest, not when Sam was right next to him, dead.

He knew that he should be livid, that he should want revenge. That would come as soon as they burned Sam's body.

And they would burn his body; give him a proper hunter's funeral and everything.

Dean had thought about that long and hard through the silent hours. He couldn't disappoint Sam again, not this time and not in that way, so Sam wasn't coming back.

"No, we didn't find a second body, but we did discover some things that you should probably hear," Cas tried again.

"So it's still alive?"

"Yes, but from what we can tell, injured. There was too much blood there for it to have been Sam's alone."

Dean glanced back over at Sam, at the dark, finger-shaped, bruises around his throat, at the cuts scattered across his body. "Okay," he said stiffly. "Tell me."

"Come back into the main room." Cas came back to stand next to him, his face earnest. "Mary and Jack want to help as well. You need their input."

Dean's stomach clenched and he shook his head. "I can't leave him," he half-whispered and was surprised by the raw pain there.

Cas looked intently into his eyes. "You never left him. Sam knew that. And he'll never leave you, you'll carry him with you for the rest of your days. Right here." He reached out, briefly pressing a hand over Dean's heart.

Dean's shoulders shook under another sob. He didn't want to have to carry Sam's memory with him for the rest of his days. He wanted Sam alive.

To his surprise, Cas wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in until the side of his head was pressed against Cas's chest. The move wasn't one that he would typically associate with the angel, but Dean didn't have the energy to push away or return the hug. He just sat there, crying. Cas let him remain there until his tears had dried up again and he was just sitting there listlessly, still staring at Sam's ashen face.

At last, Cas pulled back, his hand coming to rest on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, you've been in here for hours now. I promise you that Sam is going to be okay. Come back into the main room."

Sam was dead. Could he get any further from okay?

Cas took Dean's arm and pulled, trying to ease him onto his feet. Dean didn't resist, but he did balk at moving away from the bed. He gazed down at Sam's face, so still in death like he had never been in life, and felt sicker than he had a moment ago if that was possible.

Swallowing thickly, he wiped at his eyes with his arm and nodded at Cas. Cas nodded back at him in understanding and took the lead back out into the main room, Dean trailing listlessly behind him.

Pausing briefly to shut the door to the bedroom to keep Sam safe, Dean finally faced the others.

Mary was sitting on the couch, and it was clear that she had been crying. Jack was huddled in the corner, staring down at his feet with the same shell-shocked expression that he had been wearing back at the funeral home. Dean looked around at them and made an abrupt decision.

He wasn't going back to the bunker. Not with everyone else there, not with them all mourning Sam. That had been his and Sam's home, but it wouldn't be a home without Sam, and nothing there was important. Nothing, that was, except some of Sam's belongings. He wasn't about to let a stranger go through them and he needed to get the ones that Sam had treasured once he had the strength to.

After that, he was never stepping foot there again.

Not without Sam.

Mary stood as soon as they appeared and crossed over to Dean. "Hey," she said gently, reaching out to cup his face and Dean wanted to be comforted. He wanted to look into her eyes and see that everything was going to be alright, that they had something that they could pull out of the hat to save Sam, but there was just sadness.

Smiling weakly at him, she let him go and then reached behind her to grab a mug that was on the table and offered it to him. "You need to drink something," she said, but Dean shook his head.

Unless it was whiskey, he wasn't interested.

She continued to hold it out for a second before relenting and setting it back down.

"What did you want to tell me?" Dean asked, folding his arms across his chest as if that could ease the aching hole in his heart. Now that he was out here, he just wanted to be back beside Sam.

For a moment, they were silent as Mary and Cas exchanged a look that Dean didn't have the energy to decipher.

It was Cas who spoke next. "As I said before, we went back to the funeral home to see if we could figure out anything else about what killed Sam."

"Well?" Dean snapped after a pause as if they were waiting for him to applaud them for being damn hunters. "Cut to the chase, I don't—I can't sit here through nonsense."

Mary jumped in quickly. "Cas might have told you, but there was too much blood for it to have just been Sam's. In fact, I think that the majority of what was in the lobby was not his. It was whatever creature—or creatures—were there. It's possible that it was more than one that attacked Sam and, if so, they are going to be nursing their own dead and wounded."

It hadn't been a fair fight. Sam, outnumbered and alone, hadn't stood much of a chance. Dean chewed on his lower lip, fighting hard to keep the surging emotion at bay. If he had just been there…

"Unless," Cas piped up, "It was just one person or creature. It is also possible that whatever it is can't die by normal weapons. Like demons, or a vampire."

Then Sam had been screwed regardless.

"We do know that it's not human, though. Back in the garden, we did find this…." He gestured towards Mary as she pulled out a blood-stained napkin and peeled back the corners, revealing what looked like part of a fang. Dean took the napkin, examining the fang intently before shaking his head.

That didn't offer any clues, not really, except for the fact that whatever they were looking for had fangs. That didn't exactly narrow it down.

"Anything else?" Dean asked briskly, handing the napkin back.

"Yes," Cas said, returning to his phone and swiping to another picture. "Not too far from where I found Sam's body, there was this…"

There, drawn on the patio in blood, was an uneven protective circle. A protective circle that Dean knew instantly. It was Sam's preferred one, the one that he drew when they were up a creek without a paddle, one that he'd forced Dean to learn just because it might save a life.

And it had. It had saved their lives more than once, but when Dean had needed it most, it had failed.

"He must have—" Dean's voice cracked, and he cleared it roughly. "—must have already been hurt pretty bad or knew that he couldn't escape. He probably drew that to keep himself safe." To wait for me to come with help.

"You're probably right," Mary said, and Dean turned to look at her, "and I think that it did actually work. Otherwise, whatever it was probably would have taken off with his body. That is why it was there, after all."

Dean hadn't thought that he could feel any worse, but the thought of them taking off with Sam's body to go do only God knew what made his insides crawl. At least he had Sam's body with him. If there was a plus in this whole screwed-up situation, it was that.

Mary continued, "Cas didn't find Sam in that circle, so he must have tried to move eventually, maybe after it had left? Why it would leave, though, we aren't sure. The only thing we can think of is that Sam managed to scare it off somehow or it just grew bored. It is also a possibility that it can only function at certain times, like a werewolf. We just don't know. Regardless, it left. Sam must have been trying to get help before…" she trailed off, glancing at Cas, but she didn't say anything else. She didn't need to.

Before Sam had collapsed from massive blood loss. Before he died.

Cas gave Dean a look that he didn't care to interpret before he said, "They didn't leave empty-handed, however. The body that Sam was guarding is gone."

Dean didn't care about that, and he brushed it off before his mind caught hold of what that meant.

Sam had died trying to protect someone who was already dead. The stupid son of a bitch. Sam should have just let it go, he should have given them whatever they wanted, then he might have lived to hunt another day.

Clearing his throat roughly, Dean asked, "The funeral home—it has security cameras, right? That's why Sam was there. Did we get anything off of them?"

"No," Cas said, shaking his head. "We are guessing that after Sam drew the protective circle, and then, when they weren't able to reach him, they went upstairs and in a fit of frustration destroyed the surveillance equipment instead of just erasing them this time. Either that or they were looking for something else."

"So they got away with everything?"

"Not everything." Jack, who had been unusually quiet where he sat in the corner, raised his head. Dean looked over at him dully, waiting for him to continue. "They didn't get away with everything. I found Sam's phone upstairs in the office, I don't know if they wanted it or not, but they had stepped on it. I found it under the radiator."

Dean frowned. "His phone, but I thought…it wasn't on him? I thought that he had that on him."

Everyone went quiet and then Cas shook his head. "He didn't have it on him. Jack brought it to me."

It was Dean's turn to go quiet, and he looked away. Why hadn't Sam had his phone with him? He had been carrying that stupid thing around with him at all hours of the day, but when he really needed it, when one call could have saved his life, he hadn't had it.

He wanted to be angry, at Sam for not having his phone on him, for fighting a fight he couldn't win, but he couldn't be. Not at Sam. Not right now.

"Here." Dean looked up to see that Cas was digging in his pocket and pulling out Sam's phone. Dean took it, staring at the damaged screen. They went through phones faster than just about anyone he knew. So much so that they had finally broken down and gotten an insurance plan so that the phones could be replaced without hassle. This one was nothing special, yet Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to hurl it against the wall and smash it into pieces or treasure it. It was another bit of Sam, one more piece to tie him to his brother.

Dean pocketed it and then turned away. He didn't want to be here anymore, he only wanted to be with his brother.

"Wait, there is one more thing." Mary leaned forward, her expression grave, and Dean knew that he wasn't going to like whatever she was about to say. It was going to hurt, and he wasn't sure that he could take that on top of everything else. Cas was looking equally hesitant and grave as he swiped to another picture on his phone.

"Sam…Sam tried to leave behind a message. We think he was in shock or close to death when he attempted it because it doesn't make a lot of sense. Well, it doesn't make any sense, actually."

Dean's heart stuttered to a stop. No. Nope. He wasn't—he couldn't—he didn't want to know what Sam had been trying to tell him. It was going to hurt like hell, and if it was goodbye, if those were Sam's last words—Dean's eyes fluttered shut, but he also had to look. There was no way that he couldn't know what Sam's last words were.

One way or another, he had to know.

Cas was holding out his phone again when Dean opened his eyes, and Dean took it, his hands trembling more than he would have admitted to. There, scrawled almost unintelligibly with blood on the cement patio, were three or four words, only one of which was intelligible.

Dean….something that perhaps started with a D and wasn't very long, followed by a word that ended with what looked to be an A or maybe two A's, but it didn't make any sense.

There might have been another word, or at least an attempt at a word after that, but it was just a smear of blood. Sam had probably either passed ou, or it had been his final act.

He stared down at the picture, at his name written in Sam's blood. Had Sam known that death was waiting, that this would be his last chance to say something? That he was going to die alone? He'd probably known it in the end, had realized that Dean wasn't coming in time.

Dean couldn't look away from the message. It made him feel both sick but also somehow closer to Sam. This was Bobby all over again with the set of numbers that he'd written down as his dying act, only so much worse. He'd lost his father figure that time, and it had been beyond bad, but he'd had Sam, and that had helped more than Sam would probably ever understand. It had been the only thing keeping him from throwing in the towel and just driving off a cliff.

Now he didn't have Sam.

Swallowing back the tears that were threatening once again, Dean tried to hand the phone back but found that he couldn't. His fingers weren't releasing when he told them to.

"Dean…?" Mary asked tentatively, and Dean blinked once and then tore his eyes away from the phone, grateful for something else to focus on.

"Yeah?" His voice didn't sound like his own, and Dean cleared it before trying again.

Mary glanced at Cas, then at Jack, and then back to Dean again, looking unsure before her features hardened. "We still don't know what type of monster did this to Sam."

"I know."

"And we need to find it. To kill it." Anger was in her voice now, and Dean knew all too well the Winchester thirst for revenge when he heard it. Mary wanted to find the son of a bitch, and she wanted to kill it any way possible.

Mary chewed on her lower lip, still hesitant, before leaning forward, her hand clasped in front of her. "We don't know how to find it either. Sam probably scared it, and it won't resurface soon if it's smart. We may never find it if we don't act. The only thing that we know is that it is coming after the bodies of its victims." She paused significantly, and Dean stared at her blankly, not getting it.

"What?"

"The quickest and easiest way to locate and kill the bitch is to lure it out," Mary began again, her eyes locked on Dean's as she willed him to understand. Dean made a face, still not getting it, and then he did.

Rage raced through him so fast that he saw red and his head spun.

"No! Absolutely not! There is no way in hell that I'm using my brother as bait!" he snarled, his hands curling up into fists.

Mary stood, wiping her hands down her jeans before crossing her arms defensively. "I'm not—Look, using Sam's body as bait would be the quickest way to get this thing's attention. No harm would actually come to him. We know that the protective circle works. We could lay one around him and then spring the trap. He would never be touched."

Dean couldn't wrap his head around it. Using Sam's body as bait? It felt beyond disrespectful. It was a dishonor to his memory and his life. Sam was a seasoned hunter—had given his whole life over to the profession—but in many ways, Dean knew that he hated it. Maybe not so much in recent years, but as a kid—hell, even as an adult—there had been so many things that he had been forced into. Sam had been manipulated and used enough in his life, but Dean refused to do it to him now in death.

It took every ounce of self-control that Dean had not to grab Mary and start shaking her. Using Sam was bait as exactly what his father would have done—hell, he had done it before—and not for the first time Dean hated both of them for it. Hated them for thrusting them into this life to begin with.

"Bait—? You would suggest—" He was having trouble getting the words out, he was so angry. He took a step towards her, looming over her as he straightened to his full height. "I don't—do you—!" Dean twisted around and hurled Cas's phone as hard as he could against the wall.

It was better than hitting Mary, but it didn't help relieve any of the horrible, burning, weight that had settled over him. He had to do something to get rid of it, he had to, otherwise it was going to consume him whole.

"All Sam ever wanted was your love and time," he snapped, rounding on Mary again and taking another step towards her, forcing her to back up. "Ever since he was a kid, he wanted to know you. And he never had that chance because you made a deal with a demon and died. Then, when you came back, you avoided us. You avoided him in particular because you had screwed up his life and you knew it. You didn't talk to him, you didn't reach out. You left him out."

"Dean—"

"Do you know how much that hurt him? How much he tried to conceal that hurt from both of us because he didn't want to step on my happiness or our relationship? He was broken up for months when you disappeared into the other world, more so than I was! You should have treated him better, you shouldn't have been so selfish. You should have made more time for him. That was all that he ever wanted, he didn't want you to be perfect! He just—he wanted to be close to you, and now for you to try and use his body as bait?"

Dean knew that he had been selfish as well. He'd always kept Mary close to his heart, even when growing up, only allowing Sam small glimpses into who their mother had been, leaving Sam to mourn a woman he only knew through muted memories that weren't even his own and a few faded photographs.

So Sam had created his own mother. One that had been different from their dad. One who would have been horrified by the idea of hunting, who would have pulled Sam out of that life. One who valued school and book smarts over physical prowess. Someone who would have been proud of him for him and not measured him against Dean. Who would have understood him and loved him.

That had been a far cry from reality, but Sam had been mature enough not to hate her when she came back far too similar to their father. When she and Dean, despite their ups and downs, had a closer relationship than they did. When they were more similar than Sam and Mary were. When Sam had once again been the black sheep and the Winchester left out of the family dynamic. Dean hadn't done anything about it because he didn't know how, but if Mary had just reached out to him—this was her fault.

"Alright, Dean, stand down, it was just a suggestion," Mary said hurriedly, holding up a hand and bracing it against his chest to keep him away from her. Dean hadn't even realized until then that he'd backed her up into a corner. Dean snorted but didn't take a step back.

"I can't believe that you, his mother, would even suggest such a thing. That will happen over my dead body."

"Dean—" This time it was Cas who tried to step in, the reprimand clear in his voice as he grabbed hold of his arm, trying to pull him back. Dean rounded on him, and this time he didn't hesitate, shoving Cas roughly back with both hands.

Cas took it in stride, holding his hands out in front of him in a gesture for Dean to calm down. "I know that you are hurting, but—"

"Hurting?! Cas, you can't even—" And Dean just wanted the pain to stop but it was only growing, gnawing at his chest and digging into his heart. He shoved Cas again desperately. "I trusted you to look after him when I said yes to Michael. And I came back to see that Sam had worked himself to the bone. That he was exhausted and-and barely sleeping or eating."

"I did try to be there for Sam, as much as he would allow, but he didn't want help. Besides, how much success have you had in getting him to do those things when we did get you back?" Cas challenged calmly, and Dean didn't want calm. He wanted Cas to get angry, to fight back.

"Then why was Sam the one taking care of Nick?" Dean was yelling now, and someone in the opposite room banged against the wall to tell him to shut up, but Dean couldn't care less. This was something that had been bugging him for a while, ever since he'd gotten back to the bunker and realized that not only was Nick alive, but that Sam had been tasked as his caretaker.

Sam shouldn't have had to do that. Sam should never have had to stare into the face of his worst nightmare every single day. Only, when Dean had tried to tell Sam this, offering to take over in his stead, Sam had said that he had an easier time telling Lucifer apart from Nick than anyone else. It was probably true to some extent. Mary had spent a few bad days with Lucifer and, while Cas had been possessed by him as well, Lucifer had mostly left him alone. That was no reason for Sam to continue with the machoistic form of therapy, rather it meant that he should have never been in the same damn room as him.

Yet Sam was too good, too kind of a person. Heaven forbid that anyone else suffer, not when Sam was around, not when he could try to take it onto his own broad shoulders. Not even when it was killing him in turn.

"Sam shouldn't have had to do that," he snarled, and Cas made a face.

"I know that and I did try to help, Dean, you have to understand. We all did."

"Then you didn't try hard enough!" Dean shoved Cas again, and Cas still wasn't fighting him back. He wasn't even raising a finger in his own defense. "You all let him down and—"

An aborted sob from the corner cut Dean off, and he looked around, one finger out and thrust in Cas's face. Jack hadn't moved from where he was sitting in the corner, but now he had both hands pressed over his mouth and tears were streaming down his face.

He looked heartbroken.

Dean stared at him. Jack. Lucifer's son. The kid that Sam had taken under his wing from the very beginning despite that. Jack had loved Sam in a simple, uncomplicated, way in return. The rest of them…they'd all treated Sam badly. They'd each hurt him in their own ways, sometimes deeply, but Jack hadn't, not really.

Jack looked away at Dean's attention, fresh tears spilling onto his cheeks, and just like that the anger fled, leaving behind only the pain that was never going to leave.

He was never going to be whole again.

He was never getting Sam back.

Blinking back his own tears, Dean moved towards Jack, ignoring how Cas started towards him like he was going to stop him, and then grabbed Jack roughly and hugged him tightly.

Jack stiffened in his embrace, but he didn't pull away as the tears continued to course down his face. Dean closed his eyes and pulled Jack in tighter, hugging him hard and feeling more than a little off balance.

Sam would have been disappointed in his show of anger, but he also would have understood. He wouldn't have condemned or judged Dean for it, he would have just kept on loving him.

He missed him so much and Sam hadn't even been gone for twenty-four hours yet.

Cas bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of him and Mary shifted uncomfortably on her feet, glancing back towards the closed door that hid Sam from view. Dean's face crumpled even more, and he pulled Jack in tighter, as if that would help him stay upright.

It was Jack, to Dean's surprise, who was the first to break the hug. He smiled sadly up at Dean, his lower lip quivering.

"I—I want to find the thing that hurt Sam. I want them dead," he said, and Dean nodded even as he took a step back and wiped at his face.

He didn't look over at Mary or Cas. He probably shouldn't have said those things, but he couldn't find it in himself to apologize, not when there was truth to what he had said. Dean had always been good at throwing words around, but he had rarely been good at taking them back, and he didn't see a point in starting now.

"So, ah, we know the protective symbols work," he said gruffly instead. "We can draw them on the walls and windows, keep whatever it is out. Keep it away from Sam." The last part was said pointedly, but Dean didn't look over at his mother to see her expression.

He didn't give a damn if he had stepped on her feelings. He'd rather die himself than use Sam like that.

Cas nodded. "We can do that." He was looking at Dean like he expected something else, but Dean didn't have anything else to say. Cas, thank God, looked away and took over.

"Mary and I were talking. We think that the best place to start is back at the Hettinger Hospital. We need to know who was working the shifts when the other victims died. Again, we could be looking at a variety of people, it might not just be one. Did the hospital ever get back to you?"

It took Dean a second to realize that he was talking to him, and he blindly searched for his phone. He had a handful of missed calls, the most recent from Jody accompanied by a text from her demanding that him call her.

Was word out already?

Dean swallowed thickly and took a deep breath before he scrolled through the missed calls, looking for the Hettinger Hospital.

"They did try to call. I'm sure that means that the results are back in, otherwise they wouldn't have worried about it."

"Okay," Mary said, rubbing her hands together, her game face back on, and now it made Dean feel uneasy. If she was willing to use Sam as bait, what else was she willing to do? "Then how about we take a trip back to Hettinger? We can also call around to other hospitals while we drive, see if anybody was brought in with odd injuries."

Jack nodded in mute agreement, and then they all turned to look at Dean. He took a step back away from the group.

"No. You guys go. My place is with Sam," he said, and once again, Mary and Cas shared a significant look. Let them think that he was broken, or that he wasn't grieving or processing or whatever. It was probably true, he just didn't care. He wasn't going to leave Sam alone.

"If you're sure," Mary said slowly, and when Dean nodded, said, "We'll be there and back again before you know it."

"Doesn't matter."

"I'll stay as well," Jack said abruptly from where he was still standing next to Dean, and Cas's face softened dramatically. Dean didn't think too hard about that either, it wasn't worth it.

"Are you sure?" Cas asked him but Jack was already nodding, giving Dean a sideways look.

"Before we go, I would like to see Sam," Mary said even as she gathered up her jacket.

Dean flinched.

That was a perfectly reasonable request. She was Sam's mother, but she had just—He didn't want her anywhere near Sam right now, not after what she had just said. He opened his mouth to say as much but Cas caught his eye, nodding pointedly at Mary.

Dean made a face, the 'no' still on the tip of his tongue. "For Sam," Cas mouthed over Mary's shoulder, and Dean's guts clenched. Cas didn't get to pretend to know what Sam would have wanted…but in this case, he might be right. Sam had longed for that relationship with their mother, and who was Dean to deny it now?

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Dean nodded and crossed to the door, opening it. Mary slipped through.

Dean didn't allow the door to shut, however, and leaned against it to watch as Mary sat on the edge of the bed next to Sam's body. She took his hand gently and Dean had to look away.

Thus far he had been able to ignore the flask that was in his jacket pocket, even if he was itching for a drink, but now he didn't try and stop himself. Taking it out, he took a long swallow, relishing in the burn.

It wasn't long before Mary reemerged, her eyes redder than before. "Let's go," she said to Cas in a thick voice.

Cas nodded. "Be careful. Call us if you need anything," he said to Dean and Jack and then they were gone, the door closing behind them.

Jack was giving him long, sideways, looks, but Dean didn't bother to address it. Taking another swig from his flask, he moved back to the door that Mary had left open. Leaning heavily against the doorway, he stared in at Sam's body.

He should have been racing to be first in line to kill the son of a bitch, just like he had with Bobby's or Charlie's murderers, but he couldn't find the energy.

This wasn't just anyone. This was Sam. Sam was dead, and he couldn't help but feel like a large part of him had died with his brother.

He didn't care about revenge, not when it wasn't going to bring Sam back. He just wanted to stay with his brother, to soak in every last moment before he was forced to do the impossible and say goodbye.

#

Jack wiped his hands nervously down his jeans as he gave Dean another long, searching, look after the door closed behind Mary and Cas.

Dean wasn't even looking at him, a pained expression on his face as he gazed into the bedroom. That was alright with Jack. Dean scared him when he got like this, like when he had gone after Mary and Cas…but he had also hugged him. Jack hadn't been expecting that and he still wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He had never seen Dean looking so lost and alone before, not even when Michael had let him go.

Now everything was silent.

They stood there, Jack looking at Dean. If Sam had been here, he probably would have given Jack a comforting smile and then talked to Dean for him. How was he supposed to fill those shoes right now? Why did humans have to die so easily?

Jack looked down at his own hands, feeling the grief threatening to overwhelm him again and, also not for the first time, fear. Would this be what happened if he died? Would they care as they did for Sam? Jack shook the thought off. He couldn't think about that right now, not with more pressing matters on their hands.

His friend was dead, the first friend that he had ever had.

Jack's phone vibrated with an incoming text and, shooting a hesitant look over at Dean to make sure that he didn't disturb him, he pulled it out.

The text was from Cas.

Thank you for staying with Dean. You call us if you need anything at all or if Dean is about to do something that he shouldn't.

Jack took a steadier breath, looking over at Dean's rigid shoulders. He wouldn't be able to stop Dean if he decided to do something stupid, probably wouldn't even a speed bump, but at least Dean wasn't alone.

Sam would have wanted Jack to stay, even though Jack hadn't really wanted to. Sam would have wanted Dean to be taken care of, and if this is what it looked like then Jack was going to do it. He could do that for Sam.

Dean raised the flask to his lips again, still not paying Jack the slightest bit of attention and Jack leaned further into the couch, staring absently at the detailed wall about the hunt.

No one agreed on what they thought it was that had killed Sam. Cas and Mary couldn't even agree on how many there had been.

Jack, personally, felt like it was a ghoul—perhaps a ghoul gone rogue—but Sam hadn't thought so. At least he mentioned nothing about ghouls on the wall, and Sam did—had—an innate sense about hunting that often eluded Jack. Then again, he supposed that he hadn't been at this as long as Sam and Dean had, and experience paid off in the hunting world. Dean could probably explain Sam's thought process and why he didn't think that it was a ghoul, but Jack wasn't about to ask him about it. Not when Dean was screwing up his face again like he was trying not to cry as he continued to lean against the open doorway.

A thought struck him abruptly and he looked over at Dean, saying, "Should we—" before he fumbled to a stop, remembering that Dean wasn't to be spoken to unless absolutely necessary. Dean grunted, not looking over him but not flat-out rejecting him either. Jack took another deep breath, saying more slowly, "Shouldn't we start putting up the protective sigils, just in case?"

Dean raised the flask again, and Jack could see that his hand was shaking. "Probably," he finally said, his voice gruff and hoarse with loss. Still, he didn't make a move, and Jack took that as a sign that it was up to him to do it.

Digging a sharpie out of his bag, he shot a nervous glance at Dean, who still didn't try to stop him. Finding courage from that, Jack proceeded to mark all the entrances with the same protective sigils that Sam had used, consulting his phone and the pictures that Cas had texted over for reference. The whole time that Jack was working on the living room, he kept stealing glances at Dean and the room that lay beyond. At some point or another, he was going to have to go back into the bedroom and mark the window that was there.

He wasn't sure that Dean wanted him back there or how he would react when he tried.

He had clearly not wanted Mary back there—he'd been so tense while she was that Jack had sat down and refused to look up, refusing to even acknowledge it. Would he feel the same way about Jack? But Jack hadn't seen Sam, not since the funeral home, and when he had been covered in blood. Part of him was scared to go back there, part of him longed to.

Finally, when there was nothing else to mark, Jack took a deep breath and, with a glance over at Dean, slipped past him. Hurriedly marching towards the window, sharpie out so that Dean could clearly see his intentions, he began to draw the sigils there. Dean didn't stop him, although a palpable tension filled the air.

Jack was slower to move back to the living room once he was done as he took the opportunity to glance down at Sam. Sam's skin was an unnatural color, and his lips were blue.

He looked like Sam, but not Sam.

Fresh tears threatened in Jack's eyes and he looked quickly away, wishing that he hadn't looked at all. Why did people have to die?

After that he didn't know what to do and he returned to the couch.

Dean stood in the doorway for a long time, until he eventually moved back into the bedroom. He kept the door open this time, and Jack could see him sitting on the chair that had been pulled up next to the bed.

Jack wasn't sure that was an improvement. He was even less sure when he heard the murmur of his voice as he began to talk to Sam. Should he be stopping this? Reminding Dean that Sam was, in fact, dead? Or was it best to let him grieve like that?

Jack didn't know, and he didn't like the responsibility of feeling like he had to do something. How was he supposed to help Dean? He didn't even know how to help himself.

Curling inwards into a small ball on the couch, Jack stared into the bedroom, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

Nothing felt good anymore, and Jack just wanted it all to go back to the way that it had been before last night.

Why had he chosen to come on this stupid hunt anyway? They should have just gone back to the bunker after they finished with the rugaru. Then Dean might have been with Sam the night before. At the very least, Jack could have retreated to his room to mourn for Sam. He wouldn't have to worry about Dean doing something stupid, about keeping an eye on him.

Sniffing, Jack buried his nose in his arms, trying to keep his sobs muffled.

#

The body was calling to her.

She didn't know how to describe it any better than that. It was calling to her, and it wanted to be found.

This had happened with the other bodies, but she hadn't paid any attention to it then. She had always known right where they were. She had known that they would be removed from Hettinger County Hospital and end up at Aunt Enda's funeral home before she'd even killed them or watched them die.

She'd picked out her victims carefully, chosen them for those exact reasons.

After that, it hadn't been hard to figure out funeral times, especially once she'd gained access to the funeral home calendar. She'd also made a spare copy of the key to the funeral home one day while Aunt Enda had been on vacation, and she'd been watching her dogs. After that, it had just been a matter of learning how to briefly cut power to the cameras.

It had been easy.

This body was supposed to be easy as well, even if it hadn't been planned. No one was around to witness what she was about to do, she was just going to take it.

That hadn't exactly been what happened. Instead, he'd fought back and now her face throbbed endlessly even as new tissue and skin grew back. Her gum stung where the fang had been ripped out and her chest ached dully where she'd been stabbed repeatedly.

—And she was hungry. Hungrier than she had ever been before. After everything that her body had been through and all the healing it had been forced to do, she needed nourishment. The raw chicken and hamburger that she had been using to get by wasn't going to cut it anymore.

She needed fresh blood. Fresh meat. Her insides crawled pitifully in desperation, but she pushed the hunger back down.

She would eat, but first…first she needed that damn body and her needs were second to that.

The body hadn't left Centerville, that much she was certain of even if she didn't know how she knew that. So, after returning from taking care of the body that she had stolen from the funeral home, she wandered the streets in her truck. Sooner or later the body would let her know exactly where it was.

It wasn't natural, that feeling, or what she could do. No human should be able to do the things that she could but, then again, she wasn't completely human. Not anymore. Hadn't been for a while now, but that was alright. She was better. Stronger. More powerful.

The moment that the old and run-down motel came into view, she slammed on the brakes, her whole body buzzing. The body was in there, of that she was certain. After that, it didn't take long to find the right room. Room 117. She could feel it in her very soul, or perhaps deeper.

She parked her truck in the back alleyway and then went to the door, ready to break in and reclaim what was rightfully hers, before she paused.

Faint voices were coming through the door.

She could break down the door and kill anyone there—she could feast—but no. The man who had fought her last night had been different. He hadn't been scared of her like he should have been and had known things about her that she didn't even know. He had hurt her.

What if the people guarding the body were the same? The gnawing hunger increased in protest, but she shoved it aside. She was weaker than she had been before, and if they possessed the same skills, then she was wary of taking them all on, not until she'd eaten and regained her strength.

Making up her mind, she circled to the back of the motel, looking for a window that she might be able to sneak through. If they got in her way, she would kill them and feast on their flesh, but that was only if she had to.

She managed a small smirk despite the damaged skin around her mouth when she found a window in the back. It would be easy. She could break in, climb through, retrieve the body, and then leave.

Grabbing impatiently for the latch on the window to open it, she just managed to hold back a screech of pain as the tip of her fingers sizzled and burned. Yanking her hand back, she stared at it with disbelief.

The same symbols that had kept her from just taking the body back at the funeral home adorned the window.

She backed up a step, fear creeping in. What did they know about her that she didn't? She hesitated a moment, thinking about turning around and just leaving. But no. She couldn't. She couldn't leave it behind, it was still calling to her.

She had to have it. There would be no rest for her until then.

Her nose curled up in anticipation of pain, and she reached for the window again only to draw her hand back before she could touch it.

She didn't have to be stupid about this. She couldn't touch the window, but that didn't mean that other things couldn't.

Spotting a large chunk of rock a little way down the alley, she hurried over and picked it up. Hefting it in both hands, she dragged it back.

Without hesitating a moment longer, she launched the rock toward the window, destroying the symbols there and shattering the glass.

Chapter Text

Dean didn't move from Sam's side until his flask was empty.

Prying himself out of the chair, he dragged himself out into the main room and headed straight for the small fridge and the bottle of whiskey that he put in there when they'd first arrived. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

"Dean," Jack said in what might have been a mix of relief and fear as he unwound himself from the couch. He stood straight, staring at Dean with an earnest expression even as he twisted his hands together.

Dean nodded at him. It was the most that he could manage right then. Pulling out a bottle of whiskey, he unscrewed the top with unsteady hands and then closed his eyes as he took a long swallow.

It wasn't doing much to mask the pain in his chest but it did help with the shakiness.

"Have you heard anything from Mom or Cas?" he asked, before bringing the bottle to his lips once more. It had been hours, hadn't it? Shouldn't Jack have heard something?

Jack shook his head in the negative and Dean gestured with the bottle. "Call them. I wanna—" Dean stopped, his breath hitching. "I want to make sure that they're okay."

If that thing had been able to take down Sam then it would probably be able to do the same to Mom or Cas. They could be dead now as well.

Jack's eyes got comically wide as he made the same leap, and he fumbled for his phone. He called Cas, putting the phone on speaker so that Dean could hear as it began to ring.

"Jack?" Cas picked up almost immediately, and Jack smiled in relief, looking over at Dean.

"Dean and I were just checking in. We wanted to make sure that you were okay," he explained as Dean moved in closer, still clutching the bottle.

"We're fine. We are actually about to pull back into Centerville and we should be back to the motel in about fifteen or twenty minutes. We have news."

"Good or bad?" Dean asked, clenching the neck of the bottle tighter.

"Good. Or, at least the information is good. We know who the bitch is," Mary chimed in. "Not only did the tox scans return that all the victims were spiked with abnormally large amounts of insulin, but there was only one nurse on duty who attended to every single victim. Well, except one but even for that one, we have footage of her slipping into the patient's room before the victim died."

Jack leaned forward, trying to share an excited look with Dean, but Dean didn't have the desire to return it. That didn't change the fact that Sam was dead. Nothing was going to change that, not unless—but no.

Nothing was going to change it.

"That's good, though. Right? That means we know who killed Sam?" Jack asked for Dean.

"Yes. Her name is Scott, Hayley Scott. But there is more to this than that, don't forget. We may know who it is, but we still don't know what she is or if she is working alone. She is extremely dangerous, and she should be treated as such," Cas cautioned.

Dean snorted, rubbing wearily at his face. "I'm not letting Jack go off by himself, don't worry." The words felt flat, but Dean couldn't put any real emotion or energy into them. It just wasn't there.

"Jack's not the one I was worried about," Cas said dryly, and Dean made a face. He knew that he was the one they were all concerned about going off the deep end, but they didn't need to be concerned about that just yet.

Sam was still around to tether him and make him sane. Once they burned his body…well, then it might be a different story.

Cas continued, "But we know more than we did, so hopefully we can do some more research on her and that will lead us to an answer about what she is and how to kill her."

Research. It always led back to more research, didn't it? Sam would have been thrilled, but Dean didn't think that he had the mental capacity for that right now. Jack was looking at him, waiting for him to answer but Dean couldn't muster one. There wasn't anything to say.

"Good. That sounds good," Jack said awkwardly and Dean wished that he'd stop looking at him like he was a bomb that was about to go off. "We could also—"

Whatever it was that they could do, Dean never found out as the sound of shattering glass in the bedroom drowned out his words.

"Sam—" he breathed out as the bottle slipped from his fingers and crashed to the ground. Jack leaped up as well, following Dean as he bolted for the bedroom door.

They were seconds too slow.

The door slammed shut, allowing them only a brief glimpse of a woman in bloody scrubs. Dean tucked his shoulder in and hit the closed door forcefully in an attempt to break it down.

The wood buckled but held firm. The deadbolt latched with a soft snick, leaving Sam alone with who could only be Hayley Scott.

Dean hadn't thought that he couldn't feel worse than he had, but he had been wrong. He had been so wrong. Terror was coursing through his heart and into his veins, and he didn't think that he was even breathing.

She had Sam, she was going to take him, and then Dean would never get him back.

"Sam—!" Dean bellowed, thumping a hand hard against the door before backing up a step and attempting to kick it in. The door bent inwards but didn't fully give. Dean growled, low and lethal, before kicking it in with everything that he had.

The bitch wasn't getting Sam.

The latch gave way under the pressure, and Dean thrust his way in with a grunt.

"Stay back," he had the presence of mind to shout at Jack before he took in the scene before him.

Hayley was already halfway across the room and headed towards the shattered window with Sam's body draped over one shoulder.

"No!" Dean charged forward, diving at Hayley. He caught her hard around the waist and brought all three of them down to the ground. Hayley grunted as her head bounced off the wooden floor.

Sam didn't make a sound. He wouldn't be making any ever again.

Hayley snarled underneath him. Her face was mangled, no doubt Sam's work, and he might have been proud under any other circumstances. She thrust a hand towards Dean's chest, trying to push him off of her. If she had a better angle, she might have been able to do so but Dean just grabbed her hand and used it to roll both of them away from Sam.

"Jack, get Sam!" he yelled and, now that Sam was taken care of, he let the rage that had been simmering under the grief boil to the surface so hot and bright that it left him breathless.

She had killed Sam, she was the one who had robbed him of everything.

Finding himself on top, he wrapped both hands around her throat, determined to strangle her. She gasped and Dean squeezed harder, determined to suck the very life out of her. One of her hands smacked against the floor desperately, but Dean didn't let up.

She'd killed Sam.

Her other hand came up, and she slammed the heel of her palm into his chest with a force that no human should have. It loosened his hold and another one in quick succession sent him tumbling back to land on his ass.

Clambering upright, Dean changed tactics and lunged for the gun that he knew was under his pillow. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jack had hooked his hands underneath Sam's armpits and was starting to drag him back.

Sam was okay and as long as Sam was okay, then he would be fine.

Hayley had seen them as well and, ungracefully rolling onto her feet, she started towards Jack.

There was no way in hell that Dean was letting her get Sam.

Snapping his gun up, he fired off two shots in quick succession. He had hurried to get them off, and the first one hit Hayley's side while the other missed completely, burying itself into the wall.

Hayley spun around with a hiss, wobbling badly as she brought a hand up to the bloody hole in her scrubs. Dean took the second of inattention to slip between her and Sam and aimed the gun firmly at her chest. "Not another step, bitch."

She shook her head, a pained laugh leaving her. "Haven't any of you idiots learned that's not going to do anything?" she said, her mangled lip lifting in a snarl of disgust. Dean had thought as much, hell, even the others had said as much. If bullets had been able to kill her then Sam would have already put her six feet under, but he tightened his grip on the handle all the same.

"Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it's going to hurt like hell."

With a shriek and speed that she should not have had considering that he had just shot her, she tried to sprint around him, her eyes still locked on Sam's body. Dean barely managed to catch a handful of her hair as she went past, and he yanked hard, forcing her to stumble backward.

He did not expect her to spin around him with a pained shriek, leaving him with nothing more than a handful of hair. She darted past him almost quicker than he could follow Dean only just managed to snap out an arm, catching her around the waist. Using her momentum, he bodily forced her back, ramming her up against the wall hard enough that the one generic picture there fell off with a crash.

Rearing back, she smashed her head into his. Stars burst in front of his eyes, and then she was ripping herself from his grip. Grabbing two handfuls of his shirt, she spun him around and slammed him up against the wall in her place.

Pinning him there with one hand against his chest, she used her other hand to grab a fistful of his hair. Dragging his head roughly to the side, she exposed his neck. Dean gasped raggedly, trying to look over her shoulder and see if Sam was okay, if Jack had gotten him to safety.

Hayley hissed, increasing her weight against him, and he grunted. "Aren't you going to invite me out for dinner first?" he asked, his voice breathless, as he twisted, trying to dislodge her hold.

It didn't work, and Hayley laughed at his attempt. She rotated her head back, and then her jaw caved inwards, allowing a set of fangs to drop down. Or rather what was supposed to be a set, as one fang was intact, but the other one was only half there.

Dean choked out a laugh, furious pride, anger, and pain all swelling together. "Sam did that to you, didn't he?"

She let out a scream, her eyes dancing with anger, and Dean laughed again, although it turned into a strangled grunt when she twisted his head further to the side, making it harder to breathe.

Bending forward, she went to sink the intact fang into his jugular, and Dean braced himself for the worst. To his surprise, it was Hayley who jerked back, screaming in pain before she had even touched his throat.

Jack had come up behind her and driven a knife deep into her back.

Releasing Dean, she spun around and shoved Jack with both hands, sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Stop doing that!" she repeated furiously as she advanced on Jack with the knife still deeply embedded in her flesh. Jack scrambled back, his eyes wide with fear as he looked around desperately for another weapon.

Dean jumped forward. Wrapping one hand in her scrub top, the other found the handle of the knife and he yanked it out. Dragging her up against his chest, he brought the knife around and went to slice her throat open. Hayley thrust her elbow back and into his stomach, upsetting his aim, and the knife only sliced through the first layer of skin, creating a steady stream of blood but not doing any real damage. Reaching up, she grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard enough that Dean wasn't sure that the bone wasn't going to snap.

With a grunt, he was forced to drop the knife.

She snatched it from the air with lightning-fast reflexes and then, before Dean had the chance to move or come up with another plan of attack, she was twisting around to face him and burying the blade deep into his guts.

Dean gasped, the pain slicing through him like a hot poker. His hand came up, wrapping around hers. Behind them, Jack screamed something, his voice too shrill and terrified for Dean to be able to make out what he said.

Hayley dug the knife in deeper as she backed Dean up against the wall once again. Bracing him there, she twisted it viciously with a smirk before she ripped it sideways and out of his body. Warm blood instantly began to soak his shirt, and the burning pain intensified.

Dean stared at her in shock, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

She'd stabbed him. She'd just—Dean's vision blurred, his breath catching on a faint sound of pain. She was breathing hard, something akin to elation in wide eyes. She rotated her jaw again, allowing the fang to descend.

"No!" Jack yelled before he slammed into Hayley, shoving her aside and away from Dean. They hit the ground, and then Jack was springing upright and coming to stand protectively in front of Dean.

Dean slowly slid down the wall, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him. One hand was pressed against the gaping hole in his stomach even as he reached for Jack, trying to pull him away.

Jack stood his ground. He had at some point grabbed a gun, and he brought it up to pin on Hayley for all the good that it would do. Dean groaned breathlessly as he tipped over to lie on his side, vainly trying to keep his blood and guts where they belonged.

The gun wasn't going to work on her; all it had were normal bullets, and they clearly didn't work. They were screwed.

His gaze flitted away from the fight, seeking out his brother, just like he always had, just like he always would. Sam was still lying next to the door, his body a crumpled heap. If Hayley wanted him, then all she had to do was turn around, and he'd be right there. She could take him. There was nothing between her and him.F

Cold fear cut through the pain, and Dean tried to push himself up. Blood pumped out over his hand but he didn't care. Sam was in danger, he had to get to him.

He glanced back up, Hayley and Jack seemed to be in a silent stare-off, neither quite sure what the other was going to do. The gun wouldn't work against her, but it did cause pain, and that might be enough to get Hayley to leave Jack alone.

Hayley hesitated, her eyes on the gun. She glanced once at him, and at Jack and the gun, and then back at Sam.

Dean knew the decision that she was going to make before she did. They were nothing more than a nuisance to her—for all he knew, she wasn't interested in them because they weren't dead yet—and she wanted Sam's body.

That was what she had come for.

"No," Dean managed to ground out, trying to get to his feet, but his legs weren't working correctly, and they puddled back to the ground. His blood was hot and thick against his skin, but he couldn't be worried about that. Not when she was about to take Sam. "Jack—" he pleaded even as he got an arm underneath himself, trying to crawl forward for all the good it would do.

Jack backed up, forcing Dean to stay down and Dean swallowed a sob. Jack wasn't doing anything to save Sam, he was just standing in front of Dean, the gun still out and trained on Hayley.

Dean's vision was starting to blur, but he wasn't sure if it was from blood loss or tears. There was nothing that he could do but watch helplessly as she scooped Sam up, hefting him up and over her shoulder like he weighed nothing.

"No—Jack, stop—Sammy—" The words weren't coming out correctly, and Dean fisted a bloody hand in Jack's pants, pleading.

She had Sam, she had Sam, and now she was disappearing through the window, and Dean couldn't move. He couldn't do anything to stop it. It was like he was watching this horrible nightmare that was happening in slow motion, and he couldn't wake up.

Jack shakily lowered the gun as Hayley disappeared and turned, disentangling himself from Dean's weak grasp. Dean slumped back, both hands now pressed against the gaping hole in his stomach.

"Jack—Sam—"

Jack would get Sam, he would stop this…only Jack wasn't moving to follow Sam. He was grabbing one of the towels from the floor that Dean had been using to clean up Sam, he wasn't trying to stop Hayley, he wasn't going to follow them and get Sam back.

"No, no, no—" Dean tried to protest, trying to move again and to get up. "Jack, Sam—get Sam, you have to—" Dean's voice cut out with a grunt of pain. Jack dropped down next to him, blocking his line of vision.

"Jack! Go!"

"Hold still. You're bleeding really bad," Jack said, his voice wavering and his hands trembling. His face was white with fear.

"No!" Dean protested again, reaching up and grabbing a handful of Jack's shirt and attempting to shove him away, but his grip was alarmingly weak. Jack didn't even flinch. "Jack, get Sam. You have to get Sam."

"Hold on, just hold on. I'm—I'm going to get the bleeding stopped. I'm calling Cas, he'll help." Jack sounded increasingly terrified even as he tried to shove Dean's hands out of the way and get access to the wound. "This is going to hurt," he warned even as Dean looked away, blinking back tears.

Sam was gone.

Jack had just let him go. Dean had just let him go.

The flare of agony as Jack added pressure hardly even penetrated the haze of loss that Dean was wrapped in.

Sam was gone. Not only was he dead, but his body was being used for God only knew what, and now Dean had failed his brother in every possible way imaginable. Hayley had just waltzed in there and taken his body.

Jack rolled him further onto his back with blood-stained hands so that he could apply proper pressure and Dean stared up at the ceiling, trying to wrap his mind around just how badly they had screwed up.

The towel that Jack was using as a makeshift bandage was rapidly soaking through with his blood, and even if they did get the bleeding stopped Dean was sure that there was internal damage. There had to be with how she had ripped that knife out.

There was no chance of saving him, but there might be one for saving Sam. If Jack would just go after him, they might still stand a chance.

"If you don't go after Sam, I'm going to say no to my reaper and stay here to haunt you for the rest of your days," Dean managed to get out and wasn't sure that the desperation there truly conveyed how he felt, how serious he was. His voice was too soft, too slurred, and weak.

"Sam wouldn't want you to die too. Sam doesn't want this," Jack snapped, his voice threatening to break, and Dean rolled his head back, letting it thump against the carpet as frustration and fear rolled through.

What would Sam have wanted? Not that it mattered because Sam was dead, and he wasn't coming back this time to tell them what he would or wouldn't have wanted.

Dean went limp at the thought. Jack wasn't going to leave him to find Sam, and Dean wasn't going to be able to make him, no matter how hard he tried.

He'd failed Sam.

He hadn't even been able to give him a proper burial even though this time he had been going to do it. He really had been going to.

Jack increased the pressure, and Dean closed his eyes, groaning as the pain flared along with the pressure.

He was dying, he could feel it…but maybe that was alright, excusing the fact that Sam's body was now missing. An hour ago, he would have welcomed this fate with open arms.

He still might.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me? Don't go to sleep. You have to stay awake." Jack's voice sounded far away, but Dean didn't try to listen. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the end for both of them. He had hoped to go before Sam, or at the very least that they would have gone together, but this was about as close to that as he was going to get.

Maybe Hayley would come back for him just like she had come back for Sam and then he and Sam would have the same ending.

They would be together.

Blood loss was making everything fuzzy and distant.

Sam was already dead and was waiting for him wherever it was that the Winchester brothers were to end up after death, be it in hell, the empty, or heaven.

It wouldn't be that bad, right? To just let go and be with Sam?

Maybe Sam was here already, waiting to welcome Dean into death just like they did in the movies. He might see Sam again in just a few minutes.

Hope flared hot and bright in Dean's chest, and he didn't have the energy to try to fight, to try and stay. Not when he could be with Sam.

"Dean?"

Dean relaxed. He was going to see Sam in just a moment. He was going to open his eyes, and his little brother would be right there.

"Dean!"

Only the voice didn't sound right, it didn't sound like Sam. Dean was waiting for Sam. Sam was going to be there. In just a moment, he was going to see his brother again, and everything was going to be okay.

"Dean, don't do this—"

Other voices were calling his name now, and none of them were right. Dean kept his eyes closed, waiting for the warmth that would be Sam's soul coming for his, for his voice to call his name.

There was warmth, but it brought sharpening clarity rather than the blissful unawareness of death.

Dean slowly blinked his eyes open and found himself staring into Cas's pale face, his hand still pressed to his forehead. He looked shaken even as Dean gasped in a full breath. He sat bolt upright, almost knocking Cas back in the process.

He was still alive, and disappointment was burning sharp and bright in his gut. Not only was he alive, but Sam was now missing.

Sam's body was gone.

"Sam—" he croaked out. An arm went around his shoulder, and he flinched back to see Mary crouched there. Jack was kneeling next to Cas, his hands held away from his body and covered in blood.

Dean was covered in blood; he could feel it drying on his skin and still soaked into his shirt.

"Dean, how do you feel? Do you feel alright?" Cas asked, trying to duck down and get a good look at Dean's face but Dean shook his head.

"I'm fine. Sam—do we know where Sam is?"

Cas glanced sideways at Jack, the silent question on his face.

"She took him. She took Sam and ran, but Dean was bleeding, and-and I couldn't—" Jack broke himself off with a hiccup, his eyes red and shell-shocked.

"We can still catch her," Dean said, trying to shove himself back onto his feet, only to end up sitting in a puddle of his own blood as his legs gave out. Mary lurched forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay down, you lost a lot of blood."

"No, get me up," Dean snarled impatiently, trying to get his legs underneath him. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to stay down, Mary and Cas both grabbed an arm to help pull him to his feet. Dean tried to shake them off once he was standing but Cas pushed him down to sit on the bed. Mary sank down to sit next to him.

"What happened?" Cas asked even as Mary gripped Dean's arm hard, searching his face.

"I—" Dean was still reeling. Sam's body was gone.

"You dropped the call, and it sounded bad so we came back as fast as we could," Mary explained as she looked around. Grabbing one of the less-stained washcloths from the bedside table, she began to dab at the glossy blood on Dean's hands. "We were just in time to see someone in a white pickup tearing out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell."

Dean's insides lurched and he turned slowly, aiming a dark glare at her. "Then why didn't you chase after her? She has Sam."

"Because we didn't know for sure that she did, but we did know that you and Jack were in trouble. And we were right," Cas argued back, his voice firm. "You were bleeding out, Dean. Your stomach was ripped open and you would have died if I hadn't been here."

Dean let out a harsh laugh. "Do you think that I care?" He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but he didn't take it back. He pulled out of Mary's grasp, burying his face in them.

He didn't even have Sam's body.

He wasn't even going to be able to give him a proper funeral, one that he deserved. Was the universe determined to screw Sam over, to deny him even that basic respect? He laughed again in some vain attempt to keep the tears that were threatening at bay.

He had never buried Sam, and it didn't look like he was ever going to.

"Dean, I'm so sorry—" Jack began.

Dean didn't let him finish, saying bluntly, "Next time, when I tell you to do something, you do it, understand? I would have been fine, you should have gotten Sam to safety before trying to help me."

"There was so much blood, and she'd—"

"I don't care!" Dean yelled, raising his head and standing swiftly. "I really don't give a rat's ass—she has Sam!" Raking both hands through his hair, he turned in a circle. "Where's my gun? I need my gun. I need—"

Car keys. He needed the car keys because he might be able to track her down if he left right now. The chances of that were slim, she had too much of a head start, but each second that he wasted only decreased his chances of finding her.

"Sit down." Mary had stood as well and was gesturing back to the bed. She might have had a point, because the whole room was turning slowly, leaving Dean feeling dizzy and unsteady, but he couldn't.

"No." Dean shook his head as he staggered to the side. Grabbing the doorframe, he took a deep breath to steady himself. "We need to go. We—I need to find Sam."

"No." This time it was Cas who was shaking his head and moving to stand between Dean and the door. "Dean, you lost a lot of blood. I healed the wounds, but I can't fix the effects of blood loss. You need to sit down."

"I don't need that! You don't know what the hell I need!" Dean yelled harshly. None of them did. The one person who would have known what he needed was in the back of some pickup truck, dead.

"We all need to regroup and talk over our next move. We still don't know how to kill her, and she is not to be underestimated. She almost killed you and she did kill Sam," Mary insisted sharply. "I already lost one son, but I'm not ready to lose both of you."

That made Dean pause and then he let out a bark of laughter.

"You already have," he said, not trying to hide the catch in his voice as he shoved his way past Cas and out of the bedroom.

He was going to find Sam himself, with or without the others.

"Dean, they are already gone. They could be anywhere." Cas had followed him into the room. "I promise you that we will do our best to find Sam but there is no point in chasing after them right now, not without more information. Mary is right, we need to find out how to stop her before we go in. We need to be smart about this."

"What do we know about Hayley Scott?" Dean growled just as determinedly as he moved over to the table. Sam's laptop was still resting there, and he sat down hard into one of the plastic chairs.

He left bloody fingerprints behind as he opened Sam's laptop and typed in the password, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The screen flickered to life and Dean's heart gave a funny, painful little jolt when he opened it up and saw the webpage that Sam had been using last.

He was never going to finish reading what was there.

Minimizing it because he couldn't quite find it in himself to close it out, Dean pulled up the police database before turning expectantly to Mary and Cas. "Is Hayley spelled with two y's or one?"

Mary moved in, crouching next to him. "Dean, you need to eat and drink something to replace all the fluids that you just lost. And a shower. You really need to shower before you can go anywhere. You do that, and I swear that while you are, the rest of us will look into both tracking down Hayley and finding a way to stop her."

Dean blinked dumbly at her before shaking his head with a scoff. He wasn't going to eat or shower, not when time was ticking downwards of them finding Sam's body in one piece. For all he knew, Hayley was going to cut Sam up, use his organs for spell work, or even just eat him. She could have already pulled over and started.

"Is Hayley with one 'y' or two?" he repeated, his temper sparking.

"Shower and food first. While you do that, we will look into it, I swear. I'm not letting Sam go," Mary compromised, her eyes growing tight.

Dean laughed sarcastically. "You guys haven't done jack squat. All you've wanted to do is use Sam as bait, and then you let him actually get taken. So no, I'm doing this."

Hurt flashed through Mary's eyes, but she didn't budge. "I'm not going to apologize for saving you. Cas isn't, and neither is Jack. You were dying, Dean, you understand that right?"

Dean swore loudly before slapping the table. "SHE HAS HIS BODY!"

"I know," Mary said at the same time that Jack gave a quiet, terrified, whisper,

"Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean looked away. "Whatever. If you don't want to help then don't. I'll figure it out myself." He began to type, pretending that he didn't hear Cas say behind him,

"Jack, you don't have to apologize for anything. You did nothing wrong here."

Dean wasn't quite so sure that he agreed.

Jack could have saved Sam if he had left Dean behind to face Hayley when she had first shown up. He could have taken Sam's body and ran—and sure, then Hayley probably would have gone after them after killing Dean, but they didn't know that. She might have taken Dean in Sam's stead.

Dean would have been okay with that.

He'd had to leave Sam's body behind when the vampires had torn out his throat in that alternative universe and that had been beyond horrible. But this…they didn't even know what Hayley wanted with the bodies or what kind of state he was going to find his brother in.

Would he even recognize him? Or was he going to have to dig through a pile of bones that could be Sam's or could be any random Joe?

Mary was trying to get his attention again, but Dean turned her out.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Dean looked through the database that he had pulled up. He knew where Hayley worked and her name, and that would be enough to go off of for the moment.

The others must have received the message that he wasn't about to be budged on the matter because they backed off after several long moments of silence, although Mary did come by and set down a bag of chips from the vending machine and a bottle of Gatorade.

Jack went to scrub the blood from his arms as Mary and Cas exchanged a hurried, whispered, conversation over in the corner. Dean ignored them.

Within ten minutes, he had a home address along with the car registration for a white pickup that had been purchased less than two months ago. That would do. Writing down all the information on a piece of paper, Dean tucked it into his pocket.

Everyone froze when he got up but Dean just strode into the bedroom to strip out of his blood-soaked clothes. He tossed them uncaringly across the bed and then changed into clean ones. The blood was already dried and itchy across his skin, but Dean didn't have time to wash it off.

He just needed to pass as presentable, that was it.

Crossing back into the main room, he headed straight for the door but found his path blocked by Mary.

"Where are you going?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest and Dean fought the surge of annoyance that came with the question. He was a grown-ass man and he could do what he wanted. Besides, Mary hadn't lifted a finger to help so Dean wasn't going to start cluing her in now. "Dean—" Mary said, trying to keep his voice calm, "You have to know that we can't let you leave in your state. We will find Hayley, we just can't be stupid about this. And what you are about to do? It's stupid."

Dean's lips thinned, his back straightening. "You let Sam go," he repeated, trying to put every ounce of resentment that he was feeling in his voice.

"And we're going to help you get him back, but you can't go alone," Cas said determinedly, coming to stand beside Mary, and Dean's already short temper flared again.

"Why? Because that's what Sam would have wanted?" he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. He was sick of people telling him that. What did they know about what Sam would have wanted? None of them knew, not like Dean did. "Get out of the way, I don't need your help."

"Yes, you do. You are not thinking straight."

Dean laughed again. "Thinking straight? I'm thinking the clearest that I have in a long time." It was true. Michael's possession didn't matter. Michael's monsters didn't matter. The other hunters didn't matter. Nothing did except Sam.

"Dean—"

"Get the hell out of my way, or I'll make you."

Cas moved forward, blocking Dean's path. He was an old friend, and that was pretty much the only thing saving him from getting Dean's fist in his face, but that tolerance only stretched so far. Cas squared his shoulders, straightening to his full height.

"We want to find Sam just as much as you do, but we will have greater success if we work together. You are in no shape to face her alone and if we don't figure it out before we face her, then someone else is going to end up dead."

Dean shook his head. "Get out of the way. I'm not asking again."

"I am no mere human that you can push around to your every whim, and I can't in good conscience let you walk out that door," Cas said, puffing himself up in an effort to intimidate Dean. It wasn't working. Dean had never been impressed by that.

"What are you going to do?" he sneered, raising his eyebrows.

Cas shrugged. "Well, I can do this."

And then, before Dean could do anything but hurriedly back up a step to put some space between them, Cas was pressing his palm against Dean's forehead.

Everything went black, and Dean knew no more.

#

Cas caught Dean as he crumpled to the ground in a deep sleep. Mary moved forward to help, grabbing his legs so that they could carry him.

"Couch or bed?" she asked and Cas glanced at the small couch.

"Bed," he said after a moment of hesitation. Dean would never be comfortable on the couch.

Lifting together, they carried Dean past a stricken-looking Jack and into the room, depositing him on the less bloody of the beds. Mary grabbed the extra blanket from the closet and unfurled it over him, tucking it in before taking off his boots.

"How long is he going to be out?" she asked, and Cas shrugged.

"A few hours at the least. It could be longer, could be shorter. His body has been put under great strain recently and I'm not sure how he will respond."

Mary nodded, gently running a hand through Dean's hair before heaving a sigh. "At least he is resting. That is good."

Cas wasn't so sure.

"Dean will be less than thrilled when he wakes up," he warned, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched his friend sleep. To say that Dean would be angry would be an understatement.

"You did what was right," Mary insisted, giving Cas a sad little look. "If he left now then he was going to get himself killed."

Cas heaved a sigh and turned from the room. That was true, but he still wasn't sure that Dean would understand or agree.

Dean had been right about one thing. Time was of the essence to find Sam and, despite what Dean might have believed, Cas did want to find him. He didn't want Sam to have to endure whatever was waiting for him at the hands of Hayley.

He wanted to grant Sam peace in death that he had never been given during his life.

If Dean hadn't been dying then any single one of them would have tried to stop Hayley from taking him. They would have fought tooth and nail to get him back and they still would. They just had to be smart about this because Hayley was dangerous.

She had almost succeeded in killing two of the best hunters that this world had ever seen.

Mary was already headed back towards the main room. "Does anyone know Sam's password to get onto his computer?" she asked the room at large as she powered it back on, trying to ignore the blood stains on the keys and the lid.

Cas shook his head, but Jack nodded. "He showed me a few weeks ago, just in case I needed it. Let me just…"

It didn't take Jack long to get Sam's computer on. Dean hadn't shut anything down, and Hayley's main address was still up. Cas stared at it uneasily even as Mary jotted down the information for the pickup and then made a phone call to the local police department under the guise of the FBI to have an APB put out on the truck. He overheard her tell them that they were not to approach under any circumstances as the suspect was extremely dangerous, but to let them know if it was located.

At the very least, it might point them in the right direction. Right now they had no clue where she was headed. Cas would go, as soon as they knew where she was and he would do everything possible to save Sam but he wasn't risking anyone else. As much as it hurt, Sam was already dead and would remain dead if they found him or not.

Cas glanced back into the bedroom to where Dean was now sleeping and couldn't help but feel deep frustration.

Was what they were already going through not enough? Dean was in no state of mind to be dealing with yet another crisis. Dean was having a hard enough time just accepting that Sam was in fact dead, and now he was missing.

"What are we going to do if we do find Hayley? I don't think that she can die. I stabbed her in the back, and Dean shot her, but it didn't do anything," Jack said uneasily as Mary hung up.

"Everything dies," Mary cut in before Cas could. "We just have to find a way to kill it and to do that, we need to know what it is. I'll call Travis in just a moment and see if he can get everyone else to start doing research as well. They'll drop everything for Sam and with all of us working on it something has to pan out."

"So more research?" Jack looked dismayed and frustrated.

Mary nodded, sitting across from Jack on the couch and pulling out her phone. "We need to be prepared before we come face-to-face with her again."

Cas did agree with that, but he had another concern. "What are we going to do when Dean wakes up? He is going to want to immediately leave and track down Hayley, and you saw him earlier. Nothing short of brute force will stop him."

Mary heaved a sigh, making a long face. "Can't you just knock him out again until we know that we are ready?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I mean…I could, but Dean would never forgive me. He is already going to be angry that I did it once." Cas had put their friendship on the line by having done so. Mary had already so much as forfeited hers when she had brought using Sam up as bait, and perhaps even Jack had as well by choosing to save Dean over Sam.

Mary didn't understand Dean, or at least not the depths that he was willing to go to for Sam or how he grieved. When he got angry like this, when he was hurting this badly, he tended to lash out and no one was safe.

No one except maybe Sam. But even then, Dean tended to push his brother away or spew hurtful words even if he didn't cut ties directly. He never would have cut ties with Sam, and that was the difference. They, however, didn't stand a chance, not with it being Sam who was dead.

One wrong move or action and Dean would cut them out and never look back.

"But it would stop him from doing something he would later regret," Mary insisted.

Cas gave a dry chuckle. "You don't understand, Mary."

"What? You think I don't understand him at all? That I've never lost someone I care about?" A bitter note was creeping into her voice but Cas was coming off several very, very, long and horrible hours and he didn't have as much patience for this as he might have another time.

"That is exactly what I am saying. You have not been with Dean throughout the years like I have been. The last time that he lost someone close to him, it was you and me, and you did not witness what I am sure went down. I have seen him go through similar situations before, though, and you cannot understand a grieving Dean Winchester until you have seen it for yourself."

Mary bristled. "I am his mother!"

"And yet you have witnessed very little of his actual life and upbringing," Cas snapped.

"Cas is right," Jack said quietly, refusing to look up at either of them. "When I first met Dean, he told me—he said—he was scary," Jack broke off, shaking his head.

"But—" Mary once again tried to protest, and Cas shook his head in frustration. This conversation was getting them nowhere.

"Sam has some books in the trunk that might be helpful. I'll be back."

He strode out the door and just resisted the urge to slam it shut behind him. Mary didn't understand; she just didn't get it, and she was going to end up putting her foot in her mouth even more than she already had.

Opening the trunk of the Impala, Cas dug out the box that Sam kept books in and began to rummage through them, looking for what he didn't even really know. His motions slowed as his anger drained and he found himself looking more closely at the books, turning them over one by one.

Sam had a thirst for knowledge that Cas had seen in few others. Even when Dean would grow bored and wander off, Sam had frequently been willing to sit and discuss with him inane matters, asking endless questions and answering Cas's own patiently.

Cas had treasured those times.

Sam should not have died so young and if only he had known in life how much he would be missed…His friendship had meant more to Cas than he had ever told Sam outright, and now he never would.

Chewing on his lower lip, Cas looked away momentarily as he pulled himself together.

Choosing several old and battered books on various subjects that might prove useful, Cas lingered there for a moment, stilling his resolve before moving back towards the motel room.

He couldn't stay out here forever, and there was work that needed to be done.

#

Reality was slow to creep back in, and it left Dean feeling unusually calm and rested.

For a moment, he lay there, soaking in the warmth of the blanket that was covering him. For once, unconsciousness hadn't brought pain but rather healing, and that could only mean—

And then Dean stopped, his world shattering as his heart sank.

That only happened when Cas knocked him out, and Cas had only put him to sleep because Sam…Sam was dead.

He had forgotten, for a few blissful moments, he had forgotten everything.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the burn there and struggling to gain control over his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to roll over and pull the blankets over him and cry until he had no tears left or drink until he couldn't remember anything at all.

But he couldn't do that because not only was Sam dead, but his body had been stolen.

Forcing his eyes open, Dean sat up, shoving the blanket that had been laid over him off. He was in the bedroom, and the broken door was mostly closed, probably in some attempt to offer him privacy.

Cas had knocked him out. Had kept him from getting to Sam.

The betrayal hurt more than Dean had thought it could. Everyone had turned against him now, there was no one on his side. Worse, there was no one on Sam's side.

Easing off the bed, Dean looked around for his boots, which someone had removed. Hastily shoving his feet in and lacing them up, Dean stood. His jacket was right there, and it would have his phone and the car keys in the pocket. Everything else that he needed could be found in Impala.

Creeping forward, Dean glanced through the door and could see Mary, Jack, and Cas all bent over the table, which was overflowing with books and various electronic devices.

They wouldn't let him leave, they had already proven that, and they weren't willing to go after Hayley either, not until they knew more. Dean couldn't just sit there researching to keep himself safe, not when Sam was in danger. It had already been too long. Sam could be—no. He had to believe that he would find Sam in one piece.

Looking around, Dean hesitated before crossing over to the still-broken window. Easing his way through the broken shards as carefully as he could more to not make any noise than because he cared if he got cut, Dean dropped down onto the ground.

The Impala, his ever-faithful girl, was waiting for him in the parking lot, and Dean sank into the seats, his hand ghosting over the dashboard and then the wheel. Even when everyone else turned on him, she wouldn't.

She would understand when she went into storage.

Patting the dash and taking a deep breath to steady himself, Dean turned the key over and the engine rumbled to life. Before Cas or anyone else could come dashing out to stop him, he backed her up and then took off down the main road without looking in the rearview mirror. He wasn't too surprised when a moment later his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

He ignored it, as well as the subsequent phone calls that followed before he eventually just turned his phone off. They weren't about to stop him now, not when they had already cost him too much time. He was going to Hettinger and to Hayley's apartment.

She had to return there eventually. She might even be there with Sam right now. At the very least, it was a starting point.

What he was going to do once he got there was still up in the air, but he would figure it out. The drive to Hettinger was a couple of hours long, and that was plenty of time to come up with a plan. Even if he didn't, he'd wing it. Not that that had worked out so well for him before, but it didn't matter.

The only thing that Dean cared about was tracking down Hayley and getting his brother back, no matter the cost to himself.

Chapter Text

The sound of the Impala roaring to life had Mary's head jerking up from the book that she was pouring over.

Cas, who had been studying the pictures and clippings on the wall with a thoughtful look on his face, whirled around and they made brief, horrified, eye contact before they both dashed for the door.

Mary beat Cas there and wrenched it open.

"Dean!" she yelled, but they were too late. The Impala was already pulling out of the parking lot and speeding down the road. It was the second time in as many days that Mary had been left behind as the Impala disappeared, and her stomach sank. Last time, Dean had come back to tell her that her son was dead and that she had never been a good enough mother.

She shook her head, her hands on her hips. "Damnit."

Next to her, Cas was already pulling out his phone as he presumably tried to call Dean. His lips thinned with worry and he shook his head. "He's not going to pick up," he said even as he redialed and turned back around, heading for the motel room. Mary glanced back at the road and felt her stomach tighten with anxiety.

Dean shouldn't be on his own right now. She'd already lost John and Sam, she couldn't lose Dean now either.

"Mary!" Cas called from the door, which he was holding open for her and she turned, hurrying back inside. Cas let the door slam shut behind them and then he was moving around the room in a flurry, gathering up his belongings.

"Is Dean gone?" Jack asked from where he was now standing next to the couch, his finger in a book to hold his place.

"Yes, and I'm going after him," Cas said stiffly. "But you keep reading, Jack. That is the most important thing that you can do right now."

Jack nodded and sank down, obediently cracking open the book.

Mary pursed her lips as she began to gather up the assortment of weapons that had made it into the room. If Cas thought that she was going to let him go after her son by himself then he had thought wrong.

All was silent for a moment and then Cas stopped, shaking his head in exasperation.

"I can't believe that you closed that door. We were supposed to be watching Dean," he snapped at her, which Mary thought was more than a little unfair.

"I was trying to give him a little privacy. He was calling out in his sleep for Sam. Besides, I didn't see you getting up to open it. You could have done that at any time," she said coldly as she moved to grab anything that Dean might need and stuffed it in his duffle with more frustration than maybe was warranted.

One of Mary's sons was dead, the other was hell-bent on getting himself killed, and it was all just—there was a Goddess who could bring her back after being dead for over thirty years, but no one was even talking about bringing back Sam—her baby boy. And even if they couldn't do that, then no one seemed invested in getting revenge like they should be. Even Dean, to her continuing confusion, hadn't been interested in hunting down the bitch with a vengeance until Sam's body had been stolen. Before that Dean had just…stopped.

Mary couldn't help but feel justified about her earlier plan now that everything had gone to the dogs. Setting a trap with Sam as the bait would have ensured that they had been in control when that thing inevitably came for him. She had been thinking about Sam when she'd suggested that, she had never wanted to hurt him.

Not then, and not in the last couple of years either. Dean had always just seemed a little less sure of her than Sam had, and she understood Dean better, had memories of four years of getting to love her little boy before everything had been ripped away from her.

She hadn't intended to hurt Sam but if Dean was to be believed then she had—deeply. She didn't know what to do with that knowledge and she shoved it aside. The time would come to dwell on it, but at the moment they had to find Dean before he got himself killed.

"At least we have a good indicator of where he is going," Cas said as he shook his head in exasperation and now Mary could hear the bitterness and self-reprimand in his voice but that didn't take back the sting of his earlier words.

"Oh, you don't say, do you?" Mary fought the urge to roll her eyes. She glanced over at Jack, but his shoulders were hunched, and he was clearly uncomfortable with the tension in the air.

Mary blew out a sigh and made a decision. She was done sitting on her ass, but they couldn't leave Jack alone. She couldn't handle another death and he was still so inexperienced and young.

"Jack, c'mon, you're coming with. We have to find Dean," she said, gesturing for him to get up.

Jack looked up in surprise but snapped his book shut all the same and made to stand but Cas was already shaking his head and motioning for him to sit back down. Jack's eyes darted between them apprehensively and Mary straightened to her full height, aiming a hot glare at Cas.

The angel didn't seem intimidated as he squared his shoulders, his face set in a hard line.

"We can't—"

Cas interrupted her before she could say anything else. "Mary, you and Jack need to research Hayley, to find out what she is and what they do with the bodies. I will go after Dean. It will be best if it's me."

Mary didn't have the patience for this right now nor for Cas's continued assertions that he knew better than she did. "Excuse me?" she snapped. "Why you? What makes you so special that you get to help Dean or get to see Sam—I had to fight to even see my son's body and in what kind of world is that right? Why are you shunting me to the side like this?"

Cas's lips thinned. "I'm not trying to do that. I'm trying to protect both of you. No, Mary—" he cut her off again with a raised hand when she tried to open her mouth. "Listen to me, the best thing that you can do for Dean right now is to not be there to witness what he is about to do."

"I know what he's going to do when he catches that thing and I don't give a damn about him torturing the girl! You said earlier that I didn't understand Dean because I've never seen him grieve. Well, then let me. I can handle it!" Mary shouted and Jack flinched.

"I know. I know that you can, but he can't. Dean will hate himself for letting you see him like that once he comes to his senses. It is not something that he has ever been proud of." Cas shifted, holding out his hands pleadingly. "Please, Mary, I'm not saying any of this lightly, I am begging you. Dean will turn away from you for shame if you see what he is about to do, the depths that he is willing to go. Dean's relationship with all of us is already hanging by a thread and we cannot let that happen. If it does, then he will be just as lost to us as Sam is."

Mary looked away, fuming silently before saying through gritted teeth. "So what do you want me to do, then? Just sit here like some useless civilian while you go after Dean? He's my son," she alliterated like it would make any difference.

"Yes! We need to know what she is and why she is taking bodies. Sam and Dean need you here, they need you doing research. We need more information before we can take any further action, before we will be able to help either of them."

"Jack's doing research," Mary persisted, pointing behind her and at him. "I can come with you."

"You have been a hunter for years and have more experience than either of us do with the supernatural. Help Jack figure this out while I retrieve Dean. It will be in everyone's best interest for you to do so."

Mary's lips thinned and they stared at each other for a long minute.

It was Cas who broke the silence as he took a step forward and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "Mary, I am only saying this because I know how much you mean to them both. I have been through many things with your sons. As a result, they have seen me at my best, but they have all too often seen me at my worst. I have seen the same in them. You haven't, and you were held on a pedestal for years by them. It will crush Dean to have you see him like this."

Mary chewed on her lower lip before shaking her head and compromising stiffly, "How about we all just go to Hettinger, and then we can decide what to do once we are there. We don't need to be in Centerville, we are just wasting time by making the trip back and forth."

Cas accepted the compromise with a nod. "I can agree that we are wasting time here."

On the couch, Jack's shoulders relaxed noticeably as they reached an agreement. Mary turned away to finish gathering up Dean's belongings while Cas found Sam's duffle and began to do the same.

Sam hadn't really unpacked and neither had Dean. Jack hadn't even pulled his duffle out of the car and he continued to sit on the couch, reading intently while Mary and Cas worked quickly and efficiently.

Once they were finished, Cas held out his hand for Dean's duffle. Mary shook her head and, holding onto it firmly, headed for the door. Opening it, she glanced back at Jack, who still hadn't moved.

"Jack, c'mon. We're ready to go,"

Jack didn't look up. He was leaning forward, his eyes flying across the page, and an air of excitement surrounded him. Both Cas and Mary shared a look, and then Cas turned back to him.

"Jack, we have to go," he said more gently.

"Wait—" Jack said firmly, surprising Mary.

"Wait?" Cas echoed with a confused look and he and Mary shared another glance before moving together towards Jack.

Jack stood, moving to meet them and jabbing a finger down excitedly at a passage of the old book. Mary had glanced briefly at the book before giving it to Jack. It was some sort of encyclopedia or compilation of different monsters from around the world.

He pushed the book towards them and Mary looked down.

There, next to the title of the paragraph, was a rough sketch of a monster.

Its head was pulled back, and a pair of fangs hung down from a wide jaw. Mary's stomach turned for no good reason even as Jack tapped the book again.

"This. This might be what killed Sam. She did that when she attacked Dean, and the book says that they take bodies and-and what Sam wrote down? On the cement? It could have been that, don't you think?" he began breathlessly, jabbing at the title.

Mary leaned in closer, looking at the title even as her heart began to beat faster.

The Du'a jiraataa

The paragraph on it was depressingly small. She looked up at Cas seriously. This changed everything, even if she didn't want it to. "Now that we know what it could be then we will have a much easier time figuring out how to kill it and what it does with the bodies. You—" She couldn't quite bring herself to tell him that he was right. "We need to do more research."

Cas seemed to have no problem about saying it, probably because it aligned with his plans. "You're right. As I said earlier, you will be able to do this faster and easier than I or Jack can."

"I know," she said bitterly, "But we all go to Hettinger. We'll set up base there and you'll…you'll find Dean while Jack and I finish this."

"Agreed." Cas gave her a small smile but Mary wasn't interested in it as her stomach curled with disquiet. One day, maybe, she would be the mother that she wanted to be, but it didn't look like today would be that day.

"We need to leave," she said in what she hoped was a voice that didn't give away her rising emotions and gestured blindly toward the door. Cas nodded, giving her a sympathetic look. Jack clutched the book to his chest, holding it like it was something precious, and together they left the blood-splattered and now empty room behind.

#

By the time Dean reached Hettinger and found Hayley's apartment, he had formed a tentative plan.

It wasn't necessarily a complicated one or maybe even very good. Hell, he could almost hear Sam's voice in his head telling him that this was the dumbest thing that Dean had come up with in a long list of dumb things to choose from, but thinking about Sam hurt so he pushed it aside.

Normal weapons may not be able to kill Hayley, but they did hurt her, and he was hoping that the same theory was true for drugs. They had sedatives in the trunk, and surely even whatever Hayley was could be stopped by those, even if they might not keep her down for long.

He just needed a couple of minutes so that he could restrain her. He wasn't planning on killing her. Not yet. Not until she told him what had happened to Sam and where he was. Even when she did, her death would neither be quick nor merciful. Dean had full intentions of making her beg before the end.

Hayley's little white pickup wasn't anywhere in the apartment parking lot, and Dean scowled, thumping a fist against the dash in frustration. He had half been hoping that she was already back because that would have meant that Sam was here as well.

If she wasn't back by now, it more than likely meant that she had taken him elsewhere and that this wasn't going to be a quick rescue. She could already be doing only God knew what to his body.

All the alcohol that he had drunk earlier was threatening to make a reappearance as the full magnitude hit him all over again. He hadn't even been able to keep his little brother safe in death, what kind of protector was he to let this happen?

Dean didn't know where else to go to find Hayley so he finally parked the Impala around back and close to an exit. She was going to have to come back eventually, even if it was just to change clothes as the ones that she had been wearing were bloody rags now. When that happened, Dean would spring his trap.

It was the only plan that he had.

Opening up the trunk, Dean chose his supplies carefully. He was only taking the sedatives, some rope, one gun, and a piece of chalk up into the apartment, but he gathered up anything that might be useful in torturing someone and dumped it all in the back seat. Hayley would go in the trunk once he had her, and it would be far more intimidating to have everything at the ready than if he had to get her out and then go rummaging through the trunk like an idiot.

Torture was more of a mind game than not.

Going to the back door of the apartment complex, Dean crouched down and picked the lock easily before slipping in. It was run-down, and the stairwells had plastic bags and other trash in the corners and smelled musty. Taking the stairs two at a time, he located Hayley's apartment on the third floor and then bent closer, one ear pressed against the door, listening.

No sounds of movement came from within, and, with another cautious look around, Dean bent down to pick the lock. It only took him a few moments, and then he was easing into Hayley's studio apartment and letting the door close behind him.

The stench of rotten meat hit him hard and Dean recoiled, gagging. Bringing his t-shirt up to cover his nose, he flicked on his flashlight and shone it around the dark room.

The apartment was filthy.

Trash lined the floors and counters. Stacked on the table were several empty foam packages of what had once been raw chicken and hamburger. Flies buzzed around them, and the trash can was overflowing with similar packages.

He had been in the business long enough to know when madness—maybe monster was the better word—took hold. Hayley Scott had probably once been a nice girl, but either something genetic had snapped or a monster had gotten to her. Now, she was little more than whatever creature she had become.

Grimacing, Dean kept his t-shirt pulled up, trying to breathe through his nose as he moved past the kitchen. The bathroom was even worse, and Dean just ducked his head in before pulling back out. The bedroom, on the other hand, didn't look like it had been touched or slept in for several days.

Yet another sign of something being deeply wrong with Hayley Scott.

Assured that the studio was indeed empty, Dean returned to the kitchen. He had half been afraid that he was going to find jars of eyeballs or toes or something equally as horrible, just like the Benders all those years ago.

Whatever Hayley was doing with the bodies, she wasn't bringing them back to her apartment and dicing them up to go into dinner. Dean wasn't sure if that was actually comforting or not.

Pulling out the piece of chalk, he began to draw protective sigils on every single surface that he could find, paying particularly close attention to any sort of entrance or exit. Hayley had proved that she could get around them, but it would slow her down if she tried to escape.

He left only the front door unmarked so that Hayley would be able to walk right into his trap.

Finished with the sigils, Dean flicked off his flashlight and settled into the corner behind the door to wait.

He didn't move a muscle, not even as the clock on the oven steadily ticked on and the minutes dragged into hours. Dean was prepared to wait all day and all night if that was what it took. Nothing except a better location on Hayley was going to get him to move now.

It was almost three hours later when someone inserted a key into the lock.

Dean stiffened, his hand clamping around the needle in his pocket. She was going to pay for what she had done in blood and tears.

Hayley opened the door, momentarily blocking Dean's view of her. Letting it fall shut, she shuffled into the room with a heavy sigh as she massaged the back of her neck. Toeing off her muddy shoes, she moved towards the fridge. She didn't turn on the light and Dean bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to attack and take her by surprise.

He wanted her afraid. He wanted her terrified.

She opened up the fridge, sending a shaft of light into the otherwise dark room, and Dean crept forward, his eyes never leaving the back of her head.

Pulling out a package of raw chicken, Hayley threw it onto the counter next to the fridge and ripped it open with her bare hands. Taking out what looked to be a drumstick, she held it up.

Rolling her head back, she let her jaw stretch, deforming into the fangs, and then dropped the chicken in whole. Dean grimaced, his stomach tightening and his first thought was 'Sam is never going to believe this when I tell him' before he remembered that he wouldn't be telling Sam anything.

And it was because of her.

She smacked her lips loudly and then reached for a second piece. Dangling it over her mouth once more, she dropped it in.

As she was swallowing, Dean attacked.

Lunging forward, he wrapped an arm around her throat and yanked her head back. She let out what might have been a scream if her mouth hadn't been full of chicken and began to thrash.

Coughing and retching, she grabbed his arm, trying to yank it out of its socket but Dean just increased pressure on her throat. Pulling the syringe out of his pocket, he jammed the needle harshly into the side of her neck and dispersed its contents.

Hayley was still gagging even as she writhed, slamming her elbow into Dean's chest. Grunting, his grip loosened just enough for Hayley to be able to worm herself free. Throwing herself forward, she retched the chicken up as she tried to cough and breathe all at the same time.

Dean backed up, his breath coming in sharp and fast as he waited to see if the sedative would work.

Hayley retched one last time before wheeling around. Her eyes widened when she saw that it was Dean standing in front of her.

"You—but I—I stabbed you!" she rasped out even as she pushed away from the counter.

"Sucks, doesn't it? When someone just damn refuses to die?" Dean held his ground even when it looked like she might advance on him. Any second now, the sedative should start working…

"Doesn't matter. I can…" she paused, the smirk on her face disappearing as a frown took its place. She blinked heavily and staggered when she tried to take a step forward. One of her hands went up to the pinprick where the needle had pierced her skin and she looked up at him with horror.

"What did you do to me?" she wheezed even as her legs stopped supporting her weight and she went down onto her knees.

"Bitch, you shouldn't have laid a finger on my brother."

Groaning out a hiss, she tried to push herself upright before her muscles stopped working completely and she fell limply forward, completely unconscious.

Dean held his breath, waiting for her to pop back up. Nothing happened, and he kicked her in the ribs. She didn't stir and Dean kicked her harder for good measure. She didn't even twitch and he dropped into a crouch, reaching for the bundle of rope.

The victory felt hollow with no one to celebrate with or to tell that, however invincible this creature might have appeared, it was still affected by drugs. Sam would have been thrilled to know that. He always got excited about the stupidest things.

Dean's eyes were burning again.

Clearing his throat roughly, he rolled Hayley's limp body over and stared at her for a moment. She had taken everything from him.

Everything.

He had to fight the urge to pull out his gun and empty the clip into her chest. He wanted the bitch dead…but he wanted Sam's body more. After he had Sam, he could do whatever he wanted to her.

Unwinding the rope, he began to bind her hands and feet tight enough that he was probably cutting off circulation. He didn't care, quite frankly, and wanted her to be in pain.

Carelessly rolling her back over, he stuffed a gag into her mouth and tied it off.

Hayley groaned thickly, her head lolling to the side, and Dean paused, eyebrows raised. So, sedatives did work but whatever healing substance or property that she had minimized its effect because she should have been out for an hour at least, not ten minutes.

That was fine, he'd guessed that would be the case and they had more than enough sedatives in the Impala.

For whatever reason, that only increased the ache in his chest and he had to stop.

This had all been surprisingly easy. Too easy.

He hadn't wanted it to feel this way, he'd wanted it to feel difficult because Sam had gone up against her and lost and that still didn't make sense in his head. If Sam had just had sedatives with him back at the funeral home… but they didn't typically carry them in their arsenal, and that wasn't what would have been easy. Easy was for them to never have separated.

They might have both died, but at least they would have done that together. That would have been easy, but this…this sure as hell wasn't.

Hayley let out a muffled sound and Dean forced himself to take a deep breath and start moving again. Grabbing her by her arms, he heaved her up and over his shoulder making no effort to be gentle. Hayley tried to struggle and Dean tightened his grip.

"Fight me and it's only going to be worse for you," he warned in a low snarl.

Heading for the door, he kicked it open and hurried down the stairs. Backing out of the exit, he turned towards the car and stopped short.

Cas was leaning against the side of the Impala.

Anger sparked and Dean's lips thinned. He marched around the car, popped the trunk, dumped Hayley in despite her muffled protests, and slammed it. Only then did he acknowledge the presence of the angel.

"What are you doing here?" he asked shortly, his jaw locked.

"I didn't come to stop you, if that's what you are asking," Cas said evenly, his hands thrust in his pockets.

"If that's your offer to help then I don't need it." Dean glared at the angel. "I have things under control."

"I do want to help, Dean. I want—"

Dean scoffed, cutting him off. "What? What do you want? Sam's body rotting God only knows where, is that it?"

"Dean—"

"I can't make it any clearer. I don't want your help. I'm going to find Sam."

"You shouldn't have to do this on your own. I can help you."

Dean shook his head, his back rigid even as he put his hands on his hips. He looked away, licking at his lips and trying to control his temper but it wasn't working, and he looked back around. "I could have had him by now," he said bitterly. "We could have already found Sam. I might have caught up with Hayley before she even left Centerville and took him wherever she did, but instead you took me out of the game. You put me to freaking sleep. Now I don't have a damn clue where he's at or what condition he's in. She could have sold him off for parts for all I know or eaten him and it's—I was willing to go after him the instant that I could. If we never find him then it's your fault and you can lose my damn number."

He stared directly into Cas's eyes, making sure that he knew who Dean blamed and just how furious he was about it.

Cas's eyes darkened. "I know that you think that, but I was trying to keep a promise that I made to Sam. He expects me to look out for you and I'm not going to let him down."

"If you truly cared about Sam, then you would have let me go."

Cas's eyes flashed and he straightened to his full height but, even as Dean almost gleefully geared himself up for the fight, the anger was dissipating as quickly as it had come. "I don't think that anything I say can convince you that I was trying to help and the past is the past. Neither of us can change what happened so let me help you now, let me help you break her."

"No." Dean's patience was already stretched dangerously thin. "Get out of here, Cas. Go find Mom and Jack and help with whatever it is that they are doing."

"Don't send me away, Dean. I understand what you are going through better than you give me credit for. I know how much you are hurting—"

Dean's fist snapped out, catching Cas hard under the jaw and the angel staggered back a step.

"You don't know a damn thing," Dean said, breathing heavily, his fist still clenched.

Cas looked away, one hand moving up to probe what looked to be a split lip before he shook his head and said slowly and quietly, "You need my help. Mary thinks that she knows what Hayley is. A Du'a jiraataa. They are doing more research on her, but—"

"Do you know what they do with the bodies?"

"No, not exactly, but—"

"Then why don't you make yourself actually useful and go figure that out? I don't give a rat's ass about anything else," Dean snapped and then roughly pushed past Cas, heading towards the driver's side door. Cas reached out, catching his arm, and Dean jerked himself free and just managed to stop himself from punching Cas yet again.

"Dean—"

But Dean was done listening. Opening up the door, he slid in and then turned the engine over and pulled away.

If he stayed then he might say or do something that he would truly come to regret more than he already did, and it was in Cas's best interest to just leave as well. To go help research the whatever it was.

Dean didn't want or need anyone else.

It was up to him to take care of Sam, to look out for him, and he wouldn't have it any other way. It had been that way their whole lives, and he shouldn't have been surprised that it was that way in death either.

Dean didn't bother trying to hide his trail as he made his way through Hettinger. Cas was probably following him, but he didn't care. As long as Cas kept his distance he didn't give a damn what he did.

He coasted through town, looking for what he wasn't exactly sure. Something old and abandoned. Somewhere where people wouldn't hear screaming. Somewhere that Dean could torture without being interrupted.

All small towns had something like that, he just needed to find it.

Something thumped in the trunk, and Dean glanced in the rearview mirror darkly. This wasn't his first rodeo; they had reinforced the trunk ages ago and there was no way that anything was getting out. Besides, he didn't think that Hayley was equipped to be able to do what it would take to survive in their world.

She had taken Sam by surprise, and she had supernatural abilities to aid her, but that was the only thing going for her. He didn't think that she was used to this lifestyle, used to the blood, death, and violence. How easily he had been able to sneak up on her proved that.

If Dean had been in her shoes, he would never have gone back to an address that just anyone could find, not without making sure that it was safe first. He also wouldn't have chosen victims whom he personally had attended to at the hospital. She might have thought that she was being sneaky, but she was just being stupid.

It was only luck that had gotten her as far as it had.

Finding a bright, new, and shiny factory at the edge of town, Dean kept driving past it, looking for the old and run-down one. Sure enough, a few miles down the road, a hulking mass of a building stood tall with a 'do not trespass' sign attached at the gate.

It would do perfectly.

A pair of bolt cutters allowed him to break the padlock, and then Dean shut the gate behind the Impala and pulled around to park in the back.

He left Hayley in the trunk as he broke into the factory, and then proceeded to scout it out. Most of the rooms were vacant and filled with nothing more than dust and debris, but he did find a table with a twisted leg. It was wobblily, but could still stand and he dragged it into another room close by that had lower beams. They would be perfect to string someone up from.

Going back to the car for the supplies that he had picked out earlier, he returned to the room that he had chosen and began to set up. Presentation was half the battle in the game that was torture, and Hayley had never been tortured before, he would put money down on that.

At least she hadn't been tortured like he had been. Not like he could dish out, and for the first time since the Mark of Cain, Dean was looking forward to getting his hands dirty. He wanted to cause her pain like she had caused him.

The last thing he did was string up a piece of rope over the low beams so that he could hang a pair of handcuffs from them. They would go on Hayley once he brought her in.

Prepared with another syringe of sedative, Dean approached the trunk. She was awake, he knew that much. He wouldn't have even put it past her to have managed to break out of the ropes with the strength that she possessed. Dean kind of hoped that she had. It would give him all the more reason to hurt her.

He was less careful than he probably should have been when he popped the trunk and her hand, trailing broken ropes from her wrist, sprang out to grab him by the shirt. Wrapping her fingers tightly in the material, she tried to yank him down. Her jaws were already wide open and her fangs—by now the second had finished growing in—were ready to sink into his flesh. A yellow and thick substance was starting to drip from them and Dean's revulsion grew.

He caught himself against the lip of the trunk with one hand, the other jamming the needle into the closest piece of flesh that he could find.

It took a moment for the drug to spread into her bloodstream and she tugged down on him harder, snarling. Dean swore loudly, trying to pull back but she steadily dragged him closer.

Hayley hissed in celebration as his face came closer to hers and he attempted to wrench back. He might not have been able to, but his shirt ripped, allowing him to stagger away. Hayley half fell out of the trunk. She tried to right herself, but it was too late. The sedative was starting to take effect, and she wilted towards the ground despite her best efforts.

"I'll kill you," she ground out, grabbing hold of the trunk and trying to pull herself upright. It didn't do any good and Dean watched, thoroughly unimpressed, until she went limp again.

This time Dean didn't bother with the ropes, he just tossed her roughly over his shoulder and carried her inside. He had her gagged, handcuffed, and dangling from the beams, her toes just brushing the floor, before she stirred.

Dean watched her without compassion, absolute fury bubbling near the surface.

There were few people that he hated more than he hated her right now.

Slowly, her head came up, her eyes glazed as she looked around and took in her surroundings. Dean watched her stiffen, before tugging uselessly on her wrists, her body swinging back and forth before she turned angry and maybe frightened eyes on Dean.

There wasn't nearly enough fear there.

Grabbing the angel blade from the pile of knives that he had laid out on the table, Dean strode forward and looked into her wide eyes.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he said, and then grinned darkly as he thrust his knife into her shoulder right where she had stabbed Sam. Her head rolled back, a muffled scream escaping the gag as her eyes fluttered shut. Dean ruthlessly yanked the knife back out, sending a gush of blood spilling over her scrubs.

She groaned, panting heavily around the pain, before tipping her head back up and meeting Dean's eyes defiantly. It was what Dean had been waiting for and he plunged his knife back into her shoulder and twisted. She jerked back, gasping, and Dean could see her mouth opening, her fangs trying to descend.

Yanking the knife out a second time, Dean thrust the hilt up to smash into her jaw, snapping it closed.

She hissed at him through the gag but Dean just shrugged, pressing the hilt in deeper to add emphasis to his next words. "Have you ever been tortured before? If not, then you should know that this is just the beginning. You see, torture isn't just about questions and answers—although we will get there, don't you worry, darlin'—it's also about pain. And right now, it's only about the pain."

Flipping his knife around so that the blade was pressed against her skin, Dean lightly dug the point against the side of her cheek where he could still see the faint scars that Sam had inflicted upon her. They weren't as pronounced as they had been before.

He increased the pressure on the knife, just breaking the skin, and bent forward, staring directly into her eyes. Abruptly, he pulled back, laughing darkly at the fear that was shimmering in her eyes. Bracing her arm, he began to cut the sleeves of her scrub and the long-sleeved shirt underneath off, leaving her arm bare.

"Now, I know that those protective sigils work against you. But what do you think is going to happen if I carve them into your flesh?"

#

Cas pulled around to park behind the Impala at the old, abandoned, factory and shook his head. At least they knew where Dean was, even if Dean wasn't about to let him come in and help. He'd expected Dean to be angry, had prepared for it even, but the words that had been hurled at him still hurt.

He had, perhaps optimistically, hoped that their years of friendship would mean something to Dean and would bridge the gap between the anger that Dean turned to but then again…this was Sam and Dean was floundering badly.

Heaving a sigh, Cas put his car into park and then sat back. He would respect Dean's desire for space—he'd already pushed hard enough as was—but that didn't mean that he had to like it.

He'd stay right here watching over Dean from afar until a new development happened. Mary and Jack were going to call him as soon as they knew more, and he would be able to follow Dean if he decided to leave.

For the moment, it was all that he could do.

#

Dean took a step back, wiping at the blood that flecked his face. Hayley let out a low sob from where she was hanging, her body shaking from the wounds that had been cut into her flesh.

Already some of them were starting to heal as some sort of grey matter frothed through the holes in her skin and hardened into a bandage of sorts, but that didn't matter. It didn't stop Dean, even if it weirded him out a little. It was just how this—what had Cas called it? A Du'a jiraataa?— healed itself.

He'd seen freakier things in his time and it was actually working in Dean's favor.

Hell had taught him that nothing was more devastating than to have to endure something that you had already endured. When the pain never stopped, when there was no hope in sight for an end, then that was when even the strongest people broke.

Panting lightly from his efforts, Dean surveyed his work before reaching over and yanking her gag down. Staring directly into her eyes, he demanded, "Where's Sam?"

It was the first question that he had asked, and his voice was deceptively low and calm even if his insides were anything but that. Hayley let out a gasp, trying to back up a step and get away from Dean. Her toes did nothing more than brush against the ground and she spun lazily.

"Where is Sam?" Dean repeated as he reached up, gripping the rope and stabilizing her so that she couldn't look away from him.

"I—" Hayley swallowed hard, her voice cracking, and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier. "Why would I tell you?"

That was the wrong answer and Dean's knife flashed again, slicing her cheek open over the old scar. She gasped, jerking her head away. A moment later, a tight laugh bubbled up and she looked back around at him, hatred seeping from her eyes.

"Your eyes are red. Have you been crying? Do you miss him that much?" she taunted, her lips curling upward despite the way that her cheek was gaping open. Dean's knife flashed again, opening up her other cheek, but she just laughed.

Dean wasn't about to let that pass, not when he was the one in control, and he grabbed her by the throat with both hands and squeezed, cutting off her air.

"You may be able to heal yourself, but I doubt that you can stop yourself from dying like this," he spat, squeezing harder. She writhed in her chains but Dean didn't let up until her movements were jerky and uncoordinated.

Only then, when Dean had reestablished who was in control, did he let go.

Hayley gagged, coughing hard as she let her head roll forward again. A blood vessel had burst in her right eye and her face was red.

"I can't tell you where he is," she choked out, and Dean forced a laugh.

"Oh, you can and you will, I guarantee that. The only question is how much pain you can endure before you do. Just tell me where Sam is, though, and we can end this."

"You don't know what I am or what I can survive."

Dean made a face, unimpressed. "And guess what? You don't know me or what I've done. I've been to hell—literal hell—and I tortured souls there. I've been a demon and been possessed by an archangel. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into and you are in over your head. You should never have laid a finger on Sam."

Something akin to fear wavered in Hayley's eyes but she pushed it down a moment later, replacing it with a careful blankness.

"Sam. Such a common name for such a common human. Do you know how easy he was to kill?" She leered at him and Dean's hands curled into fists involuntarily.

"If he was so easy to kill, then why did you leave there missing half your face? Why did you run out of there with your tail between your legs? That doesn't sound like it was easy to me."

She opened her mouth again and Dean slapped her hard enough to snap her head to the side. "Unless you are going to tell me where Sam is then you don't get to speak. Where is he?"

She leaned forward, spitting out blood from a split lip. Dean snorted and then stabilized her before throwing his first punch and breaking her nose. She gasped, blood now flowing freely down her face.

"Where is Sam?"

"I can't."

"Where's Sam?" he yelled, getting low and in her face.

She only let out a low whimper and Dean shook his head in exasperation. "Fine. If you want to do this the hard way then we can do it the hard way," he said as lightly as he could muster and turned, digging through the table and the weapons that he had laid out.

They always carried salt on them, and he found the bag, dumping a handful into his palm. He held it up for her to see. "You know, I'm not sure if salt is going to work against you like it would say a demon, but it never hurts to try. Well, in this case, it might. Salt and open wounds don't exactly go together, do they? But you know how you can stop it, don't you?"

He forced a purposefully fake grin before letting it fall away. Without any further warning, he began to smear the salt into any fresh wound that he could find that wasn't half healed. She let out a keening, high-pitched, scream as her whole body began to jerk at the stinging pain.

"Where is Sam?" Dean yelled over her. She twitched, her jaw deforming but Dean just shoved her hard, sending her whole body swinging from her wrists. Tilting her head back, she let out something primal and high-pitched as she writhed.

When she finally stopped screaming, she slumped forward, her chest heaving. After a long moment, she raised her head again, blinking up at him from between her sweaty bangs. "I can't tell you," she insisted and Dean snorted, unimpressed.

"If you value an end to your sad, miserable, life then you will."

Snatching up another knife, he pressed it into the tender flesh of her elbow. He began to dig the blade in deeper, watching with satisfaction as sweat began to pop out on her skin.

"Where is Sam? Did you give him to someone else? Did you sell him?"

Hayley spit at him in response, and Dean dug the knife in deeper.

"Where is he? What did you have planned for the bodies?"

Blood was spilling down her arm now and staining his fingers. Dean continued to corkscrew the knife, digging it in as slowly and as painfully as he could.

"Do you want to know how he died?" Hayley wheezed out, anger and terror merging as she fought back the only way that she could. Dean's knife slipped, cutting deeper than he had intended, and she noticed it. A wild gleam lit up her face as she pressed on, her lips curling up in a snarl.

"Do you want to know about his last moments or what his last words were? Because guess who was there for them? It wasn't you, that's for damn sure."

Dean's hands shook more than he would have admitted to as he slammed his knife all the way through her arm, effectively silencing her into a scream.

"Say one more word about that and I'll—"

"I broke his arm first," she gasped raggedly. "I felt the bone splinter like it was a twig. After that, he knew that he was in trouble. He begged me to let him go but I didn't. He didn't deserve life, not when he could be of better use dead. So I stabbed him again and again and again until his blood was all over my hands. It was warm and—"

Dean wasn't even consciously aware of lunging forward, the knife dropping from his fingers as he wrapped both hands around her throat again, this time not caring how far it went. Sam was dead—he wasn't coming back—and this bitch had been the one to do it. Had stabbed him again and again and again and Dean hadn't been there.

He hadn't been there to protect his brother.

He hadn't even been the one to find his body. He'd had to have Cas call him. He'd had to walk in knowing that Sam was already dead and that he had failed.

"Shut up! Shut up, you don't get to talk about my little brother like that. You don't get to—not unless it's to tell me where he is. Sam is—you don't—" Dean was having trouble wrapping his brain around the words as they spilled out, hatred pouring from depths that he hadn't felt in a very long time as his control slipped. He leaned further forward, increasing pressure even as she turned bright red and began to make horrible, wheezing, sounds.

She couldn't do anything to stop him.

Her hands were chained above her head and Dean bore down, determined to kill her, to make her pay. She writhed, trying to jerk her way free but already her movements were slowing perceptibly. After one last twitch, she went limp, her eyes rolling back into her head as she lost consciousness.

Still, Dean didn't let go, a haze of red covering his vision.

He tightened his grip, his lips curling up in a snarl before he abruptly let go as the realization of what he had done hit. Horror chased its way through his veins, clearing his head so fast that he felt dizzy.

She couldn't die, not yet.

"No," he mumbled as he searched for a pulse on her neck. He wasn't finding one, and Dean's own heart skipped a beat.

She couldn't die, he hadn't—he didn't know where Sam was, but he still couldn't find a pulse, and she wasn't breathing.

He fumbled with the handcuffs as his own heart beat painfully against his ribs, trying to get them off of her so that he could get her flat on the floor and he could perform CPR. His hands were shaking, and it took too long to get her down.

She still wasn't breathing.

Forcing himself not to think about the fact that this was a monster and Sam's murder, Dean interlocked his fingers and began to perform CPR. He had to save her; he had to find Sam.

Nothing was happening despite his desperate attempts, and Dean was finally forced to give it up.

Wiping a hand over his mouth, he staggered to his feet and stared down at her body. Panting heavily, he took a step back and ran his blood-soaked hands through his hair.

Oh, God, what had he done? Sam could be anywhere and how could Dean have let his temper get the better of him like that? How could he have—Sam was missing, and he had just blown his one chance to find him.

Dean didn't know what he was going to do and, wheeling around, he swept the weapons off the table and onto the ground with a yell. He might have flipped the table as well, desperate for an outlet, when Hayley let out a long, rasping, gasp behind him and Dean twisted back around.

Hayley's body convulsed as another breath was wrenched from her.

Dean blinked once in surprise but didn't question it as Hayley began to cough. Whatever healing powers she possessed appeared to be enough to bring her back from the dead, even if CPR wasn't, and this one time, Dean wasn't going to complain.

Bending down, he grabbed one of the needles from the floor and jammed it deep into her neck, feeling jittery now and a little out of control.

Hayley went limp, but this time Dean could see her chest rising and falling raggedly. Swiftly, he got her in the handcuffs again before he backed up.

He couldn't believe that he'd lost control like that. He'd almost lost Sam for good and he just—he wanted Sam back more than he was able to articulate. He bent forward with his hands on his knees, gasping around the sobs that were threatening to emerge. Sam was all that he had ever needed or wanted. He couldn't—Sam was dead. Had died horribly and all alone.

Straightening, he fled from the room and then leaned back against the closed door. Pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, he tried to get in control of the emotions that were threatening to drown him.

It wasn't doing anything to erase the image in his brain of Sam's body, broken and bloody, laid out on the patio. He pressed his hands harder into his eyes, desperate to remember Sam alive. Happy. Sitting in the Impala next to him and laughing.

It wasn't working, all he could see was the wounds and the blood that stained everything. Of Hayley stabbing him repeatably while Dean had been out at a freakin' bar.

He scrambled for his flask and took several long swallows, trying to calm the shaking in his hands, but it didn't feel like it was working and he was starting to feel light-headed as he gasped.

This couldn't be how it ended for them, could it? Sam dead from a pointless hunt while Dean lived on, his heart continuing to pump blood through his body while Sam's rotted away?

Letting out a yell, Dean flung his flask away and then turned around and tried to put his fist through one of the old, brick, walls. Nothing happened, but it didn't stop Dean from rearing back and doing it again and again and again. When at last he stopped, his hand was throbbing and bleeding, and he was fairly sure that he had broken something there.

Gasping hard, Dean slowly slumped forward against the wall, letting it hold him up as the grief threatened to consume him.

Sam was dead.

Sam was dead.

Sam was dead.

His brain wouldn't shut up, and Dean couldn't breathe past the lump in his throat. It felt like a knife had been shoved in between his ribs. Why hadn't Sam gotten out of there when it became clear that he was no match for Hayley? Or why hadn't he kept his phone on him? If he had done that then he could have called Dean, could have asked for help. Dean might have gotten there in time. He wouldn't be torturing Sam's murderer to figure out the location of his brother's body.

He'd be sitting in a hospital room, watching over Sam and making sure that he followed the doctor's orders.

This was Sam's fault.

If he had done any of the above, then Dean wouldn't be here, wouldn't be feeling this horrible ache in his chest. If Sam had just—Grabbing handfuls of his hair, he clenched hard enough that it hurt, trying to get ahold of himself.

Sam was dead.

It wasn't Sam's fault. Dean should have had his back, he'd known that Sam was tired and maybe not at the top of his game.

Sam was dead.

Dean needed him. Dean was going to get himself killed within the week at this rate. Hell, he'd already almost done it once.

Sammy was dead.

Sammy didn't want to be brought back.

Dean wanted to bring him back.

Dean wanted him back.

Dean didn't want to care what it took.

Gasping, he clenched harder, rocking a little as he tried to battle back down the urge to bring Sam back, to find a way to fix this.

Sam was tired, he deserved to finally be at rest…but then again Sam had been doing good. Really good. He'd found a place as the hunter's chief and was doing a damn fine job of it even if Dean hadn't found it in himself to admit it to his brother. If Sam came back, he would. He'd tell Sam how proud he was of him. Sam would want to hear that. And he would want to continue to build his relationship with their mom. Lucifer was dead. Everything was going in their favor for once.

Sam would want to be brought back, wouldn't he?

Dean was trembling as he dug his phone out of his pocket. Rowena could come up with something; she and Sam had some sort of weird soft spot for each other that neither of them would admit to. She would help him. And if all else failed, he would pray to Michael. He'd give him whatever he wanted if he would only bring Sam back.

Only...Sam would never forgive him for that.

He couldn't break his trust yet again.

Closing his eyes, Dean felt like he had been swallowed whole into a dark pit that he wasn't ever going to escape from. The only thing that could save him now was Sam. If Sam was here, he would have come and found him. He would have sat quietly next to him before poking and prodding until Dean was ready to tell him everything that he was feeling. They would have talked, Dean would have felt better even if he would only have admitted it under threat of torture.

Sam was good at that, at pulling Dean's head out of his ass. He had managed to do it when Dean had been grieving for their Dad and after Dean had come back from Hell. Hell, he'd done it only a few weeks ago when Dean was struggling to even leave his room after everything that had happened with Michael.

Dean couldn't do this.

He couldn't go on for long without Sam. He could probably survive anyone else dying and could find a way to move on, but not this. He was going to crumble apart and break. Maybe that made him codependent, but right now he couldn't care. He didn't want to change or try and go on.

He just wanted his brother. He just wanted Sam alive and next to him and it was two lives, not just one, didn't that justify it? Wouldn't that make it okay to fix this?

He opened up his phone, ready to call Rowena because that was the lesser of two evils, and Sam may not completely hate him for that. He let his thumb hover over her name.

He could do it.

He could call Rowena. Ask for Sam back.

All it would take was one call, and then he could escape this crushing weight. Then he'd just have to find Sam's body, and that was doable. If he knew that he could have Sam back then it would make it so much easier to keep going.

Dean wanted to push that button more than he had wanted anything else for a long time, maybe since he'd made the demon deal. They had done so much for the world; they deserved this. They deserved some small good thing.

He was going to do it.

He was going to bring Sam back.

Dean hit the call button and brought the phone up to his ear, trying to control his ragged breathing and stop the tears. The line began to ring, and Dean gulped in air, trying to find the relief that should be waiting for him.

It didn't come, and before Rowena could pick up, he ended the call and hung his head.

Sam would hate him, and Dean was trying so hard to respect his wishes, to not repeat past mistakes. At the same time, he didn't think—he couldn't go on like this. It was either bring Sam back or swallow his gun and Sam would hate that for him too.

Dean was torn in two, and he didn't know what to do.

One way or the other he was going to lose everything.

He let his head fall back against the door and forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth for several minutes until his heart stopped pounding so hard.

Dean didn't have to make a decision either way just yet. Before he could bring Sam back or put him to rest, he needed to find his body. He'd make the right choice then, whatever it was.

Closing his eyes, Dean took another deep breath and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He didn't feel any more settled for putting off the decision and he deeply wished that he hadn't tossed his flask down the hallway.

That was finally what pulled him to his feet, and he staggered to reclaim it. Taking several long swallows, he leaned against the wall until he felt more in control.

The first thing that he had to do was find Sam's body. That was all that he had to focus on.

Tugging his shirt straight with his left hand—his right was already swollen badly and stiffening—he proceeded to wipe the cuff of his sleeve over his face, trying to erase any signs of tears or weakness that were there.

Hayley would crack sooner rather than later. She could dish out pain but she couldn't take it, she was weak in that aspect.

Dean just needed another moment before he could go back in there and face her again. He couldn't afford to lose control like that.

He paced a couple of laps around the factory, trying to calm himself down before he returned to the room.

When he did, he found Hayley awake but limp in her constraints. All that healing had to have taken a lot of energy and had to be making her weak. She couldn't keep going on like this forever, not without tiring.

Picking up an unused knife from where it had landed on the floor, Dean turned grimly to face her.

Chapter Text

Dean's hands were covered in blood, but that didn't stop him as he dragged his knife back through the flesh of Hayley's collarbone, demanding hoarsely, "Where's Sam?"

Before she could let out any sounds of pain—she'd given up on talking long ago and had resorted to small, wounded, sounds every time the knife touched her— the distant sounds of a door opening echoed through the old factory. Dean stiffened, glancing over his shoulder as Hayley's head jerked up. Hope flashed through her eyes and she let out a blood-curdling scream.

"HELP! SOMEONE—" Dean's hand flew out, covering her mouth.

"You can save your breath, no one's coming to help you," he said before letting go with a glare. He was fairly positive that it was just Cas and Mary. Maybe Jack too. No one else would have reason to be in an abandoned factory and if it wasn't them…

Well, Dean would figure it out if it came to it. He knew of multiple ways to nonlethally subdue someone and it wasn't like he hadn't done it before. Hayley didn't listen to him, letting out another scream that reverberated and Dean clamped a hand over her mouth again, stifling her even as he got a better grip on his knife.

The door to the room that they were in opened and Dean tensed, clenching his knife, but it was only Cas. Dean felt himself tense up for an entirely different reason.

"You better have answers. Otherwise, you can get the hell out of here," he snapped, pointing his blood-stained knife in Cas's direction.

Cas didn't look at him as he appraised Hayley's bloody body. "We tried to call you, but you weren't answering your phone. We need to talk with you."

Dean snorted and flipped the knife in his hand. Hayley flinched, and Dean couldn't help the flicker of satisfaction.

"You need to be updated on what is happening," Cas said seriously, and Dean blew out a long sigh.

"Fine, but it had better be quick," he said before slamming the knife down and into the table. It quivered there, drawing Hayley's gaze, but Dean only gestured Cas towards the door. Cas nodded, looking relieved, and moved back to hold the door open for him.

Dean stopped before he left and turned back to Hayley.

"Try to escape and you'll never die, I can promise you that. I will torture you to within an inch of your life and then wait for you to heal only to do it all over again," he said pointedly before stepping through.

"What?" he growled as soon as Cas had let the door swing shut behind them. Cas was frowning, though, and gesturing at Dean's hand.

"You're hurt."

"It's nothing," Dean said dismissively, moving his battered and bruised hand out of sight, but Cas was reaching for it all the same. Dean didn't fight it, and a moment later, the pain was gone and his hand had been returned to normal.

Dean pulled away, refusing to look at the undamaged skin. If Cas had been there just a few hours earlier that night then Sam might have been fine. They wouldn't have even needed a hospital, Cas would have just fixed him up.

"Are the others here as well?" he asked instead, looking anywhere but at the angel.

"Yes. They were waiting while I came inside to get you. We weren't sure what the situation would be," he said as he started to walk down the hallway. Dean followed a step behind.

"Do we know what she wants to do with the bodies?" he asked and Cas hesitated.

"We aren't—we don't know for sure but we are waiting to hear from an expert in Namibia and we thought that you would want to join us and hear it for yourself. She should be calling in about fifteen minutes."

"From Africa?" Dean tilted his head to the side in surprise, and Cas nodded.

"That seems to have once been the natural habitat for the Du'a jiraataa, although they have been known to move around and be able to survive elsewhere. We think that this one either came over or was made when Eve was creating monsters. About that time, there are records of bodies disappearing like they are now, only a couple of counties over. Jack has been researching that while Mary has been talking to family and friends of Hayley."

Cas pushed open the door leading outside and held it for Dean once again. He reluctantly stepped through to see Mary standing next to her car, her sleeves pulled down over her hands and her arms wrapped around herself. Jack was next to her, looking pale and far less excited than he should have been for having helped make a major breakthrough in a hunt.

The clouds overhead had darkened the sunlight, and the wind was picking up once again, blowing Mary's hair away from her face and making Jack huddle in his jacket.

Another storm was building, and it would hit sooner rather than later.

Jack's eyes flickered over Dean, no doubt noting the heavy amount of blood that was staining his clothes and his skin. Mary's eyes lingered there as well.

He didn't know what she was thinking. He didn't think that he wanted to.

"What else do we know about this…Du'a jiraataa, did you call them?" Dean asked, rubbing a hand wearily through his hair.

"Yeah, that's what it is. And we know more than we used to, so that's something," Mary said confidently.

"We found a record of them in one of Sam's old books," Jack piped up softly, sharing a glance first with Cas and then with Mary. "The name translated into English, though, means 'second living death'."

That made Dean's stomach turn over, and he crossed his arms over his chest as if that could halt the sense of foreboding. "And what else do we know about her? Or do we know its weaknesses?"

"Not exactly." It was Jack again who spoke. "But that is why we are talking with Sakina. She knows more than we do. I think that she is kind of like the men of letters, only in Africa, someone hunters turn to when they need help, who knows a lot."

"Like Bobby?" Dean asked impatiently. Jack frowned, sending a sideways glance over at Mary.

"No, more like you and Sam. I mean, Bobby is smart, and he does teach me a lot but—"

"Not that Bobby. Our Bobby. You know what, never mind—" Dean waved away the comment, already regretting having made it. "What do we know then?"

This time it was Mary who answered. "A Du'a jiraataa, according to what we have found, is, well…we think that it's like a worm. It invades bodies, living inside a host for long periods. It eats raw meat and has a taste for blood. We know that they take bodies, but none of the research that I could find tells us why. I mean, I couldn't even find a record of the bodies being recovered. I know that's discouraging," she added on quickly, reading the look on Dean's face correctly, "but you've spent time with the Du'a jiraataa so we are hoping that between you and Sakina we will be able to get answers."

Dean closed his eyes as a profound exhaustion tugged at him and then rubbed both hands across his face. Great. Just…great. They still didn't have any real answers. Someone touched his arm, but the touch was light enough to only have been Mary's. Before she could say anything Dean looked up, not making eye contact with anyone. "We should get inside before someone sees us."

They found another suitable room at the opposite end of the factory where Hayley was located, and Dean stood leaning against the door as they went about setting up Jack's phone. They were going to Skype or video call or whatever it was that they were doing nowadays. Dean didn't know, even if he was sure that Sam would have.

Cas left and then returned with a couple of somewhat stable chairs, but no one sat. Dean leaned stiffly against the wall even as the other three crowded around the phone, waiting. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes as he tried to calm his nerves. It didn't help that his head was throbbing dully and he just…he didn't know.

The buzzing of the phone was obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet and Dean opened his eyes again as he took a deep breath. He looked over in time to see Jack hit the accept button.

A moment later, a woman with greying hair and thin glasses appeared on the screen. She looked every inch a hunter; tough and like she had seen more than her fair share of the world. She demanded respect with a mere glance and, despite everything, Dean found himself straightening and moving closer.

He needed to know what she had to say, especially if it would help him find Sam or break Hayley.

"Jack?" she said in a thick accent, and Jack nodded, raising a hand.

"That's me. And that is Cas, Mary, and Dean," he said, pointing at each in turn.

"I know who Dean Winchester is," Sakina said softly as she leaned forward, staring directly into the camera and at Dean. "You and your brother have made a name for yourself across the globe. I understand that Sam Winchester is dead?"

Dean's stomach did a funny little jolt, and he looked away, unable to meet her piercing eyes. His answer was in his silence and she bowed her head. "Then I mourn him with you. The world mourns him, it has lost someone irreplaceable. And you believe that it was a Du'a Jiraataa that did this horrible thing?"

"Yes." It was Mary who spoke up, taking over and explaining in detail the hunt and what they knew.

Mary had been busy while Dean had been finding and subduing Hayley, and there were details there that he didn't know. Like the fact that about a year ago, Hayley had been diagnosed with stage four colon cancer, which she had miraculously and completely healed from, only to start acting erratically not long after. There was also the fact that Hayley's aunt ran the funeral home, providing her with the needed access to the bodies.

Sakina listened to everything carefully, her face serious, before nodding. "It does sound like a Du'a jiraataa." Reaching out of sight of the camera, she pulled out a thin scrap of papaya or parchment. Whatever it was, it looked ancient, and Dean knew that Sam would have been salivating at the chance to get his hands on something like that. "I do have answers, but not in as much detail as you would probably like. The Du'a jiraataa are almost as rare here as they are in the rest of the world. If not for a couple of encounters passed down both verbally and through writing, then I would believe them to be nothing more than legend. Most of the information that I found on them comes from stories that have been passed down through the generations, what is written here—" she brandished the piece of paper that she was holding—" and then from a mass burial site of the victims of the Du'a jiraataa. It was discovered by a hunter, Johannes Amutse, over four hundred years ago and Amutse extracted what remained of the bodies. After studying them, he put all his research into this—" Sakina paused, picking up a thin book that had been out of sight before and holding it up.

"But you know what they do with the bodies, right?" Dean interrupted her history lesson impatiently, his heart somewhere in his throat. That was all that he cared about, and he most certainly didn't give a damn about how Sakina knew it.

Sakina raised her eyebrows as she put the book down and took her glasses off, leaning forward intently. "Are you telling me that Sam Winchester's body was taken? I was under the impression that he had been killed by the Du'a jiraataa, not that he had been chosen by her and that… it could change everything."

Dean's breath caught and his stomach began to churn. Chosen? What the hell did that mean? But it was Mary who answered.

"Yes," she said, her chin jutting out. "She took him, about ten hours ago."

Sakina leaned back, frowning a little. "Then you should be assured that, for the moment at least, his body is whole and safe."

It was like a burden had been lifted from Dean's chest and shoulders, and he closed his eyes as they began to burn and he had to swallow back the lump in his throat. He had been preparing himself for the worse, to hear that Sam's body had already been desecrated. To hear that he wasn't, that he was okay for the moment, meant more to him than he would be able to put into words.

"But they still take the bodies for something, they can't just be hoarding them," Cas interjected, his brow furrowed into a frown.

"No, there is a reason and I will get to that. First, though—" she held up her hand quickly, holding Dean off as he opened his mouth to protest, "—first let me explain what a Du'a jiraataa is. You need this information to understand what they do with the bodies."

Dean closed his mouth again and shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms across his chest. Sakina nodded in satisfaction and, clearing her throat, put her glasses back on.

"I have translated this into English, so if it doesn't make sense, please let me know and I will see if I can explain better. Now, the Du'a jiraataa is basically a parasite. It finds a suitable host and infests their body as a means of protection as it is weakest outside of a human. In fact, they are almost impossible to kill unless they leave the host behind. In turn, it empowers the host with special abilities—speed, strength, and healing to name a few—and many hosts initially believe that this is more of a symbiotic relationship. They might even welcome the Du'a jiraataa in, especially since they tend to prey on those who are weak in some way, but humans are not made to host a Du'a jiraataa. It will slowly drive them insane, with the healing powers maintaining an outward appearance even as the host crumbles on the inside. When the Du'a jiraataa feels like its current host has lost its usefulness and will no longer be able to meet its needs, it will take one last thing of them; their lives. The Du'a jiraataa is at its strongest when it feasts upon live flesh and blood, you see, so it will eat them from the inside out. This provides it with the nutrients and strength to leave its host and find a new one and repeat the process over again."

"But that won't happen to Sammy, right? He's already dead, he can't provide any service for them," Dean broke in again, still trying to find out where this was all leading.

Sakina hesitated, and Dean's heart sank. There was no way—

"Sam is invaluable to them and, in a way, that will happen to him," she said bluntly, and the burden came crashing back down onto Dean's shoulders. He had to swallow back bile as the alcohol threatened to make a reappearance.

"But he's dead—" He protested roughly, unwilling to accept that as an answer.

"You came to me for answers, and I cannot change them even if you do not like them. But it is not Sam Winchester's fate to be a Du'a jiraataa, even if it is equally unpleasant." She paused, her face falling into a frown. "I'm not—I'm afraid that there is no good way to say what I have to say, so I'm just going to do it. The Du'a jiraataa chose him for as simple of a matter as reproduction."

"But—"

"Be quiet and listen to me, Dean Winchester, I can explain," she said forcefully and for the first time with some irritation. For a brief moment, Dean felt like he was getting scolded by Bobby again and he snapped his mouth closed automatically. Smoothing back her hair, Sakina shook her head and then continued. "The Du'a jiraataa, just like every creature, must repopulate. When the time comes for that, the Dua' jiraataa goes on a killing spree, sometimes taking as many as ten or more bodies. Before they kill their victims, however, they impart…I think egg would be the best word to use. This egg is implanted into the victim's body before death and, as a result, the egg is able to attach itself to the host where it will remain until it is fully developed and ready to set off and find its first real host. It does not need the host alive during its development."

Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to fully comprehend what was being told to him and what was happening to his brother. He felt sicker by the moment and with each additional bit of information. An egg. His brother had a freakin' egg inside of him.

Cas made a sound, the lines in his face deepening before they cleared. "It does make sense. A body would provide a safe, undisturbed, place for it to grow and develop. No one would disturb a body, except perhaps to move it or bury it."

"The Du'a jiraataa has already done that. They take the bodies to bury them and hide their offspring away from the world until they are ready," Sakina said in agreement, and Cas huhed.

"And what does happen when they are ready?" Mary asked timidly, looking slightly green herself. "It has to move on to a new body, doesn't it? And that means—does it, well, you know?"

Sakina's eyes grew empathetic. "Does it consume the body as its first meal? Yes, unfortunately, it does. If you do not find Sam, then it will feast on him from the inside out and then leave what remains behind to rot."

That was the last straw for Dean's stomach and he turned around abruptly as it clawed its way up his throat. He bent over at the waist, retching up what was mostly alcohol.

The conversation came to a stilted stop and then Mary was saying, "Dean—" in concern as both Jack and Cas turned to look at him. Dean doubled over again, gagging harder than before, and Mary moved towards his side. Sam was going to be eaten. He was somewhere—buried—and being prepared to be something's first meal. He was a host for a parasite.

"I'm fine," he managed to get out—he wasn't. He really, really, wasn't—and waved a hand behind him to keep Mary back, but she ignored him as her arm came up to wrap around his shoulders. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he straightened and turned back around, giving Sakina his whole attention and ignoring everyone else. "Sorry. I just—can we stop that from happening? Can I save him from that?" he was pleading and he knew it but this was Sam.

"Yes, theoretically," Sakina began hesitantly, "but there is more that you need to know."

Dean's stomach tightened rebelliously again. Wasn't this all bad enough?

"I—" she paused briefly again before heaving a sigh. "I'm not sure the wisdom of telling you this next part, it might only bring more pain, but you have a right to know. From what I've studied, I have been led to believe that the healing powers that the Du'a jiraataa possess are enough to bring someone back to life. As I mentioned before, the Du'a jiraataa is at its strongest when it has fed upon living flesh and blood. This is no different for the young Du'a jiraataa and to gain this essential nutrition, it releases a—I'm going to use the word toxin, even if that maybe doesn't fully describe what it is—a toxin that will bring its host back to life just long enough to serve its purpose as it's first meal."

Dean had to swallow back more bile and he leaned shakily against one of the chairs. If he had thought that Sam playing host to an egg before being consumed was bad, then this was…this was so much worse, and he couldn't let it happen. There was no way in hell that it was going to end that way for his brother. It didn't matter what happened afterward, he was going to save Sam even if it involved calling in a favor from Michael.

"Oh, God," Mary said weakly next to him and Jack was looking pale. Cas's face was now carefully blank.

"How—" Dean had to swallow again. "How long do I have before that happens?"

Sakina shrugged at that. "No one knows how long it takes for a Du'a jiraataa to fully develop. It could be months, days, or perhaps years. Even the bodies that Amutse dug up didn't hold an answer for that. See, as the Du'a jiraataa is developing, the body is also being prepared and healed from whatever injuries or illness caused the death in the first place. This way, the Du'a jiraataa will have a healthy, if weak, body to consume. To provide this sort of deep healing, the bodies are mummified in a cast of the mother Du'a jiraataa's own making—"

"Is it like the grey stuff? The stuff that they use to heal?" Dean asked and Sakina shrugged again.

"I'm just telling you what I have read. I don't know what it looks like but probably, yes. Regardless, this cast heals the body and protects it from the natural decay that it would otherwise experience."

Jack, who had been mostly silent since the call began, straightened with a look of hope lighting up his face. "But—does this mean that we can bring Sam back? That he will live again?"

Dean froze, his brain kicking into overdrive. He'd been so focused on the idea of Sam being eaten alive that he hadn't even really had the time to process the fact that Sam would be alive.

Sakina smiled sadly. "And that is why I feared telling you this. You might be able to bring Sam back, Amutse had a theory about just that, but he never had the chance to test it. Before I get into that, though, I feel obligated to warn you that there is only a slight chance of Sam living again. There is a reason that the Du'a jiraataa takes so many bodies, and it is because even with that many eggs laid, only a few will live long enough to go on and find new hosts. Sometimes the egg just never hatches, or the host doesn't live long enough for it to provide the essential nutrients that the Du'a jiraataa needs. It is even possible that the host's heart never starts beating again, that something went wrong there, leaving the Du'a jiraataa to starve to death even if it does hatch. And then, if both the egg and the body live, there is the issue of forcing the Du'a jiraataa to leave the body before it feasts. If it is not forced out, then Sam will simply die slowly and painfully under your watchful care."

Sakina paused, making sure that they each understood what she was saying.

Sam's chances were slim to nothing, and they shouldn't get their hopes up. Despair flattened the budding hope in Dean so fast and viciously that it left him feeling dizzy.

How could he have hoped for anything else? Whenever Dean tried to help Sam after he died, he only ever seemed to be able to hurt him more. He couldn't—if he had to watch Sam die slowly and painfully, then he would rather that Sam never be brought back

Sakina must have read his thoughts because her face softened. "There is little chance of saving him, but little is better than none," she said, and Dean couldn't find it in himself to respond. "I will email you the full details, but Amutse suggested, and I think that he might be on to something, that if you can get the toxins from the mother, you could inject them into the host, awakening them. He seemed to think that this would not affect the egg, but I personally fear that this will also cause the egg to hatch. You will have to pull the Du'a jiraataa from his body and kill it before it has a chance to do irreparable damage."

"But it might be doable?" Cas said seriously, staring intently into the screen,

"Yes, in theory. If you could get some of the toxins from the Du'a jiraataa that you have right now and if nothing goes wrong then you could bring Sam back. Again, I feel the need to stress—"

"I know. Sam might not make it," Dean snapped, his guts curling with unease.

"Yes. You will be working with many, many, unknowns. The only assured way you have of not hurting Sam any further is by finding his body and then aborting the egg, probably the easiest way is by burning his body. If you try to bring him back, it may not end well for anyone," She warned direly.

"It's not like him dying was easy or ended well the first time," Dean muttered and then scrubbed both hands over his face. He didn't know if he could do it one more time. If he could drag Sam back, just so that he could suffer and then leave Dean alone again.

Sakina either didn't hear his comment or ignored it. "I cannot decide what is right for Sam nor if you should attempt to bring him back. I will say that few others are as deserving as he is of a second chance at life if everything I have heard about him is true."

Dean knew that, better than anyone.

Mary took a deep breath next to him. "And you will email more detailed instructions?" she asked, and Sakina nodded.

"I will send everything I know. I wish you the best of luck. Oh, and Dean?"

Dean looked up distractedly, his mind whirling. "Yeah?"

"You have spent time with an actually Du'a jiraataa and have knowledge and understanding of them that has been gifted to few others. I know that right now you might not consider it, but I would like to meet with you again, to write down what you have learned and experienced for future generations. If Sam…" she paused delicately, "lives, then I would be more than happy to hear from him as well.

Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead before nodding half-heartedly. "After…after this—" and maybe, if Sam did make it "—I'll email you. Set up a time to talk."

Sakina bowed her head in response, and just like tha,t their interview was over. They began to say goodbye, but Dean wasn't capable of listening anymore.

This could be his answer. It would be risky, yes, but it could bring Sam back, and not even in some sort of world-ending apocalypse kind of way. In a way that Dean wouldn't even be dooming himself in the process.

Sam might—but he was struggling to get past Sakina's dire warnings. This could hurt Sam. It could pull him back from a peaceful death only to send him right back into death's clutches. Dean was barely surviving now and if that happened—if Sam died again due to Dean's bad decisions…

He was lost in a haze of what-ifs and jumped when something wet and cold was pressed against his face. He jerked back and looked around to see Mary standing on her tiptoes and using a damp bandana to wipe at his face.

"You're all clammy," she said, neatly avoiding the puddle of sickness as she moved to follow him.

Dean ignored his mother's ministrations, feeling numb, as he looked over at Cas. "You got all that, right?" he said, and his voice was rougher as emotions surged.

Cas nodded, before saying gravely, "Dean, this is…" he trailed off, fighting a look of hope. Jack didn't seem to have the same reservations as he rose to his feet, looking unsure of what to do with himself as he bounced on the heels of his toes.

"We need to find Sam so that we can bring him back," he said excitedly.

"She said that it was risky, and just a maybe," Dean shot back abruptly, surprising even himself, and everyone turned startled looks at him. Shouldn't he be overjoyed? This was the answer to everything.

Batting Mary's hand away, he took several steps back, feeling more off-balance than he should have.

All he wanted was his little brother, but Sam didn't want to be brought back, and this—what would Sam say? Would this count as an acceptable way to Sam or were they just trampling over his wishes?

They were all still giving him odd looks, and Dean felt trapped. "I—the first thing is to find Sam's body. Hayley—I've got to break her, she's the first step and I'm almost there," he managed to stumble through before fleeing the room.

Anger was as good of an emotion as any, and he violently slammed open the doors to the room where Hayley was.

She visibly flinched and jerked back from where she had been pulling at one wrist, trying to free it from the handcuffs.

Dean snatched the first knife that he came across, striding towards her.

"You put Sam into the ground? You buried him?" he snarled. That made Hayley's eyes go wide, and she gaped open-mouthed at him.

"How did you…" Her voice, hoarse and raspy before Dean had caught her, was almost nonexistent from all the screaming she had done.

"So you did," he accused, and she didn't deny it. "Now, you can tell me where he is buried, or I can start slicing off body parts. They'll grow back, probably, and the Du'a Jiraataa won't let you die, so choose carefully."

Hayley jutted her chin out defiantly. "I won't tell you. You can't dig him up," she insisted and Dean scoffed.

"Why, because of your strong motherly instincts? That's not going to get any mercy from me. You might as well just tell me what I want to know, I will find it out one way or another."

He waited, his eyebrow arched, but Hayley just snorted and looked away. Dean's lip curled up. "You know, part of me was really hoping that would be your answer." He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head to the side as he raised his knife. Without any more warning, he sliced her right ear off. Blood immediately spurted down the side of her neck as she let out another scream but it didn't impress him. Tossing the remains of her ear aside, Dean flicked blood off his hand and leaned in again.

"I'm done playing games. Where's Sam?"

"No," she sobbed out.

Dean was rapidly losing what little patience he'd had to begin with. "I'd cut off your other ear but you need one to hear me, so I'm going to start with your toes. You don't need those, right?"

He reached down and yanked her shoes off, and then her socks. He hesitated, looking up at her and giving her another chance to start talking. She didn't take it and Dean reached for her big toe.

Dean didn't have the proper equipment to actually cut through bone with him, but that didn't mean that he couldn't carve around it and he began to shave off pieces of skin and sinew. He worked slowly and carefully until all that remained of the toe was a bloody stub with the bone sticking out.

This, at least, he knew how to do. He didn't have to question this or wonder if it was right.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Hayley finally screamed when he had finished with her first foot and was just starting on her second one. Dean looked up, his knife still raised and dripping blood onto the ground. "I—" she took a sobbing breath. "I can't tell you."

Dean resumed his sawing with a vengeance, and she screamed again, throwing her head back before pleading, "Wait, wait—I can show you. I can't tell you, but I can show you."

Dean stopped and then slowly straightened, wary of the offer. "Just tell me where you buried the bodies. That's all you have to do for now."

"I don't know exactly where they are, though." Hayley was starting to cry in earnest, and fat tears rolled down her face, smearing the blood that was flecked there. "I—I never needed to know the location, I wasn't planning on going back for them. But I can find them. I can. They call to me, I'm connected to them."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "They call to you?"

"That's how I found him after you'd taken him away," Hayley admitted desperately, twisting in the handcuffs.

Dean frowned, tapping the knife against his thigh as he thought. "Where would we be going?" he asked suspiciously, and Hayley choked on her next sob.

"The mountains. The ones that are just west of here. I buried all the bodies there, where no one would find them."

Dean let the silence stretch, weighing the pros and the cons before he nodded. "Fine. And because you've been oh so cooperative, you've earned yourself a break until we leave. But don't you think for one damn second that if you try anything funny or try to weasel out of this that we won't end up right back here."

Without waiting to hear her response, he crossed to the door and let it swing shut behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he forced himself to take steadying breaths, trying to ease the pressure in his chest.

Everything was fine. It would all be fine. Hayley was going to show them where Sam was. They would bring him back.

It would be okay.

Mary was the only one in the other room when he returned, and she turned at his entrance, giving him a long, worried, look. Let Mary think of him what she would. At least he knew the real meaning of family, knew that they were worth everything. At least he wasn't prepared to use them for bait.

"Here," she said, moving over to the corner and pulling out her duffle. She dug out a bottle of water and pushed it into Dean's chest, forcing him to take it or let it fall. She followed it up with a bag of trail mix. "You have to eat and drink if we are going to be digging up graves all night—preferably something that isn't going to poison your liver."

Dean ignored her pointed look as he unscrewed the bottle, chugging half of it before setting it aside. He didn't touch the trail mix. He didn't think that his stomach would handle it well right now and he'd already thrown up once today.

"Dean, you have to eat," Mary said softly as she watched him tuck the package into his pocket. "You have to keep your strength up so that you can help Sam."

And it irked Dean maybe more than it should have that Mary was so concerned about him. Where was all this motherly love when Sam had needed her?

Dean shook his head and brought the cold bottle of water up to rest against his forehead to ease the throbbing there. Why could Mary have hope and he couldn't? This is exactly what he'd wanted—some easy, simple, way to bring Sam back that wouldn't doom all of humanity.

Why was he so…he didn't even know. He should be overjoyed but there were so many unknowns. So many things that could go wrong. So many ways that Sam could get screwed over, Sakina had said so herself.

"The bitch is going to show us where Sam is buried," he said bluntly as he leaned into the water bottle and the relief that it offered.

Mary's eyebrows rose. "And are we sure that we trust her to do that? Isn't it possible that she has something else up her sleeve?"

"I don't care. Not if she will bring us to where Sam is, and trust me, she will. She's terrified of me," Dean said as he lowered the bottle to take another sip. It wasn't whiskey and wasn't doing a damn thing to take the edge off the pain but it was soothing his throat. "Where are Cas and Jack? I want to get this done as soon as possible."

"And before it decides to start raining again," Mary said, leaning back to glance out the dusty window. The dark clouds were still overhead, swollen with coming rain. "Cas and Jack went to go pick up some supplies and get us a motel room. We are going to need it when we get back with at least five bodies."

Dean blinked, momentarily confused, before he remembered Hayley's additional victims. That was right. They couldn't just save Sam, they had to save everyone.

"Fine. But as soon as they get back, we're leaving."

"What about the toxins? The one needed to bring them back?" Mary asked, and Dean slowly nodded.

"Right, uh…" He wasn't exactly sure how to do that, but he would figure it out.

"Sakina said in the email that we should milk it from her, like she was a snake, and collect it that way," Mary said and Dean nodded and took another sip of the water.

"What about shelf life? How long is that toxin good for?" he asked next, and Mary also frowned and shrugged.

"No damn clue. I'm going to say not long, though, just to be cautious. We'll have a better chance of success if it is fresh."

Dean blew out a sigh and pressed the heel of his hand into one eye. This was all getting more and more complicated and risky. They weren't going to be able to pull this off. They were going to bring Sam back just to watch him die again.

For several minutes, there was quiet. Dean didn't have anything to say but Mary seemed uncomfortable with the silence. At last, she spoke. "Dean, I want to explain something while we're alone."

Dean stiffened. "Explain what?" he asked in as much of a warning voice as he could manage.

"What I said, about using Sam as bait. I—I never meant to hurt him. I was thinking of him, about protecting him from all…this," she trailed off.

"You should never have even considered it," Dean said harshly, his anger flaring up.

"Dean—"

"No. You are his mother. You are supposed to protect and-and care about your kids. You're not supposed to try and use them for damn leverage. You're not supposed to ignore them, you're supposed to—"

"I'll admit that I wanted revenge. I still want to see her hurt, but I wanted Sam to be safe as well," Mary insisted, and Dean laughed.

"Sam wouldn't have wanted revenge—" That probably wasn't true. Sam sometimes held the moral high ground over Dean, but when Sam had the taste for vengeance, he could be as bloodthirsty as the rest of them. "At least he wouldn't have wanted us to go off and get revenge. He wouldn't want us—"

"To do what you're doing, Dean? To drink yourself to death and act like you have no emotions while turning everyone you love away? We love Sam too! And we're getting Sam back, so I want to put this behind us. Sam doesn't need to be worrying about this—" she gestured between them "—then. He'll have other things that are more important to be concerned about."

Dean did agree with that—Sam had done enough babysitting of their relationship—but he also didn't want to just let the matter slide. "If we can bring Sam back, you concentrate on getting to know him better," he said stiffly, "and then I'll forget that this ever happened."

"Dean—"

"Maybe we should just go without Cas and Jack," he said abruptly, cutting her off and changing the subject. Mary's eyes darkened and her mouth drew into a thin line of irritation but she didn't try and change the subject back.

"No. They'll be back soon. Besides, we are going to be digging up five graves. We are going to need all the help that we can get."

"Then what the hell are they getting that's so important?"

"Medical supplies," Mary said, and the words made Dean's stomach spin uncomfortably. "They weren't sure exactly what we would need for the victims so they were gathering up a little bit of everything. They are getting blood in case we need transfusions, IVs for that, and fluids, um, equipment to monitor conditions. Really, anything that they could think of that might be useful."

Dean nodded. It made sense. They were going into the unknown with this and it was better to be prepared than sorry, especially when dealing with someone else's life, but that didn't explain why he had to wait around for them. He could be halfway there already.

He continued to pace, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm, and glanced up at the sky. It did look like it was about to start pouring rain over the mountains, dark clouds covering their peaks. They should be going. Moving. Doing something, anything. Not thinking. Just action.

Finally, he turned back to the door, unable to stay out there any longer. "I'm going to get Hayley ready for transportation," he said and left Mary behind. It was no more freeing to return to the hot, foul-smelling room.

Hayley looked up with fear upon his entrance.

"Here," he said, unceremoniously thrusting his phone, which had a map of the local mountain already pulled up, into Hayley's blood-splattered face. "What exit do I need to get off at and which trailhead are we stopping at?"

She pointed at the map mutinously, not saying a word but Dean didn't need her to.

"That'll do."

With that, he sank a needle into her neck, injecting a dose of sedative into her. After she went limp, Dean dispassionately unhooked the handcuffs from the ceiling but kept them locked around her wrist. He tied her feet together, not that it would probably do much good but it would serve as a reminder that she was his bitch.

Dean was standing and dusting off his hands when Jack pushed open the door. He looked determinedly around like he was trying to avoid and see the blood splatters all at the same time, and then looked over at Dean.

"I'm supposed to tell you that we are ready," he said gravely and Dean nodded.

It was time.

#

Dean drove alone—unless Hayley being in the trunk counted as company— towards the mountains west of Hettinger.

Cas and Jack were riding together in Cas's car, while Mary had hotwired Hayley's little white pickup and was driving along behind. It would be useful, as she had pointed out, in helping to transfer multiple bodies.

Jack had offered to ride with him but Dean had turned him down without a second thought.

He didn't want anyone else around and he most certainly didn't want someone in the passenger seat. It was too soon for that. He could still feel Sam right there, and every time he habitually glanced over, he expected to see him with his head in a book or asleep against the window.

And now there was a chance that he could still have that. Maybe. If nothing else went wrong. Then again, when had things ever gone right for them?

By the time Dean made it up the twisting dirt road and reached the trailhead, it was dark. The wind had picked up in earnest, promising that the coming storm was bound to make things even more difficult than they already were.

Had it only been a couple of days earlier when Dean had found himself dreading digging up bodies or tracking in a storm?

Dean's stomach clenched and he fought to keep its contents where they belonged. He wasn't going to throw up again, but he had never imagined being forced to dig up his little brother's literal grave like he was a ghost or something. Of course, he'd never really thought that he would bury Sam either.

He was the first to arrive and he got out of the car to wait, leaning against the still-warm hood. The cold wind felt good against his face, drying whatever sweat or perhaps tears that were there.

Mary and Cas weren't far behind him.

"Let's go. We don't have time to waste," he said roughly as they all spilled out of their respective vehicles. "I need someone else to chain up to Hayley with me so that she can't run." Not that running would be easy when her feet were injured, but it was the principle that mattered.

"I'll do it," Mary said determinedly, and Dean shrugged. Going around to the back of the trunk, he slapped the outside roughly.

"We're getting you out. Try anything and you know what will happen."

Popping the trunk, he leaned over and heaved a docile Hayley out before attaching a second set of handcuffs to her left wrist and holding out the open end to Mary. He chained himself to her right side while Mary did the same with the left.

Dean wasn't taking any chances of her running, not when finding Sam was so tantalizingly close.

Hayley swayed lightly in between them, looking a little dazed and limping heavily with each step. It was no doubt agony to walk, but Dean wasn't too concerned about that. She didn't deserve his pity. She would only gain strength as the night wore on and the Du'a jiraataa continued to heal her, so he hoped bitterly that she felt every single moment of pain while it lasted.

Jack and Cas each had a duffle, and Jack passed Dean a flashlight from his, which he flicked on and then gestured at Hayley.

"Start walking," he ordered coldly.

Hayley took a deep breath and then nodded. She stumbled her way up the trail and they followed.

Eventually, after about an hour of hiking in increasingly cold temperatures, she veered off the beaten path and into the forest. Cas had brought a can of spray paint, and he carefully marked the spot. He continued to occasionally do so as they continued deeper into the heavily wooded hills, ensuring that they wouldn't be lost.

Another mile or so went by before Hayley, who just as Dean predicted had become steadier on her feet by the minute, came to a stop. "Here," she said, pointing to the ground. Dean could feel the tension flowing through her, and he eyed her warily.

"Here, what?" Mary asked impatiently, jerking on the handcuffs and making Hayley flinch. Glaring up at her, Hayley bent down to the ground and rested her palm flat against the soil.

"Here is where I buried the first one that I took," she said almost reverently, brushing back the mulch to reveal dirt.

"And it's not Sam, correct?" Dean asked darkly.

"No. This is the first one I ever took. The first that I ever killed," she admitted with a slow, caressing, grin that made Dean's blood boil.

"I'll mark the spot. We can continue until we've found all the bodies," Cas said hurriedly, as if sensing that Dean's patience was about to snap. "We can come back and dig the bodies up after we have located everyone."

The second body wasn't much further into the woods, and Dean turned expectantly to Hayley. "Is this Sam?"

Hayley gave a little shrug, her eyes shifting up to Dean's face before darting away again. "I don't—I don't remember. I can feel it calling to me, but that doesn't mean that I remember the body. I remembered the first one because I used it as a landmark for each of the others."

Dean raised an eyebrow, incredulous and also more than a little pissed off.

Sam's heart had gone for half a million when that sick bastard had tried to auction him off a year ago and this bitch couldn't even remember what grave was his.

It was not the respect that Sam deserved. It was not the respect that should have been given to one of the world's best damn hunters.

The third body was located after about another mile of hiking, but the fourth and fifth seemed to be eluding Hayley, and they found themselves wandering in increasingly dizzying circles, more than once stumbling back upon one of the three bodies that they had already located.

At long last they found the fourth body and then were pleasantly surprised when the fifth one turned out to be just about a quarter of a mile away.

Her task finally finished, Hayley's head drooped and she pressed both of her hands against her face but it was not in time to hide the expression of mingled relief and terror. Her role was complete as far as she knew.

"Take her back to the car," he ordered, and began to undo the handcuff that was around his wrist. He gestured for Cas to take his place, but to his surprise, Cas nodded at Jack instead.

"Jack will help Mary bring her back," he said, and Dean glanced over at Mary. She didn't look surprised by the plan, and neither did Jack. They had evidently discussed this at some point and Dean frowned, wondering just what else they had been discussing.

"You should go with them as well. Just in case she tries something," Dean said again, looking from Cas to Mary.

"No. I will help you start digging," Cas said stubbornly.

It would take too much effort to argue. "Fine," Dean said stiffly and held out the handcuff to Jack, who slid over to take his place.

"I've been marking the trees, you should be able to find us again. Be careful with her, though," Cas said softly to Mary, who nodded tightly.

"We'll be fine. I have sedatives with me just in case."

"Good."

Cas and Dean watched as Jack, Mary, and Hayley disappeared through the trees, and then Dean turned.

The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and then a drop of rain hit Dean's cheek. He glanced up at the sky, noticing that Cas did as well. They couldn't see the stars or even the moon through the trees. All they could see were dark clouds covering the horizon.

The storm was almost upon them.

"Here," Cas extended a shovel to him and Dean took it, his heart rate quickening even as he turned to the grave.

This could be Sam.

He gripped the wooden handle tightly, staring down at the freshly overturned earth, and was surprised when hot tears blurred his vision.

Everything was fine. He was getting Sam back. Maybe.

Dean stood there, blinking rapidly to clear his vision and hesitating to actually start digging. He didn't know what he was feeling and it was unnerving.

Cas was watching him, his shovel held awkwardly at his side as he waited for Dean to make the first move.

Dean closed his eyes and forced himself to pull in a deep, shuddering, breath. It would be fine.

Squaring his shoulders, Dean thrust the tip of his shovel deep into the soft dirt and flung his first shovel full out.

Cas set his flashlight down on the ground, weakly illuminating the area, and also went to work, his shovel moving quickly.

Dean stopped after just a couple of scoops of dirt before shaking his head and resuming digging. This was what he wanted. This was what he had all but been begging God for. And he did want Sam back more than he could express so why did it feel wrong? Why did each shovel feel like he was dumping the weight of the dirt onto his own shoulders, like he was digging his own grave—or worse damning Sam.

What was he doing? He was digging Sam up from a grave. Because Sam was dead and Sam wasn't to be brought back. Sam didn't want to be brought back even if Dean wanted it.

At last, Dean could stand it no longer.

Flinging the shovel away and into the growing pile of dirt, he clambered out of the small hole and walked away, locking his hands behind his head. He tilted his head back as he pressed his lips together, trying vainly to keep the tears at bay. He was so sick of crying.

"Dean?"

The tears weren't to be stopped and Dean continued to move swiftly away, his breath coming in short, sharp, pants. He heard a clatter of the second shovel and then Cas's footsteps as he followed him.

"Dean, are you alright?" Cas tried vainly again. Dean shook his head, still moving away. He was anything but alright. Cas grabbed his arm and Dean flung around, shaking him off.

"Get away from me," he growled before swinging around and punching the tree next to him hard. It did about as much as the brick wall had to vent his feelings of helplessness and Dean swung again.

Before his fist could connect with the bark, however, Cas was grabbing him and holding him back.

"Get off me, damnit!" Dean swore loudly, shoving Cas away, or at least trying to. Cas wasn't letting go.

"Stop. No, you are not to hurt yourself," he scolded even as Dean shoved harder, trying to break free. Cas ducked the fist that came flying his way next and then wrapped both arms around Dean so that his arms were trapped against his side.

"Let go! Let me go, damn you!" Dean twisted and writhed, but Cas only tightened his grip, refusing to let go. It quickly became apparent that Dean wasn't going to be able to get free, not unless he submitted. It didn't take long after that for the fight to drain out of him, and he slumped, exhausted in every way, in Cas's hold.

It was only then that Cas let him go. Dean shook himself free and stumbled to the side to lean against a thick tree, panting heavily.

A moment later his knees gave out, and he sank to kneel next to it, leaning one of his forearms against the trunk for support. Bowing his head to rest against his arm, he stared at the dirt. Finally, he let out a wet laugh even as he brought his second hand up, covering his eyes as the tears began again.

"I'm digging my little brother up from a grave," he managed to say before he could start crying in earnest. He hunched forward, the sobs shaking him until his head was on his bent knees.

Dean couldn't do this. He knew that he wasn't exactly handling Sam's death great and the pain of it was almost more than he could bear. If Sam didn't make it, if they couldn't bring him back, and if Dean got his damn hopes up and then it didn't work—the pain would destroy him.

Cas laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight, waiting for Dean to get himself under control. He didn't say anything, but that shouldn't have surprised Dean. Cas had never been one for words, that had typically been more of Sam's thing.

God, did Dean miss Sam.

It was Dean who spoke next, still fighting off tears even as he wiped his eyes roughly on the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm digging him up. And I—Cas, I've screwed up so many times—What if—?" Dean couldn't even finish, the words sticking in the back of his throat as emotion continued to clog it.

Cas's hand tightened. "What…what do you mean?" he asked, sounding confused even as he moved, crouching closer to Dean.

"Sam…Sammy doesn't want to be brought back. You know it as well as I do. Last time when Lucifer brought him back, he freakin' apologized to me—and I know that it was horrible for him. Having Lucifer around, having him—but you know what?" Another tormented laugh bubbled up. "I was just happy. I was so selfishly happy because that one wasn't on me. I had Sam, and I hadn't been the one to bring him back, I hadn't broken any more promises. I wasn't doing something that was going to hurt him more in the long run. But this…Cas, he doesn't want to be brought back but here I am overriding that again because I miss him so damn much and it hurts so damn bad. I'm willing to do just about any damn thing to bring him back. Do you know how many times I've thought about calling Rowena?"

"I'm not sure—"

Dean just kept talking, cutting him off. "This should feel right. It should feel good, but it doesn't. All I keep thinking is that there is no simple price. It can't be this easy to just get Sam back. He's going to—I've screwed him over, every time I tried and—"

Dean cut himself off, shaking his head helplessly. He'd hurt Sam the first time when he'd made the deal to bring Sam back, he'd just refused to see the pain in his brother's eyes. And then he'd repeated it with Gadreel, but that had been even worse.

Something in Cas's face softened, and he sank down so that he was sitting next to Dean on the ground. "This is different, trust me. You're not doing anything stupid here—I wouldn't let you, I promised that to Sam—and I don't believe that this will come back to haunt either him or you. You have both seen so much darkness and given your life to the hunt and this world. You wouldn't blink an eye at a monster that kills with its mind or could change people into something else. Why does one that could bring someone back from the dead make you hesitate? Besides, the Du'a jiraataa will bring him back regardless of what we do. We are saving him from a much worse fate."

Dean sucked in a ragged breath before sniffing loudly and wiping at his eyes again. "It doesn't feel that way," he admitted noncommittally.

Cas nodded slowly and was silent for another long moment as Dean looked away, hiccupping his way through another sob.

"I don't think that is what really scares you, not deep down," he began slowly, "You know Sam better than anyone. You know, I think, that he wouldn't be angry at you for bringing him back like this, not after everything that Sam has forgiven you for over the years. Not when you aren't hurting yourself or anyone else in the process. No, I think you are more afraid of it not working. You are scared of being forced to live a life without Sam, of permanently losing him. Of having to give up that hope."

Dean blew out a stuttering sob, dabbing at his eyes again with his sleeve and unsure himself. "You—Sakina said that this healing, if that is what you can call it, isn't going to be easy. And I can't—Sam's always been there. I've—I tried living without him when he was in Hell. It didn't work despite what I was pretending and—how do I go on without him? Cas, how? He knows me better than anyone. He calls me out on my lies, he keeps my head on straight, and he—" Dean couldn't finish. How could he sum up everything that Sam was in one sentence? How much he meant to Dean?

"Sam is strong. He will survive."

Cas didn't get it. Dean didn't think that he could do this again.

"I'm not strong enough. What if Sam wakes up but doesn't survive? What if I am dragging him back just to say goodbye? I can't talk him through another death, making promises I can't keep. I can't hold him as he dies knowing that I'm not going to see him again but then I think about what is going to happen if he doesn't ever wake up again, if I never even get to say goodbye. I didn't get to say goodbye, Cas. I wasn't there when he died and I didn't get to tell him how much he matters to me. How proud I am of him and…everything else. He was just gone. Just like that and-and I didn't see it coming even though we face death all the damn time and then it was too late."

"Dean, stop this," Cas's voice had taken on a sharp, determined, edge and it was enough to shut Dean up. "Sam is not going to die again. He is strong and I will be there. I will not let anything happen to him and as soon as his soul is pulled back to his body then I will make sure that it does not leave."

"But—"

"The world is not ready to lose Sam Winchester, and neither am I. I will do all that I can to ensure that he will live." Cas offered Dean a smile and leaned forward just enough so that their shoulders were just touching. It was meant as a gesture of comfort, one that Sam and Dean had shared so many times over the years, but Dean inched away. He couldn't do that right now. He couldn't replace Sam.

Cas didn't seem to take offense at that, staying where he was and not trying to follow.

Dean suddenly snorted wetly. "You know, if we don't bring Sam back, then I'll probably die of scurvy sooner rather than later without him around to tell me to eat anything green," he said, surprising even himself.

Cas smiled fondly. "Sam did have a knack for getting you to do the impossible."

Dean smiled through his tears before it fell away completely. "These last couple of days without him…it's been hell. I just—I keep looking over my shoulder and I keep expecting him to be there. Or I think of something I want to tell him or text him, or something that would make him laugh and he's just…gone."

"I know," Cas said simply. "I miss Sam too. We all do."

Dean sobbed out another sound. "I just want Sam back," he said desperately.

Cas chewed on his lower lip and then, heaving a sigh, stood and brushed off his trench coat. "We are going to save him, and you must have faith in that."

Holding out his hand to Dean, Cas waited patiently while he stared up at him. If this didn't work, then there would be no ifs or buts about it. Sam would just be dead and Dean would be alone.

Cas continued to wait, his mouth set in a grim line, and Dean slowly reached out to accept his hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

"Sam is waiting," Cas said, gesturing back towards the unmarked grave. Dean nodded briskly and, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket again, took a shuddering breath.

Together they walked back towards the grave. Dean picked up both of their shovels from where they had been abandoned and offered the angel his.

Dean took a fortifying breath and then slipped back into the hole and thrust the tip of his shovel deep into the dirt.

For the first time since he had confirmed for himself that Sam was dead, Dean let hope creep in.

Maybe, just maybe, things were going to work out.

Chapter Text

Dean and Cas fell into an easy rhythm as they dug, and the pile of dirt next to the grave steadily grew. Dean ditched his jacket despite the cool temperature and the occasional raindrops as he worked up a sweat, but Cas never bothered to remove his coat.

Digging graves could never be considered a good time, but this time…this time it felt different. This time, it was Dean digging up his little brother.

He had dug enough graves in his lifetime to know that they were only about five or so feet deep when his shovel hit something that wasn't dirt. Dean halted for a second, his heart jumping up into his throat before he used the tip to scrape away the next layer of dirt.

Something hard and grey appeared.

"Cas," he called urgently, tossing his shovel aside and using his hands to frantically brush the remaining dirt away. Cas hurriedly did the same. Slowly, a body shrouded in the grey cast was exposed. Working together, Cas and Dean freed it from the ground and then heaved it up to rest next to its grave.

It wasn't Sam.

The shoulders were too narrow and the body too small.

Biting back the bitter disappointment, Dean closed his eyes before turning to Cas. "What now?" he asked roughly, wiping the sweat from his face.

Cas, as was becoming the norm for the last few days, took charge without hesitation. "The next body isn't far, we can dig that one up as well. After that, we can take both of them to where Hayley buried her first victim. That will be our rendezvous point with Mary and Jack and then we can go from there."

Dean nodded, more than a little grateful that Cas was willing to do the strategizing and planning because it was an effort to think of anything besides getting Sam back. Cas took the upper body and Dean took the feet, and they carefully carried it to where Hayley had indicated the next grave was.

By that point, it was starting to rain more steadily and thunder rolled heavily in the distance, promising more to come. As they began to dig, it became a full downpour and both Cas and Dean were soaked through to their skins and shivering by the time that they unearthed the second mummified body.

This one also wasn't Sam, and the disappointment was just as bitter as it had been the first time. He just wanted Sam back, was that too much to ask?

"We'll find him soon," Cas said, sensing Dean's frustration even as they each gathered up one of the bodies, preparing to carry them through the woods and back to where Hayley's first victim had been laid to rest.

Mary and Jack had already returned from taking Hayley back and were about knee-deep in the ground. As Cas and Dean lowered their burdens onto the forest floor, Jack reported briefly that they had given Hayley enough sedatives to knock out an elephant before locking her in the Impala's trunk.

They were all anxious to finish the task before them, and Cas and Dean left to dig up their third grave of the night.

They worked in thick silence and as quickly as they could, despite the way that the dirt had turned into thick mud. Dean had put his jacket back on when it had started to rain in earnest but he was still shivering as the cold rain pelted down on them like small daggers. His hair had been completely plastered to his head and water continued to drip down into his face but he didn't pause to wipe it out of his eyes or to try and warm up.

The chances of this grave being Sam's had to be high. It was fifty-fifty odds.

They were about four feet deep in the muck when Cas stiffened. "I can see the body," he announced, and Dean's head jerked up. Digging through the remaining mud with the tip of his shovel, his breath caught as the grey casting became visible.

Setting aside the shovel, he once again began to dig with his hands, pulling out scoops of cold mud and shoving it off to the side. It became clear after a few moments that Dean was working on uncovering the legs.

"Switch places with me," he ordered, flinging his hand full of mud off to the side and trying to shake his hands clean. Cas didn't comment or protest, edging past Dean in the tight hole so that Dean could work to uncover the head.

Fervently, he removed large handfuls of sludge until first the shoulders and then the head appeared.

He didn't need to cut through the casing or pull the body completely out to know that this was Sam. This was his brother, and his heart was already slowing the frantic beat that it had been verging on ever since Sam had been taken.

Dean took one moment for them as he laid his muddy hand atop Sam's head. "Hang on just a little longer," he murmured, before going back to work digging out the sludge from around Sam so that they could leverage him out. Cas was doing the same by his knees and soon he was able to slide his hands underneath Sam's shoulders in preparation to lift him.

Cas bent down, locking his hands underneath Sam's knees.

"On three," Dean said, blinking the rain out of his eyes. Cas nodded and after a silent count, they both heaved. Sam couldn't exactly be considered light, and the mud pulled at him, fighting to keep him firmly in its grasp.

Dean grunted, putting his legs into it. "Again," he ordered, and then Sam was popping free with a squelch. They hoisted him up and over the edge of the hole and rolled his body onto the wet forest floor.

Dean hurriedly clambered out after him. Kicking his shovel aside carelessly, he knelt next to the body, looking it over and reassuring himself that this was Sam.

No one else was that freakishly tall, nor were their shoulders that broad.

Dean laid one hand on his brother's chest, the other once again resting on the crown of his head. "Sammy," he said, not trying to hide the waver in his voice. He dropped his head down as a bone-rattling relief washed over him and let it rest against Sam's forehead, not caring in the slightest that it was getting him muddier than he already was.

He had Sam, and everything would be fine, they would bring him back. They would save him and, in turn, they would save Dean as well.

"Don't break the casing," Cas warned behind him and Dean lifted his head, looking back at his longtime friend with a glare.

"I'm not going to risk him like that," he said gruffly even as he shifted into a crouch. "Here, help me get him over my shoulder. I'm going to take him back to the Impala. You can go help the others."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can do it. We still have another body to dig up, but Sam's not spending a moment longer out here than he has to. It's pouring rain if you haven't noticed." Actually, it was cold enough that the rain was starting to freeze into slush and the sooner he got Sam out of the elements the better.

Cas opened his mouth, and then shut it again with an exasperated look on his face, but moved forward to help.

It was difficult with the casing, even if there was some flexibility, but they managed to get Sam over Dean's shoulder. Wrapping an arm around his thigh to keep him in place, Dean grunted as he surged up onto his feet. Cas braced his arm, helping him to find his balance as Dean hefted Sam up into a more secure and comfortable position.

For several minutes, they stayed together, Cas following along just behind Dean and ready to offer his help if called upon. When they reached a break in the tree that led back to the path, Dean half-turned.

"I've got it from here," he said, his hands tightening around his brother and Cas nodded and continued through the trees.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began the trek down the mountain and back to the Impala.

It was a long couple of miles. Sam wasn't exactly light and the sleet was making everything slick and more than once Dean almost lost his footing. He was sweating heavily and his muscles were loudly protesting the strain when the Impala finally came into sight.

Wrestling the back door open, he slid Sam's body off his shoulder and then dropped him into the bench seat. Straightening with a low wheeze, Dean took just a second to lean against the car, his back aching as he panted. After he had regained control of his breathing, he began to gently wrestle Sam into as comfortable of a position as he could, ignoring the mud and water that was getting on the upholstery.

Sam hadn't really fit in the backseat for years, not since he'd hit his growth spurt in high school. Still, he had made it work when he was alive and now was no different.

Satisfied that Sam was as comfortable as he was going to get, Dean twisted and sat in the footwell, leaning his head back against the seat where Sam's head was cushioned.

"Dude, when you are alive and talking again you are so going on a diet…" he mumbled, rubbing at his sore shoulder. The old joke left a sour taste in the back of his mouth and he dropped his hand with a sigh, gazing over his brother. Sam didn't need to go on a diet. If anything, he needed to eat more. He needed to take care of himself, actually eat and sleep for a change, and Dean would be damned if he let him waste away this time, not after he was being given this second chance. Third chance. Fourth chance. Whatever it was, Dean wasn't about to squander it over something as dumb as Sam being too preoccupied with everyone else's needs to look after himself.

"But I'm going to fix that, once you get back. I'm going to make sure that you take care of yourself."

He reached back, lightly squeezing what felt like Sam's arm. As soon as he could, he was cutting the damn casing off of Sam. He was sick of looking at his brother and only seeing his mummified body.

Dean couldn't stay here forever. Heaving a sigh, he patted Sam's arm once more and used the side of the car door to heave himself up and onto his feet with a low groan.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he vowed, "I just have to help with a few things, so you sit tight and wait."

Closing the car door, he locked it behind him and then stared in at Sam's unmoving body.

He'd be fine.

Checking the trunk to make sure that it was still locked and that Hayley hadn't escaped, Dean turned and headed back through the rain.

Before he rounded the bend that would put the Impala out of sight, he couldn't help but glance back once at Sam. Despite being chilled to the bone, Dean was grateful for the cold rain and that it wasn't the middle of summer. The thought of Sam's body rotting in the hot backseat of a car for what could easily be a couple of hours made him feel sick to his stomach but it wasn't summer.

He'd be fine, Dean would make sure of it.

Only Jack was in the clearing when Dean reached it. He stood guard over what was now three additional bodies that had been lined up in a neat row.

"Which direction…?" he trailed off as Jack pointed into the trees.

"They've been gone for about an hour. They're probably about done," he said and Dean nodded. Wiping the rain out of his eyes, he moved off in that direction. He had only gone a couple of yards when Mary and Cas, awkwardly carrying the fourth and final body between them, appeared.

They laid the last body down and for a long moment they were all silent as they regarded the scene before them. Dean chewed on the side of his cheek and then said, "Before we try anything on Sam, we should run a test trial on one of them first." Maybe it made him selfish, but what they were about to try and do sounded tricky and he couldn't—wouldn't—risk Sam by letting him be the first experiment.

He was going to give Sam every possible advantage that he could get.

Mary shrugged and nodded willingly enough and if Cas or Jack had anything to say about it, they didn't voice it. It was an uncomfortable feeling, though, almost like they were playing God with the lives of these poor souls, but Dean couldn't find it in himself to feel too bad about it.

Cas was right, they had paid their dues, and if this was the one good thing to come out of it, then Dean would take it.

"We should do this back at the motel and in as sanitary of a condition as possible," Cas said after another moment, and they all nodded again, even though the statement was obvious.

Dean had performed some pretty risky medical procedures on Sam in less-than-ideal circumstances, but that was only when he had to. They had the time to do this one right and Dean couldn't risk for them not to.

"Right," Mary straightened and shook her wet hair out of her face as she took charge. "I don't think that any of us want to hike back out here again. Everyone grab a body and let's go. Jack, you take that one there," she gestured at the first body that Cas and Dean had dug up. It was the smallest and would be the easiest to carry.

Mary stepped forward, helping Jack to work the body over his shoulder and making sure that he didn't topple over. He was bent forward underneath the weight, but he nodded tightly at Cas when he asked him if he was okay.

The other three proceeded to pick one of their own and once they all were situated, they started off in one of the strangest processions that Dean had been a part of.

#

It was a relief to reach the parking lot and the cars, the bodies weighing each of them down. Placing them carefully in the back of the pickup truck one after the other, Dean left Cas and Mary to tie down a tarp over the back to hide them from view and made a beeline for the Impala. Jack had already retreated to the dryness and relative warmth of Cas's car.

Ducking down to see through the window, he wiped the rainwater away with his sleeve, assuring himself that Sam was right where he had left him. Straightening, he looked back around.

"I'll meet you back at Hettinger. Text me the name of the motel where you are staying," Dean called, half yelling to be heard over a roll of thunder. Mary flashed a thumbs up and Cas nodded, and Dean went around to the driver's side of the Impala. Getting in, he positioned the rearview mirror so that it looked into the backseat rather than the road.

"Almost done, Sammy," he murmured, not that Sam would answer.

He was getting tired of having one-sided conversations.

Without waiting for the others, he took off back down the mountainside, his windshield wipers working hard to keep the rain clear. The heater had been turned on low but, this time, he did play music. Not as loud as he might have when he'd been just a kid or as it had been recently, but it was still there. He hummed along as he drove, his fingers tapping repeatedly against the steering wheel as he sent frequent glances back at his brother.

Once he reached Hettinger, it didn't take him long to find the motel. It didn't look like a total dump, and for that Dean was grateful.

It was almost ten in the morning by that point and Dean willingly paid the extra half-day charge to get an early check-in. Right now, he was willing to fork out any money and pay any price as long as he knew that Sam was going to be safe and comfortable for a little bit.

Dean did have to wait in the car for the housekeeper to finish in the room next to theirs before he dared to bring Sam in. The last thing that they needed was the maid calling the cops on him because he had been seen with a body. It wasn't raining in the valley quite yet but Dean left the car running as he waited, still soaked through, muddy, and cold.

Once she had moved on down the line of rooms, Dean wrapped the old and worn-thin blanket from the trunk around his brother as best as he could to further disguise him before he hoisted him back over his shoulder and staggered into the room.

Kicking the door shut behind them, he moved to the bed closest to the door and carefully dropped Sam down onto it. Crossing to the windows, he hurriedly pulled the blinds, casting the room into gloom, and turned back to Sam. Unwrapping the blanket from around him, he tossed it across the foot of the other bed and then stopped, chewing on his lower lip.

He wanted nothing more than to sit down and just be with Sam, but he had other responsibilities. Sam would be safe here and he would continue to wait for Dean, but Dean couldn't help him just yet.

It was still damn hard to leave and, as an extra precaution, Dean marked all the entrances with the protective sigils just in case Hayley somehow managed to slip through their fingers once again.

She was never going to lay another finger on Sam.

After that, there was nothing left to do, but it still took more effort than he cared to admit to pull away and leave Sam behind yet again.

Cas and Mary had arrived by then and were standing next to the white pickup truck, eyeing the same housekeeper that Dean had been avoiding earlier as she worked her way down the row.

"She might not notice," Mary was saying quietly, her lips thinning.

"Right. She's not going to notice us bringing in four bodies. We might be able to get away with one, but four? I don't know. The risk is high," Cas said slowly, rubbing at his jaw.

Jack shrugged. "What if I go distract her? I saw how to do it once on a TV show and it wasn't hard," he said, smiling proudly and with the pure innocence that was just Jack.

"We don't need long, maybe five minutes," Dean said in agreement as he moved around to the back of the truck and began to unlash the ropes holding the tarp down. The quicker that they got this done, the quicker he could get back to Sam.

Jack waited until she was out next to her cart, and then began to engage her in conversation, allowing them to start moving the bodies into the door that was propped open by a small trash can.

Cas took one body by himself while Dean and Mary lifted another one together and then they repeated the process with the last two. Jack shifted to block them from view and kept up the pretense long enough for them to get all four bodies inside. He returned with an armful of towels and soaps, which he dumped on the chair.

"You just have to keep asking them for things one at a time. She was rather irritated by the end." Jack looked troubled about that, and Mary smiled.

"You should have just asked for her number before you left. That would have done a lot to soothe any bad feelings."

"Oh. Is that…would that have…" Jack made a face, blushing a little and Dean almost smiled. He might have had he not just finished sneaking bodies into a motel room.

That, and maybe if Sam's body wasn't also in the motel.

Dean glanced around the room, shaking his head as he took in everything. This was—horrible didn't seem to cover it. He was staring at the Du'a jiraataa's destruction, at the evil that it had brought upon the world.

After all this was finished, he would be more than happy to kill Hayley and put an end to all this.

Mary had printed out the email that Sakina had sent over with more detailed instructions, and she laid it out on the table, studying it. Cas joined her, reading over her shoulder and Dean…Dean didn't think that he wanted to be here. Cas looked over at him and then shifted, making room for him but Dean shook his head.

He was already uneasy about everything that was about to happen and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know just how much could go wrong.

"I'm—we are going to need the toxin from Hayley. I'm not sure how much force I'll have to use to get it so I want us to be alone. I'm going to take her back to the factory. I'll—I'll be back as soon as I can."

Cas nodded once and then went back to studying the printout, his face serious as he pointed something out to Mary in a low murmur. Dean nodded to himself and then backed out of the room, giving the bodies one last glance.

The chances of success were not in their favor.

It was a relief to be back outside, Dean breathed in the fresh air deeply before getting back into the Impala. It didn't take long to reach the factory, and Dean parked in the back again and away from prying eyes.

Preparing a syringe with sedatives, he went around to the back of the trunk but he shouldn't have worried. Hayley merely cowered away from him when he popped the trunk, her eyes flinching close as she brought her hands up to cover her face.

Grabbing her by her arms, he dragged her forcefully out of the car and led her stumbling back into her prison.

He had her strung up again in no time and then he took a step back, regarding her. "We've been here before, haven't we?"' he asked, his arms folded across his chest.

Hayley refused to look at him, her chin trembling.

Dean didn't waste any more time on pleasantries as he held up the glass jar, shaking it. "I need some of your venom, toxin, whatever it is. So, you have two choices. You can make this easy and just give it to us, or I can carve off some more skin, maybe even some limbs just for fun. I have the perfect, rusty, knife in mind as well. Make your choice."

Hayley whimpered, still refusing to look anywhere but at the ceiling. Dean calmly took a step forward and grabbed her by her chin with bruising force.

"What was that?" he asked tightly, looming over her and squeezing until it was surely painful.

Hayley shook her head even as fat tears rolled down her face. "I'll kill you. I'll kill all of you," she whispered and Dean shook her roughly.

"I just need the toxin, then you can do whatever the hell you want to me," he snapped before he let go, breathing heavily. Hayley let out another sob as Dean held up the jar, shaking it in her face.

When she didn't move, he bellowed, "NOW!" making her jump.

In the end, she didn't have a choice and she knew it. She was Dean's bitch.

Rolling her head back and still crying, Hayley let her jaw deform, allowing her fangs to drop down. Dean moved in and shoved the jar into her mouth, giving her something to bite down on. After a moment, a droplet of a cloudy yellow toxin began to form at the edges of her fang before it rolled down into the jar.

He milked as much of the toxin as they could from Hayley, which wasn't as much as Dean would have wanted. It only filled the bottom of the jar, and Dean turned it over hesitantly.

"You're sure you can't give us anymore?" he asked Hayley, not unprepared to use violence if it would help.

"I can't control it," Hayley pleaded, clearly thinking the same thing that Dean was, and Dean made a face, still examining the jar and its contents.

"Well, if it's not enough, I can just get more later."

Hayley gave a terrified whimper, and Dean shrugged. Holding the jar carefully, he looked over at Hayley. She was dangling from her handcuffs, which had been looped over a piece of rope that had been strung from the beams.

She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"I'll be back," he said stiffly. She glowered at him, but Dean didn't pay it any heed as he turned his back, eyeing the toxin that could change everything.

He made his way to the motel and knocked once. Jack opened the door just a crack, and Dean slipped in.

One of the bodies—a young woman—was lying on the bed naked and stripped of her grey burial shroud. A sea of medical equipment surrounded her, and Dean's stomach churned over.

The mood in the room was grim, and no one seemed as confident as they had been an hour ago.

"Here—" Dean passed over the jar, his eyes never leaving the woman's still face.

Cas took it and Dean wrenched his gaze away to look at his old, seeking reassurance, but Cas's face didn't hold the same hope that it had out in the woods.

He looked nervous, and Dean's heart skipped a beat.

He knew that he should want to stay. That he should want to experience and see what was about to happen so that he could better help Sam, but part of him felt sick at the thought. His hope was hanging on by a very tentative thread, and he didn't think that he wanted to know all that could go wrong.

Maybe that made him a coward, but he didn't care.

"I'm—I can't—" he looked pleadingly at Cas, begging him to understand. To his great relief, he nodded tightly.

"I'm not sure how long we'll be. I will let you know when we will be ready to help Sam," Cas said, and Dean nodded dumbly, unable to say what he was thinking.

This room reeked of death and hopelessness, and Dean fled.

They didn't need him; they had more than enough help. Sam needed him now.

Opening the door, he slipped in and then moved the chair from the table over so that he could sit next to his brother. He sat down, before immediately standing again and heading towards the bathroom. He was filthy and still uncomfortably wet after digging up graves all night in the rain. Out of all the things that had gone wrong over the last couple of days, those things didn't even count, but he couldn't afford to be dirty or trembling from cold when they worked on saving Sam.

Showering quickly in water that was as hot as he could make it, Dean scrubbed himself off roughly and thoroughly before hurriedly changing into fresh clothes. Only then did he allow himself to sit in the chair.

He kept a silent watch over his brother, his hands twisting together as he tried not to think about what was going to happen and what was happening in the other room. He about jumped out of his skin when his phone finally did ring. He answered swiftly, not even bothering to check who the caller was. "Cas?"

"It's me, Dean. Listen, I think that we'll be finished in about an hour. I don't think that there is any harm if you want to start removing the casing from around Sam now and it will help speed the process along. You don't have to, it's just easier—"

"I'll have it done," Dean interrupted, "Oh, and Cas, just you. Don't bring Mom or Jack."

There was a disapproving silence on the other end. "They will not like that, particularly your mother."

"I'm sure that there is more than enough to do with the other victims"—If they had survived, that was— "and Sam wouldn't want them here." It was a thin excuse, but it was the same one that everyone kept bringing up with Dean and if it was on the table then he was damn sure going to use it as well.

Sam probably wouldn't care, but Dean did.

If he could have managed it without an angel as backup, he would have asked Cas to let him do it alone as well. This was something that was meant to be done with as few witnesses as possible.

"Dean…"

"Cas, this is the way that it's going to be," Dean repeated stubbornly, and Cas let it drop.

"Fine. I will be there as soon as I can."

Dean hung up and then turned back to Sam, eyeing him now with a critical eye. He wasn't sure of the best way to remove the casing…Dean wiped his clammy hands down his jeans. There was no reason for him to be nervous; everything was going to be fine.

Pulling out his favorite knife, Dean glanced over Sam's body, trying to determine the best place to start. Choosing a spot along his shin, Dean began to apply gentle pressure, unsure of how much force was going to be needed to break it open or how thick it was. His knife was sharp, and it cut through the hard, outer, layer with ease, but caught on the substance underneath. It was sticky, and it clung to his knife with every cut that he tried to make, making it ineffective.

After only a minute of fighting against it, Dean gave up and set his knife aside, and instead used his fingers. Digging them into the hole that he had already created, he began to pull, further cracking the casing open and allowing him to pull handfuls of the sticky second layer away.

He continued to work his way up Sam's body, first prying the casing open and then scraping the substance off. It was working fairly well, even if it stuck infuriatingly to his hands, but it was slow going.

Hayley had stripped Sam of his clothes, and despite Dean's best efforts, remnants of the stuff remained glued to his brother's skin. It was going to be a nightmare to wash off, and Dean wasn't even thinking about how long it was going to take to get this out of Sam's hair when the time came.

That would be a problem for Sam to figure out if all went well.

Dean slowed as he reached Sam's shoulder and chest area, and it was with greater hesitancy that he began to crack open the casing there. Once that was gone, he tentatively and gently began to pull away the sticky layer.

He was bracing himself for the worst and to be faced with the gaping wounds from earlier, but instead, he found wounds that appeared days old rather than recent. They weren't completely healed and still looked like they would be painful, but they couldn't do any more damage to Sam.

Sam was going to be alright, Dean had to believe it.

The smaller cuts that had adorned Sam's body earlier were even further along in the healing process and were nothing more than faint scars. However, while the break in his left arm had also started to heal, Hayley had clearly not been careful with Sam's body and the bone had begun to mend back together at an unnatural angle, leaving his arm twisted.

They were going to have to rebreak that if Sam ever wanted to regain full use of that arm again. Hell, if they didn't have an angel on the team, then he probably never would, but Dean would take Sam with a bad arm and alive then dead any day.

The twisted arm wasn't the only thing that was wrong with his brother's body.

Where Sam's left shoulder connected to his neck, there was a swollen, fist-sized, lump. It was pulsating slowly, and Dean had to look away, feeling sick to his stomach.

The egg. The whole reason that Sam had been killed, but also the reason that Sam could be brought back.

It was repulsive and Dean determinedly kept his gaze away as he continued to work to remove the casing along the side of Sam's neck, and then his face.

Dean had to stop for a long moment after that. He knew Sam's face so well, but it was grey in death, and his skin felt fragile to the touch, like if Dean scrubbed too hard, it would flake right off.

Sam might have been with him once again physically, but his soul wasn't there. He was still nothing more than a corpse.

The grief hit just as hard as it had the first time, and Dean had to stop for a while, working on getting his emotions under control.

Dean had filled one trash bag and was working on another when a knock came at the door. Dean half-turned, his hands covered in the thick substance.

"Cas, that you?" he called.

"Yes."

"Pick the lock or whatever, can't come to the door," Dean yelled back as he returned to his task.

After a minute, the door opened, and then Cas was standing next to Dean, holding an armful of supplies. Dean glanced back, offering a wan smile. Cas didn't return it, looking worn out and crestfallen. Dark shadows lined his eyes, and there was no doubt in Dean that his grace had already been used today.

It didn't do much to set the mood, and Dean had to take a deep breath to try and settle his nerves.

Cas set his armful of medical equipment off to the side and then left, returning with more.

Dean eyed the growing pile warily, but he waited for Cas to close the door before daring to ask, "How many survived?" His gut clenched even as he asked, and he had to look back down at the trash can, pretending to focus on removing the substance from his hands.

"One," Cas said softly after a pause, and Dean froze, his heart beating uncomfortably against his ribs.

Those weren't great odds.

He swallowed thickly and, giving up on scraping his hands off, went to the bathroom to try and wash them off instead. Using his elbow, he nudged the faucet on and began to run the hot water.

"Sam's a fighter," he abruptly called back from the bathroom, and his voice caught on the last word. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Sam's not going to just give up. He's too damn stubborn."

"Mary and Jack said the same. They remained with the survivor, and they will continue to monitor her condition until you allow them to be here. Once she is more stable, they are going to drop her off at the local hospital."

"Good." Dean wiped his hands off on a hand towel, and Cas slid in behind him. He grabbed a washcloth and began to run it under the hot water before squeezing it out and passing it to Dean.

"We should clean him off as best as we can," he said grimly, getting one for himself.

"That's what I was working on. That stuff isn't exactly easy to get off," Dean grumbled half-heartedly as he returned to the main room and sat on the edge of the bed. He began to wash what he could off of Sam's chest and neck.

Cas went to work on Sam's right arm, the unbroken one, wiping it down even as Dean's touch gentled and then slowed as he found himself staring into Sam's slack face.

"We are going to have to rebreak his other arm eventually," Cas said, breaking through Dean's thoughts.

"I know."

"But it can wait until he's stronger. The others were very weak when they were first brought back, and I don't want to put any additional strain on Sam's body that we don't have to."

"No. That doesn't sound smart," Dean said in agreement. Sam could live with a bad arm for a few days or however long it would take to get him back up and on his feet. Cas dropped his washcloth to the side and then went around the bed, digging through the medical equipment. He returned with IV tubing.

"What's that for?" Dean asked uneasily as Cas began to poke along Sam's right elbow, looking for a vein. That wasn't exactly easy to do with a dead body, and Cas didn't answer until he had located a vein and slipped the needle in.

"Blood transfusions. We stole a couple of bags when we were out earlier, but we won't run anything until his heart is beating."

"Do you think that he's going to need it?" Dean asked, his apprehension deepening.

"Probably. The others bled heavily as we were extracting the Du'a jiraataa, but it is possible that he might not. This is…this is a crude form of healing and in many ways a guessing game. I can heal him after we pull it out, but there is only so much that I can do, and I want to be prepared for the worst. I have a heart monitor as well, so…," Cas gestured back at the rag Dean was holding, and Dean nodded in understanding. Abandoning the wet rag, he grabbed a dry hand towel from the bathroom and patted the skin dry to ensure that the pads would stick before he went in search of the heart monitor. Cas hung a bag of blood on the headboard and attached it to the IV, even if he didn't open the port. It would be ready at a moment's notice if needed.

Dean located the portable heart monitor and then turned back to the bed. He didn't know where Cas had gotten it from, and he didn't ask. He just put it on the bedside table. Peeling the protective layer off the sticky leads, Dean placed one on each side of Sam's chest before placing a third one down a little bit lower on the left side of his ribs.

Cas nodded, taking a step back, his hands on his hips as he evaluated the setup. "Good," he said after a moment.

"What's next?" Dean asked, and he was now starting to regret his decision not to witness the procedures.

"Next we bring him back, and then we will surgically remove the parasite from his body. I am going to warn you, it's not easy or pleasant, and the Du'a jiraataa will fight us."

"So why not just take it out right now, before it has the chance?" Dean challenged apprehensively.

"We tried that. The victim's heart didn't beat for even a minute. We are thinking that the Du'a jiraataa also releases a stronger burst of the same toxins as the mothers to strengthen the host body as it is hatching. It is both saving him and damning him all at once."

"Awesome." Dean rubbed a hand over his face, heaving a worried sigh.

"It doesn't get better," Cas said seriously. "We have a very narrow window of time to try and pull the parasite out. Sam will be very, very, weak initially. Pull it out too soon, and he will die due to either the strain of the removal of the parasite or because we did not give the toxins enough time to work. He will gain strength, but remove the Du'a jiraataa too late, and…well, the Du'a jiraataa will be out of our reach as it digs itself deeper into Sam's body. If that happens, then we will not be able to remove it without causing irreparable harm."

"Great." Dean shook his head, scrubbing one hand through his hair. "That's just…great." That wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"It will be alright, Dean, I still have hope of that," Cas said, his voice softening in sympathy and some of the hope from earlier coming back. Dean nodded, tight-lipped. "Alright. Do you have a lighter?"

Dean blinked at the change of subject and then looked around for his damp jacket that he had tossed aside. Finding it, he returned with the lighter.

Flicking it on, Cas disinfected first a small but sharp pen knife and then a pair of tweezers. He laid them carefully a top of a clean towel on the bedside table next to an empty mason jar.

Handing back the lighter, Cas looked up at him grimly as Dean pocketed it. "Are you ready?"

Dean's hands were getting clammy again and his stomach was in knots. He didn't think that even alcohol would help steady his nerves at this point. They would only have one shot at this.

"Yeah, okay. Okay," Dean ran a hand back through his hair and was horrified to realize that his hands were trembling. "We can do this. Sam can do this."

"I will be here. I will help him as much as I can," Cas said emphatically, and Dean nodded, taking another deep breath. Cas moved back to the bedside table, where a single syringe rested. It was filled with a small amount of the yellow toxin that he had taken from Hayley earlier.

Dean's heart contracted, his stomach rolling, and he reached down to grasp Sam's hand. It was cold and stiff to the touch. Clenching it in his, Dean leaned down until his mouth was near Sam's ear.

"You fight this, you hear me? We're going to help you, but you have to fight," he whispered, squeezing as hard as he could and stepping back. Cas went to insert the needle but Dean shook his head, beckoning for it.

"Give it here, I'll do it," he said, and Cas handed it over.

"Insert it there," he instructed as he gently tilted Sam's head to the side and gestured at the mass of protruding skin. Dean nodded and, reaching across the bed, braced a hand against Sam's shoulder as he slid the needle in and then dispensed the toxin.

Cas reached back and flicked the heart monitor on.

It blinked to life as Dean tossed the used needle aside.

No heartbeat registered, and it began to wail its alarm, setting Dean on edge.

"It takes a moment," Cas said hurriedly.

Dean nodded but that didn't stop him from clasping Sam's hand again, trying to will his own strength into his brother. "C'mon," he muttered as the line on the monitor continued to remain flat. Nothing was happening, and this was his worst nightmare. "C'mon, Sammy, you can do it," he repeated roughly.

Still, no heartbeat was being picked up, and Dean's own heart had lodged itself in his throat. What was he supposed to do now? Cas's face was tightening in concern, and that only further escalated Dean's panic.

"What now?" he demanded, unable to control the note of terror in his voice.

Before Cas could answer, the heart monitor's wail skipped to a long, slow, beep, and a single heartbeat flashed across the screen.

Dean stared at it, unable to move or breathe, until another beat followed. And then another. The heart rate was slow and weak, but Dean didn't care.

Sam was alive, and already his skin looked less grey as the color began to creep across his cheeks. Then Sam's chest rose minutely in a shallow inhale that was followed by an exhale. It was followed by another wheezing, deeper, one, and a film of tears blurred Dean's vision as he patted Sam's chest roughly.

"That's my boy! You keep fighting," he growled, winding his other hand into Sam's tangled and sticky hair, trying to ground him. "You stay with me. You hear me, Sammy? You stay with me and you keep fighting."

Cas moved in closer to the bed, his eyes flickering between the heart monitor, Sam's face, and the mass of skin on his shoulder. Dean glanced down as well and wished that he hadn't. They had clearly activated something as the skin there stretched, writhing and pulsating, but even as Dean watched, it began to shrink.

The Du'a jiraataa was moving inwards.

"Cas…" he said, looking over, alarmed, but Cas just shook his head as he glanced at the heart monitor.

"Sam's still too weak, if we pull it out now, we will kill him. Give it a moment," he said grimly, and Dean just stopped himself from telling Cas that he was wrong. That they had to get that thing out of his brother now.

Dean glanced at the shrinking mass, at the heart monitor, and then at Cas. Cas shook his head again even as he grabbed the pen knife, holding it over Sam's shoulder in preparation.

Dean chewed on his lower lip, his eyes flicking rapidly from Sam's shoulder to the heart monitor and back again.

Cas finally blew out a long breath, his face pained. "His heart rate is not as strong as I would like, but we cannot wait any longer. I have to pull it out now or it will be too late. Hold him still," he commanded, and Dean braced Sam with a hand against his good shoulder and his chest.

Taking the pen knife, Cas made a deep cut, releasing a flood of fluids and blood that spilled down his skin and soaked into the sheets.

Cas bent closer with an intense look of concentration as he made another, deeper, cut into Sam's shoulder, and Dean glanced back at the heart monitor as blood continued to gush out of the wound.

Sam stiffened against the pain, and Dean tightened his grip. "Steady," he coached, watching as Cas made another cut, this time widening the wound.

"Tweezers," he snapped a moment later as he set aside the blood-stained knife and held out his hand. Dean reached back to snatch them up and handed them over. Immediately, Cas began to dig in the open wound, his face hard and his hands bloody.

Sam let out a low groan, his head rolling to the side as his eyes fought to open, and Dean increased the pressure he was using to hold him down. "Easy, Sammy, easy. It's going to be over in just a moment."

Cas was now holding the wound in Sam's shoulder open with two fingers as he continued to dig with the tweezers. Bright red blood was staining his fingers up to the second knuckle, and the sight made Dean feel sick.

The beeping of the heart monitor was picking up speed, and Dean tore his attention away from Cas and up to Sam. His brother didn't look good. His skin had lost what little color it had regained, and sweat was beading across his face and neck. He made a soft, hurt, sound as he tried to twist away from the pain.

"Just take it easy, it's going to be over soon, hang on," Dean instructed, tightening his grip and willing Sam to hear him. The heart monitor only continued to increase in speed, the beeping now bordering on a wail, and Sam's heart wasn't going to be able to keep going like that for long.

"Cas—" Dean started to say, panic in his voice, but Cas interrupted him, his face lighting up in excitement as he began to pull back.

"Got it!"

"You hear that? Almost done, we're almost done," Dean grunted, straining to keep Sam in place as he tried to arch his back off the bed, making a strangled sound. His heart was going too damn fast and the shrill beeping was now a scream. Dean blinked sweat out of his own eyes.

"Hurry up," he rasped to Cas. "Get it out. Get it out right now!"

"I'm trying. They fight," Cas replied tightly even as he struggled, trying to pull the Du'a jiraataa out. He was still knuckle deep into the wound.

Sam was trying to fight back, and Dean roughly held him down, using the full weight of his body to keep him pinned. His brother panted raggedly underneath him, and each breath sounded fought for. To add to Dean's alarm, he could see the veins that were starting to bulge in his neck and forehead.

Sam was fighting, but it was taking its toll.

"I know, I know, almost done. Hang tight for just a couple more minutes," he pleaded before looking over. "Cas—" he tried to demand, but Cas wasn't paying him any attention, his full focus on drawing out the parasite. His fingers and the tweezers were now out of the wound and Dean could just see the tip of the Du'a jiraataa. It was a bloated, wriggling, white…thing.

It was still fighting with everything that it had, trying to burrow back into the safety of Sam's body.

Beneath him, Sam gave a gasping wheeze as he fought, and Dean closed his eyes briefly. When he reopened them, it was in time to watch Sam's eyes fly open, revealing murky hazel that stared unseeingly ahead.

"Sammy, hey, hey, hey. Sam, can you hear me?" he asked, risking letting go of his shoulder to brace his forehead. But Sam wasn't there, not really, and his eyes slammed closed again as his whole body seized and he strained against Dean's hold.

"Keep him still!" Cas snapped, and Dean shifted back, straining just as hard to keep him down.

"Sam?" Dean tried again, fear making his voice sharp. It only increased when Sam abruptly went limp, his body sinking back into the mattress. The heart monitor began to wail in earnest, and Dean looked over.

The line was once again flat.

"Sam—sonofabitch!" Dean felt like his own heart had been ripped from his chest. "SAM!" he bellowed, trying to bring him back but it didn't do anything.

"Dean, I can't stop now," Cas hissed, but Dean didn't need the prompting. Without having to be asked, Cas was already shuffling up a few feet, making room for Dean to move into the correct position.

Intertwining his fingers, Dean placed them in the middle of Sam's chest and began to perform CPR with quick, hard, thrusts. Next to him, Cas continued to wrestle with the Du'a jiraataa, and Dean could see that it was long—longer than his arm even—and it wasn't completely out yet.

Dean paused his CPR briefly, waiting to see if Sam's heart would start beating again on its own. Nothing happened and he resumed it.

"Ah-ha!" Cas exclaimed from next to him and Dean looked up in time to see the last of the parasite pop free with a gush of blood and what sounded like a thin wail. Cas held the long, wriggling, thing away from his body and hurriedly moved over to the waiting mason jar, which he dropped it into and then screwed the lid on.

"Cas—" Dean called as he continued to perform CPR.

Sam's heart still wasn't beating, and Cas set the jar aside and hurried back to the head of the bed, his blood-stained hand outstretched. Placing the heel of his hand over Sam's forehead, he opened his eyes and they glowed blue.

Dean paused, watching and hardly daring to breathe.

For a moment nothing happened, and then Sam was seizing again, his back arching off the bed as the power flowed through Cas and into Sam. Then he went limp, his head lolling back against the pillow.

Dean held his breath, waiting for the most painful few seconds of his life, and then a slow and steady beeping filled the room as the heart monitor picked up a heartbeat. A moment later, Sam took a deep breath and Dean dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers before just as quickly looking up.

Cas took a step back, swaying a little and panting heavily, and Dean slipped into the place that he had just vacated.

"Sam?" he called earnestly as he laid a hand on Sam's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall along with the thump of his heart for himself. His other hand came up, cradling the side of his lax face. "Sammy?"

"He will not wake up right now. I put him into a deep sleep, and he needs rest to heal," Cas said hoarsely as he stiffly moved around and opened the port to the bag of blood. "I healed what I could, but I can't—he's still going to be very weak. His body is readjusting to being alive and has been through something very traumatic. It didn't help that he lost a lot of blood just now."

Cas wasn't wrong. Blood was dripping off the blankets and onto the floor.

"But he's alive," Dean said forcibly, looking up and hoping that Cas could see the gratitude on his face.

"He is alive," Cas repeated softly, a look of wonder in his eyes. "I am sure that this does not need to be said, but we must monitor his condition closely. He is not out of the woods yet."

"Oh, trust me, Sam's not going to get another private moment until he's seventy." Dean reached down, a wave of emotions washing over him and making his eyes burn as he grabbed Sam's hand, squeezing it hard.

It was warm now instead of waxy and cold, and the lump in his throat was growing. Dean cleared it roughly, trying to blink his eyes clear.

"Do—ah, do I need to know anything else?" he asked quietly, squeezing Sam's hand again, and Cas shook his head.

"Just remember that it may take a while for Sam's strength to return, even with the help I was able to provide. There are just some things that take time."

"I know. We're taking it slow, I'm not expecting any marathons. Stay close to the motel just in case, but I'll let you know if we need anything," Dean said, turning back to Cas and smiling at him.

Cas took the dismissal with grace and bowed his head. "I'll be with Mary and Jack if you need anything or if Sam does. Do not hesitate to call, I can be here in a matter of seconds."

"I won't. Thank you. Cas, seriously. Thank you. I—thank you." Dean didn't think that anything he could say or do would show Cas just how grateful he was. Without Cas he would have—Sam would be—Dean smiled again and knew that his eyes were probably red.

"It was the least that I could do for Sam after all that he's done for me over the years," Cas said softly, and Dean nodded again, unable to speak.

"Are you sure that you do not wish for me to stay?"

"Yeah, I've got him."

Cas respectfully retreated after one final glance back at Sam. The door shut behind him, and then Dean and Sam were alone again.

Dean took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair before letting out a laugh. Sam was okay. The heart monitor was still showing a steady beat, and his breathing was normal.

Sam was alive.

Chapter Text

For a long time, Dean was content to just sit there and hold Sam's hand in both of his as he watched him sleep.

Sam's breathing was slow and easy, and the heart monitor registered a similar heartbeat. The constant reassurance of that was what finally allowed Dean to move away, even if it was only to the bathroom.

Grabbing another washcloth—they were quickly running out, and maybe Jack's stash of linens would come in handy after all—Dean soaked it in warm water and began to clean the blood from Sam's skin.

It was the third time in almost as many days that he'd had to do this and, hopefully, it would be the last.

A puckered scar remained on Sam's left shoulder, right where the Du'a jiraataa had been pulled from his body and Dean slowed as he dabbed the now-dried blood from the area, examining it carefully.

The scar would likely remain for the rest of Sam's life if Cas hadn't been able to heal it the first time. Sometimes the evil that they faced left scars that could not be erased, not even by angels, but that was alright. Dean could live with that and, even better, Sam could. It would just be added to the vast collection of scars that he already carried.

When Sam was relatively clean, Dean washed his own hands free of the blood and then began to carefully move the medical equipment that was still attached to Sam closer to the other bed.

The one that Sam lay on stank of blood and death and Dean didn't want him waking up there.

Once he was sure that he could move his brother without messing up anything, he eased Sam up into a sitting position and then slipped an arm around his back and underneath his knees. In one swift movement, he hefted him up against his chest and, grunting under the strain, twisted around. The beds were close together—which was good because Sam wasn't exactly easy to carry—and he only had to take one step before he was lowering him down once again.

Sam groaned softly as he was jostled, his face twitching. Dean smothered a smile even as he straightened his brother's head into a less awkward angle, making sure that he was comfortable.

"Sammy?" he asked, brushing his matted hair out of his eyes but Sam's face was already smoothing out, asleep once more.

Dean tried not to be disappointed.

Cas was right, Sam did need rest and sleep was the best thing for him, but he was aching to see the life in Sam's eyes, to have a conversation with him, and see for himself that Sam was alright.

To know that Sam was alive.

It would have to wait until Sam was ready, though, and he turned to his next self-appointed task; washing the gunk out of Sam's hair. He could just cut it, but Sam would never forgive him for that and Dean honestly didn't want to. He supposed that he could wait for Sam to figure it out once he was awake, but he needed something to occupy himself and Sam had been through enough. He didn't need to worry about this. So Dean found himself researching the best ways to get something sticky out of hair—and if Sam didn't think that Dean would be hearing about all the mommy blogs that were now on his history then he had another thing coming.

They didn't have olive oil or peanut butter on hand, but he did have rubbing alcohol which, supposedly, helped take out tree sap. Deciding that it was worth a try, Dean soaked a cotton ball in it and then began to dampen sections of Sam's hair before trying to untangle it with his fingers. The alcohol was working but his fingers weren't and, feeling slightly ridiculous, Dean left just long enough to get Sam's duffle from the Impala and then searched through it until he found a comb.

That seemed to do the trick with the alcohol first dissolving the sticky substance and then the comb working out the tangles. In fact, he found that it was almost peaceful to sit here and work through a simple problem with an easy solution. If that didn't make him an old fart then he didn't know what did, but he was just going to take the win for the moment.

Outside, the wind was starting to pick up, rattling the windows as the storm moved down from the mountains and into the valley. It wasn't long until rain began to patter against the roof of the motel and Dean glanced out the window. The grey clouds had created a sort of false twilight but that couldn't dampen Dean's good mood.

He had gotten through a fair amount of Sam's hair and was working on one particularly knotted section at the back of Sam's head when Sam's steady breathing caught. His head twisted to the side and away from Dean's touch.

Dean's own heart jumped and he quickly set the comb aside. Leaning forward, he captured Sam's hand again and squeezed it lightly.

"Sam?"

Sam moaned softly through his teeth, his eyes screwing up.

"Hey," Dean said as he gripped Sam's good shoulder with his other hand. He began to knead the muscle there, watching Sam's face for any sign of discomfort or pain. Sam's brow furrowed and Dean leaned closer. "C'mon, Sammy. You can do it," he encouraged.

After a long moment, Sam's eyelids fluttered open. He blinked up at the ceiling before his gaze wandered dazedly across the room.

Dean couldn't keep the wide grin off his face as he cupped the side of Sam's face, drawing his attention back towards him. He stared down into his eyes, soaking in the coherence there and the emotions that flickered through them. They were no longer empty, no longer a corpse.

"Hey," he said again, trying to hide how his voice caught at the end as his eyes started to water. Sam blinked long and slow but Dean's own vision was blurry and he had to blink several times to clear them so that he could see Sam clearly. He sniffed, trying to hold back the emotion.

Sam watched him, worry now flickering in his eyes, before he let out a little sigh and his eyes sank shut again. Dean compulsively tightened his grip.

"Hey. Sam, you with me? Can you hear me?"

Sam's face slowly scrunched up as he rolled his head to the side, forcing his eyelids open again.

"De'n?" he asked hoarsely. He coughed on the end of the word, swallowing thickly, and let out a low groan.

"Oh, yeah, hold on, one second—" Dean quickly stood and turned in a small circle to search the room for a water bottle or a cup. He had his whiskey flask in his pocket but, somehow, he didn't think that alcohol was what Sam needed right then.

Finding a water bottle, Dean turned back in time to see Sam trying to push himself up. Or at least that was what Dean thought that he was doing, he wasn't getting very far.

"Here. Don't move, I've got it," Dean said hurriedly, dropping back down to sit next to him and holding out the water bottle. Sam stared at him blankly, still looking confused, and Dean nodded. "Right. You've just been on one hell of a bender. I gotcha, big guy, don't worry about it." Slipping his hand under Sam's neck, he brought his head up enough for him to be able to get a sip.

Sam immediately began to choke, coughing out the small amount of water with a pained groan. Dean hurriedly sat it aside and pulled Sam up straighter, patting his back roughly to help him cough it up.

"Sorry, sorry. We'll get you on some fluids once you finish that bag of blood, that will help."

Sam made a confused sound. "Too m'ny words," he mumbled as his head tipped forward to rest against Dean.

Dean's smile threatened to fall, but he hitched it back on and cleared his throat. "Fair enough. You're okay, you just close your eyes and go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up and it will make more sense then," he insisted, smoothing Sam's damp hair away from his face.

Sam frowned at him with an expression that said he didn't agree with that but his body had other plans, and his eyes were already slipping closed again.

"Okay," he slurred and then he was out, his mouth hanging open slightly. Dean glanced backward at the heart monitor, reassuring himself with the familiar and steady pattern.

Sam was okay, just disoriented and confused. That was to be expected and Dean could handle it.

Only a handful of minutes passed, however, before Sam woke up again. He wasn't any more coherent, his words slurring together when he asked for Dean.

"I'm right here," Dean said, his hand on Sam's arm again but they didn't go beyond that. Just as quickly as before, Sam had dozed off.

By that point, the wind was starting to howl in earnest as the storm finally hit the valley. The rain hammered ferociously against the roof. Thus, it didn't surprise Dean at all when a roll of thunder shook the small room.

It did surprise Sam, however, and his eyes flew open as he jerked awake.

"Dean?" he gasped out wildly, his gaze flying around the room, and Dean leaned hurriedly forward.

"Easy, dude. It's just some thunder, nothing else."

"No—I—Whatz happe'in?" Sam continued to look around in agitation as he shakily tried to push himself up, but his twisted arm gave way, and his face tightened, betraying his pain.

"Noting. Nothing's happening. We're okay," Dean repeated, reaching out to press a hand against Sam's forehead and stilling his erratic movements. The heart monitor behind them began to tick upwards, an outward betrayal of his brother's unease.

"You—I—"

"Hey, hey, easy. You're okay, I promise," Dean repeated and grimaced when another boom of thunder sounded, making Sam jump and his eyes flick towards the door. He flushed—the only color in his face it felt like—and then glanced back over at Dean.

"Yeah, uh—thunder. Was that thunder? That was thunder."

"Yeah. Just thunder. It's a pretty nasty storm out there," Dean said calmly, his eyes searching Sam's but they were still cloudy with confusion. He offered Dean what was supposed to be a smile even though it looked more like a grimace and Dean sighed.

Sam wasn't afraid of the thunder, he just didn't know what was happening and if he was safe or not. That was the real issue here.

Rolling his eyes more for show than anything, Dean moved from the chair to sit on the bed, close enough to touch if Sam wanted to. Sam said nothing but rolled his forehead against Dean's hip, his brow still creased in confusion. In response, Dean rested one hand atop Sam's head, ruffling his drying hair lightly.

"You're okay, I'm okay. I know that things are confusing right now but nothing bad is happening. We're both okay," he repeated, pulling Sam in closer as he noticed the fine tremors that were shaking him. "You cold or is this just the shakes?"

"Dunno."

"Alright, that's okay. Everything's fine."

The old army blanket was still lying at the foot of the bed where he had tossed it earlier and Dean leaned forward, snagging it. He tucked it around Sam and began to talk about what he didn't even know until Sam was dozing.

He didn't move after that, allowing himself the luxury of sitting there and petting a hand through Sam's hair and still attempting to work out the remaining tangles there. The strong smell of rubbing alcohol permeated the air but it covered the scent of blood and death so Dean was okay with it.

He thought that Sam was finally drifting into a deeper sleep but only a short time had passed until another roll of thunder startled him awake, his body tensing underneath Dean's arm.

"It's all okay," Dean reiterated easily, lightly chaffing Sam's arm even as his own disquiet grew.

"Oh." Sam didn't sound sure, but he still wasn't making much effort to move or talk on his own and Dean tried to still his worries. Cas was right. Sam's body had just been through something horrific. It was fine that it was taking him a little bit to wake up. He was just disoriented, and how he kept getting jarred out of sleep couldn't be helping.

Still, it couldn't hurt to check.

"Hey, look at me," he requested and Sam obediently rolled his head back to look up at Dean. His face was pale and his skin was clammy to the touch when Dean pressed his hand to Sam's forehead, checking for a fever, but his eyes were clear, just confused. He was coherent enough to follow orders and that was good.

There was nothing to freak out over yet, he'd give it another couple of hours before he did that.

Maybe Sam wasn't the only one scared of the unknown.

Thunder boomed overhead again and Sam jumped, his gaze jerking away from Dean's and towards the window.

"I'm never going to let you live this down. Sam Winchester, afraid of a thunderstorm," Dean teased as he scooted over more fully on the bed. "Here we go, work with me a little…" With Sam pushing with his good arm and Dean pulling, they sat Sam up just enough so that he could use Dean's side and chest as a pillow while Dean scooted down into a more comfortable position. Keeping one arm firmly locked around Sam's waist to keep him in place, Dean allowed himself to drop his own head down to rest against the side of Sam's.

They were full-on cuddling, and Dean was fairly positive that they both looked like idiots but Sam had died so Dean wasn't inclined to care as much as he might have normally. Sam's shivers slowly lessened and his breathing eased as Dean relaxed as well.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled sleepily as he began to drift off once again. Dean blew out a long sigh that he immediately regretted when he felt Sam stir. He stilled, and Sam's breathing steadied again.

Dean shook his head and leaned back. He himself hadn't slept in a long time. At least however long Sam had been dead, unless he counted the forced sleep that Cas had put him into.

It felt like years.

Sam wasn't going anywhere without him, and the heart monitor faithfully beeping away in the background would let him know if anything was amiss. Shuffling down a little further, Dean let Sam lean more firmly into him and closed his eyes.

#

Sam was… disoriented. Confused. He didn't know what was happening, and it was more frustrating than he could put into words. It had been a long time since he'd felt quite this turned around and lost.

He knew that Dean was there. He was saying soothing things, or at least things in a soothing tone. Every time he had made the effort to open his eyes, Dean was smiling at him, his arm warm around his shoulders where Sam was cold.

The why behind the reason that they were practically hugging was a little beyond Sam. A lot was beyond him at the moment, and it felt like his body had gone on strike. He was struggling to just make himself understood, his tongue refusing to form words properly, and his limbs weren't doing much better when he tried to move them.

Dean didn't seem concerned and Sam tried to let it go and be calm. It wasn't like he had a whole lot of choice in the matter as his body was demanding rest.

The next time that Sam pried his incredibly heavy eyelids open, his head was pressed against Dean's chest and his brother was draped over him like a heavy blanket as he snored gently over his head. The room stank like rubbing alcohol and the smell turned his stomach, making him breathe through his mouth. The steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the room, and Sam could feel an IV digging into his elbow.

Sam stared at the plaid shirt that his nose was pressed into, watching and feeling it rise with each breath that Dean took. He was so damn tired that he wanted to do nothing more than sleep, but something bad had happened, possibly really bad, because if Dean was full-on cuddling with him like this, then he had scared him.

He just didn't know what had happened. It was odd, though, because his body didn't hurt. Not really, not like he thought that maybe it should. His shoulder and arm were dimly aching, but everything else still felt…numb. Numb and completely drained.

"Dean, what happened?" he tried to say even as his eyes threatened to close again as exhaustion pulled at him, but his lips were as numb as the rest of him. Maybe that was why he was having such a hard time getting Dean to understand him.

Dean's breath caught on his snore, and he shifted, his eyes popping open.

"Sammy?" he murmured, a hand coming up to press against his forehead, but Sam was already drifting off again.

The next time he woke up, he no longer felt quite so numb but it wasn't as relieving as he thought it would be. In fact, he kind of wished that he could go back to it.

His left shoulder and arm were throbbing in earnest, but that wasn't what concerned him. He could feel the underused muscles across his whole body starting to cramp as the feeling came flooding back into them and it hurt.

It was only going to get worse, though, and Sam grimaced even as he tried to move, to start shaking this off and get the blood flowing. From past experience, he knew that the quickest way to get past the cramps was to work through them.

Dean immediately stirred underneath him, his arm tightening around Sam's waist but it was starting to make Sam feel claustrophobic rather than safe as the spasms worsened. This was going to suck ass, this was—it wasn't just his leg or his foot. This was his whole body, and Sam's stomach clenched.

He pushed against Dean's arms, trying to break free and trying not to panic, but he was disturbingly weak.

"Hey, woah, hold on. What are you trying to do?" Dean asked blearily from above him and his grip tightened, holding him in place.

"Gotta—m've," Sam mumbled and almost took a bite out of his lip. Dean stared down at him, confusion darkening his face.

"Sammy, I have no clue what you just said."

Sam bit back another cry as he tilted his head back, breathing through his nose. It hurt, and he could feel himself starting to shake in earnest as the cramps worsened with each passing moment. He needed to move, to stretch out his abused muscles, to stop the cramping.

Dean slid out from under him, his actions quick and efficient. "Sam, what's wrong?" he barked, his eyes shining with fear as his hands came down to bracket Sam's face, forcing him to look up. "Talk to me! Tell me what's happening? Do you need Cas?"

Sam hissed again, his body thrumming with tension and Dean's hands tightened painfully, demanding answers. "Cramps," Sam finally managed to get out, and Dean stared at him a second before understanding hit.

"Hold on. Give me one moment, just hold on," he ordered, moving away from Sam and heading towards the first aid kit and the whole range of medical supplies that were scattered throughout the room. The other bed had a suspiciously large red stain across it that looked like blood and Sam's stomach curled from more than pain.

He still had no clue what had happened, but the pain that he was in was only intensifying, and revelations would just have to wait. Bending his head back, he ground it into the pillow as if that would help and clamped his lips shut to keep himself quiet.

Dean returned with a couple of pills and a bottle of water. "One second, Sam, that's all," he said distractedly as a soft groan escaped from Sam. He dropped the pills into a small plastic cup and then began to grind them up with the butt of his knife before pouring the water in and swirling it until the powder dissolved.

"Muscle relaxant and pain killer," he explained as he helped Sam lift his head and pressed the rim of the cup against his mouth. The water was bitter, and Sam was having a hard time swallowing, but he got most of it down.

"Where's the worst of the pain?" was Dean's next question, one hand lightly kneading Sam's arm.

"All 'ver," Sam mumbled, flinching his eyes closed as he tried to breathe through it.

Dean nodded as he began to unwrap Sam from the blanket, leaving him in nothing except his sweatpants. Sam shivered against the cool air, which only made the pain worse.

Taking his left leg, Dean extended it and Sam couldn't stop the cry of pain. It felt like the muscles were going to snap in half as they were forced to work. Dean dug his fingers deep into Sam's calf and lower leg and began to work the muscle there in a deep massage.

Sam stiffened as the pain deepened along with his touch, but Dean didn't soften his approach.

"Give it a minute, it will help. You know that it will," he called up to him even as he rolled his thumbs deeper into the quivering and straining muscle. Sam groaned again and dragged his arm over his eyes, waiting for the painkillers and Dean's method to work.

Dean continued to administer his massage, working steadily and thoroughly up Sam's left leg and then his right. Slowly, it brought relief as the cramps started to ebb away under the ministrations, leaving his muscles feeling like limp noodles but anything was better than them threatening to snap at any wrong movement.

"Better?" Dean asked hopefully as he moved up the bed and took Sam's right arm, beginning to work on it as well.

"Yeah," Sam murmured before he hissed around a particularly painful cramp. "Gettin' there, at least."

"Hey, that was almost a full sentence, you really must be feeling better," Dean said, brightening.

"Shut up." Sam groaned again and clenched his jaw as another flare of pain went up his shoulder. Dean wasn't hesitating or being gentle as he dug his fingers in deeper, and he knew that it was helping but damn if it didn't hurt in the moment.

"What time is it?" he asked tightly, looking around at the closed blinds to distract himself.

Dean stopped just long enough to look at his watch before continuing. "Just after four in the afternoon."

"Oh." Sam was silent again, listening to the beeping of a heart monitor—a freaking heart monitor? Since when had they invested in one of those?—and watched as Dean neatly avoided the IV in his arm that had a bag of blood attached to it.

He had no clue what had happened.

"What day is it? I can't—I don't know what day it is?"

Dean made a face, not really answering his question as he laid Sam's right arm down into a position where the IV wouldn't dig in painfully. He then reached for his left arm.

Sam followed the movement distractedly, his mind more on Dean's avoidance than what he was doing, and then he had to do a double-take. His mouth dropped open, his stomach clenching hard enough that it threatened to send up what little water he had managed to get down. That wasn't how his arm was supposed to look. That wasn't the right angle, and it was twisted oddly. It was all—it shouldn't look like that. His breath caught in a ragged gasp, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight. He couldn't hunt with an arm like that. He couldn't— "What? My arm, Dean, what happened?"

"Cas'll fix it," Dean said instantly, even though his own face was pale as he started to massage feeling back into the limb before abruptly stopping. "Does it hurt?" he asked tentatively, glancing up at Sam's face.

It aches, actually, and it wasn't just the straining muscles. That arm hurt just like a mending but broken bone would, but Sam just continued to stare at it. He had broken it—she'd snapped the bone. He remembered that now. Snapped it with her bare hands. And then she'd stabbed him. His good hand jumped to his shoulder and chest, but he wasn't—there was no bandage there, nothing to cover the deep wounds.

"Sam?" Dean asked tightly, his eyes narrowing and Sam nodded automatically, the gears in his brain turning.

She'd stabbed him. Left him for dead. That must have meant that Dean had found him in time and saved him…but that didn't add up. If so, why wasn't he in a hospital and why did his arm look like that? They would have fixed it by resetting it or through surgery. It should be in a cast. Or, if Cas had healed him, then why hadn't he healed everything, and why was Sam attached to a heart monitor?

Dean kept glancing up at him, deep lines carved into his face and his eyes guarded, and suddenly Sam knew what had happened.

That was the same pinched look Dean had worn when he walked into the shack after Sam had died for the first time, the one he'd worn when he'd helped pick Sam up off the floor after they had returned to the past and Anna had killed him, the one that he'd worn not that long ago when Sam had walked back into camp, Lucifer just behind him.

The one he'd worn after Sam had woken up from his coma after not completing the third trial. The one that Sam had ignored then because he had just wanted things to be alright between them.

And Sam knew.

He didn't know how Dean had brought him back, but he had. He'd died, and after everything that Sam had talked to him about, after all his requests—after Gadreel—Dean had still brought him back.

Sam lurched away from Dean and wrenched his arm back, his insides now twisting as horror reeled through him.

Oh, God, what had Dean done? Who had Sam doomed now because he had gone and gotten himself killed? Who was going to pay the price for his life this time? He had thought that Dean had finally understood, that he was going to let Sam go.

"What did you do?" he demanded, and for the first time since he had awoken his words were crystal clear, the betrayal as cold and clarifying as anything could be.

"I—"

"What did you do?" Sam repeated angrily, trying to push himself up and shoving Dean's hands away when he tried to help. Dean didn't follow. Tears were sparkling in his eyes but Sam couldn't feel anything beyond the betrayal.

This hurt more than he could put into words.

"We—Sam, it wasn't—it's not like what you're thinking," Dean's voice caught even as Sam looked away, his nostrils flaring. "Sammy, please, I know what you're thinking. Hell, I don't blame you for thinking it, I don't exactly have a good track record here, but I swear, we didn't do anything…stupid."

Sam kept his shoulders rigid, unable to comprehend that they were here yet again…except the tone of Dean's voice wasn't right. It wasn't defensive or stubborn. Slowly, Sam shifted back to face his brother, studying him critically. His face wasn't closed off, nor were there the lingering remains of guilt that had always accompanied the side glances after the fiasco that had been the third trial. This time, there was only an open rawness and a deep pain that spoke of unbearable loss. Of a pain that Sam knew far too well from all the times that he had lost Dean.

He hesitated, still holding tight onto his anger. Someone couldn't just be brought back from the dead, there was always a price that had to be paid.

"What happened?" he asked stiffly, shifting to lean further into the pillows as fatigue swamped him. Whatever Dean had done, it hadn't fully healed him or restored him to a brand-new body.

"Can I…?" Dean gestured back at Sam's crooked arm, and Sam chewed on his lower lip for a moment before shaking his head.

"I want to know what's going on," he insisted, and Dean nodded. He laced his fingers together and focused on that rather than looking at Sam, but perhaps that was to hide the sheen of tears that was visible in his eyes.

"Dean, tell me right now what you did, and don't you damn dare lie," Sam ground out when Dean didn't seem to be particularly forthcoming.

Dean took a deep breath before beginning in a measured tone. "Have you ever heard of a Du'a jiraataa?"

Sam frowned as a flash of the nurse's deformed jaw, the fangs sinking into his shoulder and neck, struck him.

He'd fought a Du'a jiraataa and, unsurprisingly, lost.

"Yeah, I've read a little about them," he said guardedly. "I went up against one and I didn't make it out. That doesn't explain why I'm talking to you about this when I should be pushing up daisies."

Dean looked up in surprise, some of the fear and pain momentarily leaving his face. "How the hell do you know off the top of your head what a Du'a Jiraataa is? It took us hours of research to even identify it." Dean shook his head, not giving Sam a chance to answer. "Never mind. You absorb information like a freaking sponge, that shouldn't have surprised me."

"Dean. What did you do?" Sam pleaded. He wanted to believe Dean so bad that he hadn't done something stupid, that he wasn't about to have his trust in his brother shaken yet again but the longer Dean dragged this out, the more he was having trouble believing it.

"Sammy, look—I'll get there, I swear I'm not going to keep anything from you but you're going to have to give me a moment to explain some things."

"Like what?"

"Like why the Du'a jiraataa was taking bodies unless you know that already?" he challenged, and Sam looked away. He didn't. "That's what I thought. So, hold your horses, let me talk."

Sam didn't like it but he nodded jerkily. Dean shifted uncomfortably and then straightened as he met Sam's eyes.

"Do you remember much about that night? Do you remember her maybe—" Dean paused, looking unsure. "Maybe having cut you and inserted something, or maybe—"

"She bit me," Sam said, gesturing at where his shoulder still ached. Suddenly, a horrible explanation popped up in his head.

"Oh, God. I'm—I'm not one of them now, am I? It was like a werewolf's bite, right? That would explain why I'm alive."

Dean scoffed a laugh. "Nah, you're not one of them, you can relax about that, but that's kinda of on the right track. What she did do was, well, she implanted an egg into your body."

Revulsion crawled up Sam's spine and he stared at Dean. "An egg?"

"Yeah. A freaking egg. See, they implant the egg while the victim is still alive, and, after they're dead, they hide the body away so that it can act like an incubator of sorts while the Du'a jiraataa grows and develops. It makes sense, kind of. No one is going to disturb a body." He smiled weakly, but Sam didn't feel like smiling. An egg? The horror on his face must have been showing because Dean hurried on with his story.

"But a Du'a jiraataa is at its strongest when it's feeding on fresh blood, so when the egg is fully formed and developed, it releases a toxin that brings its victim back to life, and then it consumes them from the inside out before going on to find another host. I mean, there is more to it than that, but that's the Spark Notes version, at least." Dean paused, running a hand through his hair before looking up and making eye contact with Sam. "You've got to believe me, Sammy, that's all we did. We found someone who is as much an expert in this as anyone and she told us that we could use the mother's toxins to bring you back and then kill the Du'a jiraataa before it could kill you again. That's exactly what we did. We brought you back, and then we pulled it out. It wasn't dark magic, it wasn't a demon deal. It wasn't anything…bad. Hell, you were going to be brought back anyway, we just sort of…hurried the process along. Cas was on board with the whole thing, he said—he didn't think that we were doing anything wrong." Dean was pleading now, his hands stretched out in front of him and his eyes fearful.

Sam eyed Dean suspiciously.

He'd been burned like this before, and it wasn't something to be taken lightly, but there was nothing but truth in Dean's eyes. And if that was all…if the Du'a jiraataa brought people back already…

Dean leaned further forward, staring directly into Sam's face.

"After last time, I swore I wasn't going to do it again," he said raggedly. "You've got to believe me. I wanted to. Damn if I didn't want to call up Rowena, but I didn't. I—I didn't want to hurt you again and I was going to let you go. I—this was as natural as it could get and without consequence. I had to do something, though, because I wasn't going to let you fall victim to that fate, I just couldn't."

Sam studied Dean's face, weighing what he was hearing and how he felt about it. He knew his brother almost better than he did himself, and that wasn't what Dean looked like when he was lying or even trying to hide something.

Dean was telling the truth, and that changed everything, but he just needed it reconfirmed. "No one was hurt to save me?" he asked, his voice hard.

"No one, unless you count the Du'a jiraataa."

Sam hesitated a moment and then nodded. "Okay, I trust you," he said simply, patting Dean's arm. Dean let out a pent-up breath, dropping his head.

Sam let his eyes slip close for a moment, marshaling his strength to continue the discussion. He knew that he was still missing large chunks of the story that he'd have to get later to really understand how he felt about it all, but he did trust Dean—Dean, who no doubt had a few very bad days and if anyone knew what that was like, it was Sam.

There was no hell on earth like losing his brother.

Offering Dean what he hoped was a smile and not a grimace, Sam relaxed further into the pillows and stifled a yawn. He was so damn tired, and his body still felt strung out. "Are you sure you got it all the way out? The Du'a jiraataa?" he asked a moment later, his eyes popping open at the thought.

Dean actually smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure. It's right over there. I can even bring it over for you to poke and prod at later if you want."

"I want to see it now," Sam tried to sit up, but he was still unsteady.

Dean's hand flew out, pushing him back. "Dude, stay down. I'll get it, jeez." After making sure that Sam was going to stay put, he walked over to the other bed and then returned with a glass jar. Something off-white and slimy was curled unmoving in the bottom, and Sam's stomach turned in revulsion even as he reached for it.

"Later. You need to rest," Dean said firmly, setting it aside and out of Sam's reach.

"Dude—"

"Later."

"But I'm—"

"Sam, I'm serious, later. You're all—you were dead not even twenty-four hours ago and pulling that thing out wasn't easy on you, okay? You almost died again, I had to do CPR to keep your heart going, so…yeah, no. Later, when you have some of your strength back you can poke at it all you want." Dean gave him a pointed look as he dropped into the chair next to the bed, and suddenly Sam could see just how tired his brother looked, how haunted.

"Hey." He reached across with his right hand to grasp Dean's forearm. His grip was weak, but it was enough to catch his brother's attention. He looked up at him, and there was no hiding how red his eyes were. "I'm okay."

"I thought I lost you. For good. I cleaned you up and dressed you for burial," Dean admitted throatily as he rotated his hand to clench at Sam's arm. The tears in his eyes were dangerously close to falling now.

The admission surprised Sam. "Well, for better or for worse, I'm not dead now. I'm okay, just really, really, tired," he said, trying to return the grip with just as much force. Dean made a sound in the back of his throat as he looked away, apparently unable to say anything else. They sat that way for a long time. Dean was crying silently but Sam knew his brother and knew that this wasn't something that he wanted aired. Keeping his grip on Dean's arm, he closed his eyes, allowing his brother the privacy that he no doubt craved.

He must have fallen asleep again, though, because when he opened his eyes, he was lying under all the blankets instead of just the army one from the trunk and Dean had turned the chair around. He was sitting on it backward with his chin resting on his folded arms as he continued to stare at Sam.

His eyes were clear when he offered him a smile that Sam sleepily returned. His limbs still felt heavy and weak, but they weren't spasming, so that was something. The bed was warm and comfortable and for a moment, Sam contemplated just going right back to sleep but he had other responsibilities.

He always had responsibilities.

"Where are the others? Jack and Mom and Cas?" he asked, rolling his head to the side to better look at his brother.

Dean shrugged. "They're in another motel room. They were taking care of the other victims. Cas was here to help get rid of the Du'a jiraataa and make sure that you were okay—the others wanted to be here. I kicked them out." He said the last part flatly, with no regret in his voice and daring Sam to judge him as he jutted his chin out.

Sam was too tired to pass judgment on whether he would or would not have wanted that and it wasn't like he could change it now regardless.

Now, however, he was fully awake and aware, and it would be cruel to leave them hanging …but he didn't want to move, not really. Hell, his body didn't want to move, it just wanted to keep sleeping for at least a week.

Closing his eyes, Sam mentally prepared himself before rolling onto his side with a grimace and trying to sit up. He bit into his lower lip, holding back a groan as his bad arm was jostled, sending a bolt of pain through the nerves.

"Woah, hold on. What are you doing?" Dean asked incredulously, his hand jumping to Sam's bad shoulder to hold him still. Sam hissed and Dean immediately retracted his hand.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting up," he panted once he had the breath to.

"No. No, you're not. You still look like roadkill, so just hold on a damn second." Dean stood and came around to push Sam flat. It was too easy and Sam felt a flare of frustration.

"Dean, back off. I'm okay and I'm sure that seeing me dead upset Jack. I'm okay. I feel better."

Dean kept shaking his head. "Lay back down. Man, I'm serious, you're not going to be able to fight me on this so don't even try."

"I'm fine, or I'll be fine. I just—I'm worried about them. They need—"

"—You need, Sam, worry about what you need—" Dean cut in sharply.

"Fine. I need to see them." Sam would have rolled his eyes if he didn't think that it would make the room spin and maybe Dean had a point. But Sam hadn't felt really good in weeks now and he had been able to function just fine.

Dean's lips drew together into a thin line, and then he held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, but if you fall flat on your face don't expect me to catch you," he snapped and stubbornly made no move to help Sam up.

That was fine. Sam didn't need it anyway…except for his arm muscles felt overused and sore and the one was crooked, and he didn't think that it would hold his weight. When he tried, it sent a jolt of fiery pain through his nerves, and he had to stop.

It still felt broken.

Groaning through his teeth, Sam reached his good hand over to grab Dean's arm because it was the closest thing and used it as leverage to pull himself into a sitting position.

The room did a lazy twirl around him, and Sam closed his eyes, fighting off the vertigo. Closing his eyes only made the dizziness worse, though, as the sensation washed over him that his body was following the tilt even though he knew realistically that it wasn't. He latched tighter onto Dean, trying to ground himself.

Despite Dean's earlier words, a strong hand locked around his biceps, taking the majority of his weight. Sam leaned over, panting hard as he broke out in a cold sweat. That had been a bad idea, a really bad idea, and he might just throw up.

"You really are an idiot," Dean snapped fondly even as he gently helped to lower Sam back down flat, and then went into the bathroom and returned with a cold, wet, hand towel. Folding it in half, he pressed it against Sam's forehead.

The cold helped clear his head a little if not his stomach and Sam closed his eyes, breathing deeply in through his mouth. "Go ahead, say I told you so."

Dean huffed a laugh. "It's not like I was wrong. But just so you know we are going to talk about this later."

"Talk about what?"

"Talk about this stupid, self-sacrificial, I-don't-need-to-take-care-of-myself, thing that you have going on. You were dead, Sam—dead. That was only this morning, and if there is a time to put yourself first, isn't it this? The others will be fine, they can wait a little longer."

Sam sighed, trying to figure out how to respond. Putting himself first wasn't something that he knew how to do. He'd tried a couple of times—Stanford and Amelia came to mind—to do what he needed to do to survive and that hadn't exactly ended well.

"I'm not—It's not that I'm trying to screw myself over, I'm not, but I can't just ignore other people."

Dean snorted, looking away briefly, and when he turned back his face was earnest, revealing a side of Dean Winchester that very few people got to see. "Sammy, I know that, alright? And that's not what I am asking. God knows we weren't raised that way, but I do need you to take care of yourself, okay? Listen to your body once in a while, and you've got to stop pushing yourself so hard. You're dead tired all the time and right now isn't any different. So why don't you get some sleep?"

"But—"

"Dude, I'm being dead serious with this." Dean's eyes were getting more pinched, and maybe for Dean, he could do it. It wasn't like he had set the whole world aside before for his brother or anything.

"Fine," he said grudgingly, and Dean's shoulders dropped.

"Good. And how's your stomach? Think you can handle something when you next wake up?"

"Mhmm…maybe," Sam said noncommittally. He was still queasy, but he was fairly positive that it was more from trying to move around when his body hadn't been ready than anything else.

"Alrighty then. I'll have a medium-rare ribeye steak waiting," Dean teased with a wan grin.

"Right," Sam snorted and shifted, attempting to pull the blankets around him as he shivered in the cool air. Dean helped to tug them up and then smiled, smoothing Sam's hair back away from his face. He left his hand pressed against the top of his head.

"Don't let me sleep too long," Sam mumbled, leaning into it and closing his eyes as Dean began to card his fingers through Sam's hair, tugging gently on the knots that had formed.

It was a feeling that had lured Sam to sleep as a kid—and even on the rare occasion as an adult—and it didn't take long for it to put Sam to sleep now just as it had then.

When he woke again, the rain was no longer pounding against the roof but was rather a light patter. The lights had been turned down, and Dean was scrolling on his phone next to him, sitting with one leg tucked under the other while he leaned against the headboard.

"What time is it?" Sam slurred sleepily, rubbing his hand across his face to wake himself up. Dean didn't jump or look surprised, just put his phone down and gave him a warm smile.

"It's a little before midnight," he said, and Sam blinked in surprise. He'd slept for almost five hours. He hadn't done that in…well, it had been at least since before Dean had been possessed by Michael.

"I know. A new record or something." Dean's grin wilted a little, but he hitched it right back up a moment later. "You still feel like eating something?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean could be like a dog after a bone, but at the same time…he was hungry. "Yeah, I can eat," he said, and Dean's smile lit up the room.

In a matter of minutes, a steaming mug was resting on the bedside table and Dean was trying to help Sam sit up. Sam slapped his hands away as he got himself upright, but did allow him to pile a couple of pillows behind his back for additional support. Leaning into them, he shifted into a more comfortable position and fixed the IV from where it was pinching, noting as he did so that the bag of blood had been replaced by a bag of saline.

"Thanks," Sam said, accepting the mug of what turned out to be broth. It smelled divine and Sam breathed it in.

"Mom brought it by," Dean said, hovering right next to him as he kept a hand out, ready to grab for the mug if Sam wasn't able to hold it. It wasn't a crazy fear. Sam's hand was shaking and he still felt weak. "Do you…?"

"Nah, I can do it. Just let me…" Sam painstakingly dragged a knee up and let the weight of the mug rest against his leg.

"I'll get a straw," Dean said, hurriedly getting up to retrieve a plastic one and ripping the wrapper off before handing it over.

Sam slowly labored his way through half of the mug under Dean's watchful eye. He was still looking at Sam like he was some sort of miracle, his eyes tracking every movement and ready to jump to any need that Sam might have. It was going to get old real fast but Sam had also apparently died and that bought Dean a large degree of allowance. God knew that Dean had allowed it grudgingly after the Mystery Spot and then his return from Hell.

When Sam's movements turned even more sluggish and the hand holding the mug started to shake in earnest, Dean swooped in.

"I think that you're ready for another nap. You're just like a toddler, man. Made that face when you were that age too," he said fondly as he went to pull the pillows out so that he could lie flat, but Sam reached up, catching his arm.

"Dean, I want to see Mom. I want to see the others," he said. He was ready now, he felt better after several hours of solid sleep along with a good meal and fluids.

There wasn't a reason for him not to.

"I…I don't know," Dean hedged, turning the mug around in his hands. "You still don't look great."

"Dean, I feel a lot better. And my heart rate is good, I can hear it. It's steady."

"Yeah, that's before you try standing up and your blood pressure drops," Dean muttered and Sam glared at him.

"Believe it or not, but I'm not a kid anymore. I'm okay and I promise to let you know if I'm not and you can tuck me right back into bed."

"Like you've ever let anyone tuck you into bed," Dean grouched before running a hand through his hair and then shaking his head in resignation. "Fine. I'll let the others know that you're up and want to see them, but only for a couple of minutes, and then I'm kicking them back out again," he said at last but Sam shook his head.

This room…it stank of blood and medical equipment was everywhere. Death haunted this room.

"I want to go to them," he said firmly, meeting Dean's eyes. Lines of displeasure instantly darkened Dean's face as his mouth twisted into a frown and Sam knew that he was pushing his buttons.

"Sammy, no. I—you can hardly sit up without help, I'm not—we're not doing that. They can come here."

Sam shook his head again. "They don't need to see all…this," he said, gesturing around the room. "And I can do it, it can't be that long of a walk if they are here at the same motel." Sam ducked his head, continuing to meet Dean's mutinous gaze earnestly. "Besides, I could do with the fresh air, it kind of reeks in here."

Dean gnawed on his lower lip, mindlessly tapping one finger against the mug. "I don't know."

"C'mon. I haven't moved in hours and it will probably be good for me to move around a little, to go for a short walk. You know that. Besides, I want to do it."

Dean hesitated again but, just like Sam had given in earlier, he relented. "Damn you and your puppy dog eyes. It is only a couple of doors down and it does kind of smell in here," he hedged, and Sam grinned. Dean instantly raised a hand, pointing a finger directly into his face. "You have to let me help you, though. Every step, because I still don't trust you not to fall flat on your face. And if you feel even slightly off or-or dizzy or anything, then you are going straight back to bed, understand?"

"Fine, if that is what it takes." Sam began to push the heavy blankets off. Dean hurriedly set the mug aside and grabbed a nearby duffle to pull out a t-shirt and then, after hesitating, a hoodie. He tossed them in Sam's direction as Sam went to work peeling the heart monitor leads off his chest. Dean reached back, flicking off the heart monitor before it could start wailing, and then proceeded to remove the IV.

Dean worked an arm underneath Sam's shoulder and then sat him fully up. They were both pleasantly surprised when dizziness didn't immediately swamp him and the lines in Dean's face loosened a little. He offered Sam the shirt and went in search of his shoes.

Sam worked the t-shirt over his head and managed to get his good arm through without any issue, but he hissed as he tried to do the same with his bad arm. His shoulder was still aching—part of Sam knew that it would never be the same again—and his arm hurt more than he wanted to admit.

"Got it there, sparky?" Dean asked with a cocked eyebrow as he returned with Sam's shoes and a pair of socks.

"Shut up."

Dean chuckled as he set aside the shoes and he helped him thread his arm through the sleeve. Sam gritted his teeth at the tender pain and tried not to let it show just how much it hurt to move.

"Sorry," Dean said anyway, glancing over at him with concern, but Sam just shook his head, tugging the t-shirt straight. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to be able to do much until they rebroke the bone so that Cas could mend it properly, and wasn't that just oh-so-much-fun to look forward to?

"You want to try the hoodie or...you're jacket was kind of ruined. I don't have another one, but—"

"The hoodie is fine," Sam said, not caring too much either way, but the hoodie was warm and he was cold. It was more difficult for him to get his arm through the sleeve, and it left him panting and sweating, but the thick, soft, material did calm his shivers.

Dean didn't even ask if he could get his shoes on himself, which was probably smart. He was faintly dizzy now, and he didn't think he would be able to bend down without taking a header. If that happened, then Dena would put his foot down instantly and squash his bid for freedom.

"Okay, you ready?" Dean asked as he rose from where he had been kneeling. He looked nervous, and Sam gave him a thumbs-up. He probably looked worse than before, but Dean didn't say anything even as his eyes tightened.

He held out his hand for Sam to grab onto while his other went around Sam's back to provide additional support. The routine was familiar enough for both of them that they didn't need words as they silently counted to three and then Dean pulled as Sam pushed.

His legs didn't want to take his weight and together they stumbled to the side with Dean grunting as he took the majority of their weight. Sam swore under his breath, working to get his feet underneath himself. Dean ducked under his shoulder, making sure that he wouldn't fall.

"Not too late to lie back down…" he said pointedly.

"I'm good, I just need a moment," Sam groaned out, tightening his grip on Dean's sleeve and pulling in another sharp breath through his nose. When he thought that his legs would support him, he gave a nod, gesturing towards the door.

Dean made a face but began to slowly move forward, accounting for Sam's slower and weaker steps.

He fumbled the door open, and then they stepped out into the night. The elements hit Sam hard, and he stopped for a second as the wind slapped harshly across his face and whipped his hair back. The rain had calmed some, but it was frigid and Sam ducked his head against it, shivering hard.

"It's not that far," Dean said worriedly, even as he pulled Sam's arm further over his shoulder.

"I'm not concerned about it," Sam said, taking another deep breath. Dean didn't look assured, but he also didn't look like he was about to drag Sam back inside so together they moved down the block of rooms.

Dean stopped next to one where the light was shining through the pulled curtains, and a low murmur of voices could be heard. Sam braced his arm against the wall again, allowing it to take some of his weight so that Dean could dig out the key card that Cas or Mary must have given to him.

He closed his eyes, shivering heavily and fighting against his leg's desire to give out. Damnit, he was weak right now.

"You okay?" Dean asked in a low voice, the key card up and one final chance for Sam to head back to their room.

"Yeah." Sam's teeth were chattering and he nodded towards the door. Dean nodded, before swiping the key, twisting the knob, and opening the door. Getting a good grip on Sam once again, he ushered him quickly into the warmth and dryness of the room.

The voices stopped abruptly.

They had been sitting on the floor, playing some sort of card game to pass the time. Mary now stared at him, her cards in one hand and her eyes wide while Cas smiled. Jack's mouth gaped open and then the cards were falling from his hands, and he was scrambling to his feet.

"Sam!" he exclaimed as he barreled forward, and before Dean could step in between them and stop him, Jack was crashing into Sam. He hugged him as hard as he could. It would have knocked him flat on his ass if Dean hadn't grabbed for him as well, providing the support that he needed to remain upright.

Sam wrapped his good arm around Jack, pulling him tighter, and Jack responded by pushing his face into Sam's chest. Sam closed his eyes briefly, soaking it in, and then opened them to see Cas and Mary moving over as well, the game abandoned.

Jack squeezed him tighter, crushing Sam, and he returned the gesture as best as he could. "I'm okay, Jack," he tried to soothe, patting his back lightly. Jack nodded, and Sam gave a helpless smile to his Mom and Cas as he waited for Jack to let go. Dean was tense next to him and looked ready to pry Jack off the moment that he felt Sam couldn't take it but Sam just continued to pat Jack's back, giving him all the time that he needed.

It was another moment before Jack reluctantly let go. He took a shuddering breath and then took a step back, still smiling.

Mary was next as she slid into his place and cupped the side of Sam's face. Sam disentangled himself from Dean so that he could wrap both arms around her. She returned it, hugging him tight enough that it felt warm and solid. She didn't hug him for as long as Jack had, and Sam tried not to be disappointed when she let go, holding him out at arm's length.

She was grabbing him again a moment later though as Sam stumbled, his knees not quite strong enough to support his weight without additional support.

"Woah," she said as she lunged forward, wrapping both arms around his chest, and Sam felt his face flush even as he grabbed hold of her arm, trying to find something steady to help him regain his balance.

He needn't have worried about it, though, because the next second Dean's arm was looping through his right arm while Cas took his left side.

Together, they dragged him back and pushed him rather roughly down to sit on the edge of the bed. Dean sat next to him, keeping one arm looped through his as Sam tilted to the side, leaning heavily against his steadiness.

"Sam? You good?" he asked sharply.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, "I'm good, I swear, I'm okay. Just…got a little dizzy."

Cas was shaking his head before Dean could even protest that. "You are not fine. Your body has been through something very traumatic, and you cannot expect it to bounce back instantly. You must rest and allow it to heal."

Mary pushed her way inward as well. "Here," she said, extending a water bottle and enfolding it into Sam's hand. Sam nodded gratefully, taking a clumsy swig even as Mary pushed the hair out of his face, resting the back of her hand against his forehead.

"You're pale. Are you sure he should be up just yet?" she asked, glancing over at Dean.

"I told him to stay put."

"I wanted to be here," Sam broke in, and Mary hummed a dissatisfied sound.

"Get a blanket, Jack, and bring it over here, he's shaking."

"I'm fine, Mom," Sam insisted, flushing as he reached out to cover her other hand with his. "Really. I am."

"Let her fuss a little," Cas said softly next to him. "We've all been…we are just so glad that you are with us once more."

Sam glanced over at his old friend in surprise at the deep emotion that was in his voice. Had it really been that big of a deal? He'd died, sure, but still…Cas smiled at him but Sam was starting to feel a little claustrophobic with all the attention that was being focused on him.

He wasn't exactly used to being the center of attention, or at least not like this. When he was, it was because people were coming to him for directions, answers, or guidance. They weren't worried about him or anything like that.

Sam wasn't sure that he liked it.

"I'm fine. Seriously, Mom, I'm okay," he tried to reinforce as the blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. "Dean, tell her. I'm fine," he said pleadingly. Dean wasn't going to be of much help here, though, as he continued to let Sam lean against him.

"No can do. This is what you get when you think that you're Superman and then figure out that you're not."

"Dean—" Sam protested, his face growing even more heated.

"I mean—"

"So—" Sam interrupted, casting around wildly for any topic that wasn't about him. "What happened with the Du'a Jiraataa. Did you kill it? The one in the nurse?"

Jack took pity on him. "Hayley?" he asked and Sam nodded. Sure, that could have been her name. He didn't know for sure. Jack moved to stand closer to them, looking excited. "She's locked up. We couldn't kill her just yet, we weren't sure if we would need her again."

"What did you need her for?" Sam asked in confusion, glancing over at Dean, who raised an eyebrow in a way that said if Sam had been firing on all cylinders, he wouldn't have asked that question.

"The toxin, for that stuff that kickstarted the whole bringing you back. Also, we needed to find where you were buried," Dean said, and that caught Sam's attention. Buried? But then again, it was the Du'a Jiraataa, they did take bodies and—Oh, God, had his body been taken from Dean?

He really needed to figure out what had happened. He only knew the bare basics.

No wonder Dean had looked so devasted. He'd never had to bury Sam before, despite all the times that he'd died.

Sam had, though. He'd buried Dean more than once, in fact, if he counted Gabriel and the Mystery Spot. It was one of the hardest things that he'd ever had to do or would ever do.

"You're okay, now, though," Dean said quietly and low enough that it was meant only for Sam's ear. Sam nodded in agreement, bumping their shoulders together lightly.

"Hey, has anyone got any whiskey?" Dean asked louder, a real smile widening across his face. "We need to celebrate!"

The whiskey was found, and a fingerful poured for everyone. Sam thought for a moment that he might have to fight for his, but Dean simply squeezed his arm before reaching over and grabbing the bottle of whiskey to add an extra splash to one of the glasses. He passed it to Sam, saying pointedly, "That's all you're getting, buddy, so you'd better enjoy it."

Sam snorted. Normally, he just would have tossed it back in one swallow, but his hands were trembling too badly, and he had to settle for drinking it down in a couple.

It was probably for the best that he didn't get any more. His body still felt out of whack and he was dizzy enough without getting tipsy.

Dean, to his surprise, also stopped after one. He shot him a sideways look, elbowing him lightly, but Dean just shrugged, grinning ear to ear and looking happier than Sam had seen him in a long time.

The rest of the bottle was split between the others, and soon everyone was gathered around, either on the bed or sitting along the wall next to it, and chattering happily. The last few days were not brought up and it was possible that they never would be. Whatever emotions everyone had felt would just be pushed down until they could be forgotten about.

That was alright with Sam for the moment. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know what they had or hadn't felt.

At least it had been him and not Dean who had died.

The mere thought of that made him shiver. Dean took notice and glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Sam shook his head and, after studying him for another second, Dean turned back to the group.

Dean being possessed by Michael had been bad enough. If he had died…Sam didn't think that they could have done it, and it wasn't just him. The others would have been able to move on without Sam given time, but he wasn't sure that they would have been able to do it without Dean. Mary depended on Dean too much and sometimes that hurt like hell, but he wasn't going to resent her for that. And then Cas and Dean had always had something unique as well, something that Sam had never been able to compete with.

As one o'clock came and went, Sam ended up with his head resting against Dean's shoulder, his eyes too heavy to remain open as he listened to the laughter and the stories being shared. When he finally stopped fighting the pull of sleep and nodded off, Dean's arm was warm around his back, keeping him steady.

At some point that warmth left, and Dean shook him awake long enough for Sam to curl up on the end of the bed with a pillow under his head and a blanket thrown over him. Normally, he would have protested. He really wasn't a kid that needed to be put to bed and it was more than a little embarrassing, but he couldn't find the energy to fight it.

Instead, he lazily drifted, not fully awake but not fully asleep either as he listened to the sounds of his family enjoying themselves around him. Or, he was until he was abruptly and rudely yanked back to reality by the sounds of shattering glass followed by a high-pitched scream

Jerking awake, he sat bolt upright and looked around wildly. One hand automatically fumbled under his pillow for a weapon that wasn't there and then he froze, staring ahead.

Broken glass was scattered around the ground from a shattered window as the nurse—Hayley, was that what they had called her?—slowly rose to stand from where she was crouched next to the window that she must have leaped through. Blood was dripping down her skin from various cuts across her face and her left hand was nothing more than a stump, her hand missing below the wrist.

A smile danced across her face and then she rolled her head back, revealing her long, and bloody, fangs.

Chapter Text

Dean wasn't exaggerating when he thought that this was the happiest he'd been in the last year.

Sam was alive. He was talking. Hell, he was even being a stubborn son of a bitch. He should have known that the good luck was going to run out sooner rather than later.

Sam had been asleep, curled up on the foot of the bed with his head pressed against Dean's thigh while the rest of them talked. They had been laughing—Dean a little embarrassedly—as Mary told a story about him from when he was three and had decided that not getting his clothes dirty meant taking them all off before jumping into a mud puddle in the park when a hard crack had broken them all off, putting them instantly on edge.

At first, Dean had thought that it had been another round of thunder and lightning but when he jerked his head up, following the noise, he had found himself staring at the window. There was a crack running through the glass and he started to rise, uneasy.

A moment later the glass was bowing and shattering as someone threw themselves through it. And then Hayley was crouched on the ground, blood streaming from multiple cuts across her skin. She was missing her left hand, and the ragged stump where it had once been was dripping blood across the carpet.

She must have bitten it off to escape. The handcuffs were still dangling from her remaining wrist, and if she had gotten one hand free then it would have been easy to figure out the rest of the restraints.

Dean stood there, his mouth hanging open, frozen in momentary shock.

Hayley rose from her crouch, shrieking. The movement spurred Dean into action and he darted forward, grabbing Mary's arm to pull her back as Hayley lurched in her direction. They backpedaled hurriedly and Hayley hissed even as her eyes darted around the room, looking for an easier target.

Cas had shoved Jack behind him and had one hand pressed against his chest to keep him there while he held out his angel blade with the other.

That left Sam. Her lips twitched upwards in a dark grin.

Dean's stomach dropped and he whipped his head around. Sam was pushing himself up into a sitting position, his own eyes wide as he gaped at Hayley but he wasn't making a move to defend himself.

Dean didn't think that he could, not really. He didn't have a weapon and he sure as hell wasn't up for hand-to-hand.

Hayley darted towards Sam.

Letting go of Mary, Dean threw himself towards his brother, his heart beating wildly against his chest. She'd touched Sam one time too many and Dean sure as hell wasn't letting it happen again.

Dean reached him first, but it was close and he swore that he felt Hayley's fingertips ghosting across his back. Wrapping his arms around Sam, he tackled him off the side of the bed and onto the floor. They hit hard, Dean on top, and Sam grunted a low, pained sound but Sam winded and hurt was better than any other alternative.

There was no time to process anything else before Hayley grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and threw him up against the nearest wall. Dean grunted, trying to find his feet but she shoved her body up against his, pinning him there. Rolling her head back, she let her fangs descend and then struck fast, aiming for his throat. It happened so quickly that Dean hardly had time to prepare himself for what was surely to be a very gruesome death.

Only, nothing happened.

Mary had risen up behind Hayley and gotten a handful of her hair. She was just in time to yank her head back and the fangs only grazed Dean's throat. Mary pulled harder, forcing a scream out of Hayley as she bodily tugged her away from Dean.

Cas attacked from the other side, his angel blade out and flashing, but Hayley twisted around, tearing her hair free from Mary's grasp. She faced her attackers with another high-pitched scream and Mary pulled out a second knife from the sheath at her hip, her face ferocious.

Dean rolled over and staggered back onto his feet rather ungracefully.

Where was Sam, where was—and there he was, right where Dean had left him and looking dazed as he tried to use the side of the bed to pull himself upright.

Three steps took him to Sam's side and he pulled him to his feet before crowding him back into a corner. This wasn't a fight that Sam was ready for, he was still too weak and she would rip him into shreds. Hell, she might rip all of them into shreds. He didn't have any of the sedatives with him, they weren't in his jacket pocket any more and if he hadn't been so stupid as to think that they were safe then they might not be in this predicament. 

Sam grunted, shoving up against him. "Dean, let me—"

"Stay back," Dean snapped, one hand flying back to keep Sam firmly behind him even as he watched the fight between Hayley, Cas, and Mary. The Du'a Jiraataa was still fast and strong, he'd give her that, but she was also weaker than she had been when she'd attacked them at the motel.

Jack had found a knife and, with a deep breath, jumped into the fray, making it three against one. Dean would have preferred for it to have been him rather than Jack there, and his guts clenched in apprehension.

"No, Dean, listen to me," Sam hissed, shoving him again. Dean went to push him further back but thought better of it at the last moment. Sam didn't do things for no damn reason, especially not in a situation like this.

"What?" he growled, his eyes following the rapid movements in front of him. Mary gave a sharp cry as she backed up a step, blood spilling from a long cut on her arm. Hayley roared, her head whipping around as she slashed wildly with the knife that she had wrestled from Mary.

Dean took a step forward, ready to jump into the fight and take Mary's place but Sam's hand locked around his arm, stopping him.

"I know what we need to do, I know—I think I know how we can beat her. We have to get the Du'a jiraataa out of her and to do that we need holy water, salt, rosemary, and sage," Sam snapped and Dean balked. They didn't have time for— "Dean, go! Now!" Sam barked, his face pale, and Dean shook his head, his eyes locked on the ongoing fight.

Hayley was fast, she was going to hurt someone else if he didn't get in there right now.

"No, Dean, you have to go," Sam insisted as he let go of his arm and dug a hand into Dean's jacket pocket to find the knife that he knew Dean kept there. Then he was pushing Dean away. He staggered back, bracing one hand against the wall to keep his balance. "Get the herbs and mix them in the holy water. Now!"

Dean knew in his head that the reasonable thing was to go and do what Sam had asked. His brother had a plan and he didn't doubt that it would work but…he couldn't shake the image of Sam lying dead on the cement at the funeral home, or of it happening to someone else. He hadn't been there before to stop it from happening.

Hayley let out a joyful shriek as Jack let out a scream of pain and Dean was too late. He jerked his gaze around and was just in time to see Jack sinking to the ground, the knife buried in between his ribs. Cas let out an angry, desperate, cry and he lunged for Hayley, swinging the angel blade high. Hayley let out a deranged giggle, her fangs out as she pounced towards Jack's body.

"Dean, go. I can't, otherwise, I would, but I can't," Sam pleaded and Dean squeezed his eyes shut for just a second before he tore himself away and, leaping over the other bed, sprinted for the door.

The Impala was parked down the lot and Dean sprinted in that direction. Sliding to a stop, he fumbled his keys free and unlocked the trunk before yanking it open. The contents were either neatly organized or controlled chaos, depending on who had last organized it, but Dean knew where to find things either way. He scanned their supply of herbs with practiced ease and plucked out the ones that Sam had requested within seconds.

It still felt like too damn long.

Proceeding to grab a bottle of holy water, he dumped the herbs in carelessly and then grabbed the sawed-off for good measure. Tucking it under his arm, Dean sprinted back, mixing the water and herbs as he went. Someone else screamed from inside the room and he willed his legs to go faster than they already were.

He burst through the door and into a scene of utter chaos. One of the pictures had fallen off the wall and the TV had been knocked over. Mary was unconscious on the ground, bleeding from a wound to her head, and Dean's heart leaped. Stepping over Jack, who was moaning quietly with one hand wrapped around the knife that was still in his ribs, Dean made for the fight that had moved across the room.

Cas was still upright and, amazingly, so was Sam. The angel stood firmly between Hayley and his brother even as Hayley pressed in on them, forcing them back into a corner. Sam looked like it was all he could do to just remain upright as he used the wall next to him as a crutch.

Hayley laughed as she advanced, forcing them further back.

"I'm going to kill you again, but this time I'm not going to bury you. I'm going to eat you," she declared in a sing-song voice, followed by a giggle.

"Not if I have anything to say about it, bitch," Dean snarled as he raised the gun while simultaneously tossing the bottle of holy water and herbs onto the bed where Sam would be able to grab it. Sam knew what he was doing, and Dean had full confidence in his ability to take it from there while he distracted Hayley.

Hayley flinched at the words and spun around to face him. Terror sparked in her eyes but it didn't translate to her voice. "And just when I thought that you had run out like a coward. You can dish out the pain but you can't take it, huh?"

"How about you come and find out?" Dean rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles in preparation for a fight. He leveled the gun at her chest, daring her to move. Behind her, he could see Sam grabbing Cas's shoulder for balance as he reached for the holy water.

Hayley glanced that way too and her smile darkened. "But then again, I already know what is going to hurt the most." She licked her lips and Dean knew in that second that she wasn't going to go after him. She wasn't going to go for the healthy one, the one who had attacked and tortured her.

She was going to go for the weaker one, the one she had already defeated once. She was going to go after Sam.

"Cas—" he barked even as he raised the sawed off and fired. The shot hit her in the side of the chest and she gasped, staggering back onto her knees and then rolling over onto her back. Twisting and gasping, she pressed her hand against her bloodied chest. Dean wasn't one to miss an opportunity and he took a step closer, ready to blast her head right off her shoulders. That might work, even if nothing else did.

He had underestimated her.

Despite having taken a shotgun shell to the chest, Hayley lunged up to meet him at a speed that he hadn't anticipated. Dean dodged her first attack, barely, and then Cas was there and wrapping his arms around her. He bodily lifted her and pulled her away from Dean even as she began to writhe violently. Cas grunted, pinning her up against the wall and trying to hold her still.

Behind them, Sam was using the bed for support as he dipped Dean's knife into the holy water and herb mixture, muttering what sounded like Latin. Either a blessing or a spell, Dean didn't always know nowadays but either way, it didn't matter. He didn't look ready yet for whatever it was that he had planned and Dean moved forward to put himself between him and the threat.

Hayley bucked violently, thrashing until she managed to break Cas's hold. Grabbing his arm, she flung him over her shoulder and onto the ground. Before he could get up again, she aimed a kick at Cas's head. It connected with a thud, flinging Cas back.

"No!" Dean started forward and Hayley turned to meet him. Scooping up the mostly empty bottle of whiskey from where they had left it, she swung it fast and hard at his head. Dean ducked, avoiding the first blow but she whipped the bottle back around and managed to smash it into the side of his head.

Stars burst in front of his eyes and Dean staggered back against the wall. The remaining whiskey, and perhaps blood, began to drip down the side of his head and the room wavered.

Hayley wasted no time in heading straight for Sam and Dean couldn't find his legs in time to stop her before she was ramming into his brother. He had just been straightening, the knife and the holy water in hand, and she easily knocked him back. They tumbled together to the floor, the bottle of holy water rolling out of Sam's hand and under the bed even as he retained his grip on the knife.

"Dean, the water—" he managed to get out, before Hayley grabbed the side of his head and slammed it into the bedframe, cutting him off with a grunt.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the stars from his vision. Gathering his legs, he lurched upright and staggered forward and to the opposite side of the bed where the water would be.

Sam was still holding onto the knife and he swung it upwards, aiming for her neck. It caught on the battered skin of her collar bone and the skin fizzled and burned. With a terrified shriek, she knocked his hand back and then darted inward towards Sam's exposed throat.

For a moment, Dean couldn't breathe. He was too far away to help or stop anything from happening. Then Sam was jerking his bad arm to catch Hayley under the jaw, keeping her fangs away from his throat.

"The water—" Sam gasped even as Hayley bore down on him.

Dean dropped down onto his knees, and then his belly as he stretched to reach the water from where it had come to a stop about halfway under the bed. As Dean's fingers closed around the bottle, Hayley howled in frustration. Snapping her jaws closed, she sat up straight to give herself more room to work with. Grabbing Sam's bad arm at the wrist, she wrenched it away and then snapped it back. Dean heard the bone audibly crack and saw Sam go white around the blood that was leaking from his hair and into his face.

"Sonofabitch," Dean growled as he thrust himself upright, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand and darted around the bed.

"This seems familiar," Hayley snarled, clenching Sam's wrist tighter and his face blanched even more. "You know what happens this time, though? This time, I'm not going to be so nice. This time, I'm—"

Dean grabbed her around the waist, the holy water now in his pocket so that he had full use of his hands, and yanked her back, determined to break her grip on his brother.

Both Hayley and Sam screamed but Haley let go. She threw her head back, headbutting Dean in the face and, he was fairly positive, breaking his nose. Blood began to slide warm and wet down his face, but he didn't let go even as she headbutted him again.

She wasn't getting Sam. Not this time.

He continued to pull her back. Just like she had done with Cas, she began to writhe, kicking out at him and trying to pummel any part of him that she could reach. Dean grunted, his hold on her slipping but Cas was at his side a moment later, blinking blood out of his eyes. He grabbed her other arm and together they dragged her away.

"Pin her down," Sam ordered breathlessly and Dean looked over to see him trying to use the bedstand table to stand, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. Dean and Cas tightened their grip on her thrashing form and together they pinned her against the wall.

Sam staggered after them, looking more than a little unsteady. When he reached them, though, there was no hesitation as he raised the knife that had been dipped in the holy water with his good hand and plunged it straight into her chest.

Hayley let out a piercing scream, throwing her head back, but this cry was different from her others, more primal and injured instead of angry. Dean tightened his grip, watching intently. Sam's lip curled up in disgust and he wrenched the knife out and stabbed it in again and again and again. She cried out hoarsely, blood flowing down her chest and flecking her face, and started to squirm pitifully in their grip. Sam slammed the knife home one last time and left it there as he beckoned for the holy water.

Dean shifted, grunting with the effort of keeping her steady and trying to hand over the water. Sam snatched it from him, jamming the mouth of the bottle between her lips, and then poured.

She spluttered, trying to cough out water, but Sam didn't let up even as the skin of her face and then her throat began to bubble and burn. Hayley's screams choked off as blood began to froth out of her mouth and nose and Dean stared with disgust as her whole body gave a violent shudder.

He let go of her, revulsion crawling over his skin, and watched Cas do the same, both of them backing up. Without their support, Hayley slumped to the ground where she continued to jerk. Blood was still pouring from her mouth and nose as her body distorted into what looked like painful contortions.

Hayley's body now separated him from Sam and Cas, but Cas had a handful of Sam's hoodie and was keeping him steady and out of harm's way as they continued to watch what was happening.

Beneath Hayley's skin, they could see something rippling, making its way up her veins, and Dean's morbid fascination grew. Someone grabbed his arm and he flinched in surprise, but it was only Mary who had regained consciousness and was watching everything with a distressed look on her pale face.

Hayley's back arched up from the floor as she continued to seize and then something large, white, and slimy was digging its way out of Hayley's mouth and sliding onto the floor, where it began to make its way towards the door.

The Du'a Jiraataa.

"Get it!" Sam barked but neither Dean nor Mary needed to be told. They both darted forward and Dean slammed his boot onto it, pinning it to the ground even as Mary yanked the knife out of Hayley's chest and then slammed it into the writhing mass.

Without its host and the protection that it offered, the Du'a jiraataa was easy to kill.

An unearthly whine cut through the air as the Du'a jiraataa thrashed against the knife but Dean was already turning to catch the bottle of holy water that Sam tossed his way. It was mostly empty, but he upended what was left of it over the parasite.

The whine increased in volume as the Du'a jiraataa began to bubble and burn, the skin turning bright red and starting to smoke.

At last, it stopped moving altogether.

They all stared at it, waiting to see if anything else would happen but nothing did.

It was dead.

Hayley was as well. She lay in a puddle of her own blood, her eyes open and staring up at nothing.

"Dean…" Sam's faint voice jerked his gaze up from the dead. Sam stumbled back a step, his legs not willing to support his weight for much longer as all the color drained from his face. Cas had torn his gaze away from the bodies as well at Sam's words and he tightened his grip on him as he followed him back a step.

It was a good thing because Dean was seconds too slow to catch Sam when he crumpled, but Cas easily did. Dean followed them down as Cas lowered Sam to the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean demanded, his hands clenching in the front of Sam's hoodie to help support him and was amazed to see that Sam was still conscious, even if his eyes were unfocused.

"Dean—I've got to get to Jack," Cas grunted, his eyes darting across to Jack, who still hadn't moved from his curled-up position on the floor. Mary was dropping down next to him, her face worried, and Dean instantly nodded.

"I've got him, go," he said, pulling Sam forward so that his weight rested against him.

Cas swiftly left them, heading straight for Jack. Dean glanced back as well, his heart skipping a beat. They couldn't lose the kid. He was just—but Cas would help him. Jack would be fine. He had to be.

"Dean?" Sam slurred again stubbornly, his head lolling as his neck muscles seemingly gave up on working. Dean grimaced, manhandling Sam back to lean against the nearest wall.

"I'm here. Stay with me, Sammy, c'mon," he growled. He cupped Sam's cheek to help support his head only to watch his eyes roll completely back as he went limp. "Damnit." He tightened his grip on Sam, not letting him puddle onto the floor.

He half twisted, looking over his shoulder to see that Cas was still bent over Jack. "How is he?" he called after a moment of long silence with no one saying anything. If they lost Jack after everything that they had just been through…Sam would never forgive himself. Dean wouldn't either. They couldn't lose the kid.

"Give Cas a moment," Mary called back, her voice tight, and Dean turned back around.

"He'll be okay. Cas is helping him, Jack'll be fine," Dean assured Sam even though he couldn't hear him. "Now you've just got to wake up—and we've got to get that arm of yours fixed. Again. Seriously, she's broken the same arm twice, now. That's just rude. If we didn't have Cas…and you also got your head."

He winced, tilting Sam's head back so that he could better see the blood trailing from underneath Sam's hair. His own head was aching from the hit that he had taken, but it wasn't that bad and he ignored it as he parted strands of Sam's hair, looking for the gash.

It was on the side of his head, but the cut didn't look too bad even if it was still trickling blood and Sam was probably just going to have a headache to add to everything else. Headwounds could be a bitch to stop bleeding, though, and Dean fumbled around until he found the edge of the bedsheet and then pressed it hard against the gash.

He glanced over his shoulder as he did so. Mary and Cas were still huddled around Jack, and Dean craned his head, trying to see what was happening.

Beneath him, Sam flinched against the pain as Dean increased the pressure and then he sucked in a ragged wheeze.

"You back with me?" Dean asked, focusing his attention back on Sam and plastering a smile on his face. Sam looked a little dazed as his eyes flinched open and he was silent, a frown on his face. "Sam?" he prompted again.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm—Jack okay?" Sam mumbled, not moving to lift his head. He was an interesting shade of white underneath all the blood and Dean glanced down at the broken arm. Sam wasn't even trying to move it, which was probably for the best. It had to hurt like hell.

"Cas is with him and after he's finished with Jack, he's going to come to fix you up."

Sam frowned at that. "'m okay," he slurred and Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, if you hadn't noticed, you just fainted, so maybe sit tight a moment."

Sam should have fought him on that, if on principle alone, but the fight with Hayley had drained him and he closed his eyes, making Dean's concern spike.

"Hey—"

"I'm okay," Sam said and, probably sensing Dean's rapidly rising concern, raised his good hand to hold the sheet in place, covering Dean's hand with his own. "I'm okay," he repeated, making a clear effort to enunciate the words and Dean offered a weak smile.

Movement came from the other side of the room and he glanced over his shoulder to see Cas and Mary pulling Jack upright.

He looked okay for the most part despite being pale underneath all the blood. There at least wasn't a knife sticking out of his ribs and Cas was smiling, giving Jack a look of pure affection that he reserved for him alone.

Dean dropped his head in relief.

"Jack's okay," he said, twisting back to face Sam.

"Good." Sam's eyes were still closed even if he smiled and Dean frowned.

"Hey, Cas—" he started to say but Mary, now assured that they would all live even if they were a bit battered, had gone to the window and was peeking through the curtains.

"We need to go," she interrupted abruptly. "People surely heard all the screaming and that gunshot. The police will be here sooner rather than later."

"But you and Sam still need to be fixed up—" Dean protested but Sam was shaking his head.

"I'm okay. Dean, we need to go. Mom's right."

Dean opened his mouth to complain but Mary dropped the curtain. "I would rather Cas heal Sam later than have him be arrested and have the hospital look at him," she said pointedly.

It was a valid point, but that didn't mean that Dean had to like it.

"We have time," he tried to protest, but Sam let go of the bloody sheets, grabbing for Dean's arm instead. "Help me up," he ordered. "Mom's right. We need to go, move."

Dean hesitated but Cas looked ill, and he wasn't sure how much mojo he even had left in him right now.

"Okay, okay, fine. Mom, Cas, you gather everything that we need up. Jack, you're with me and Sam."

As Jack walked over, Dean examined him critically. The kid still looked out of it, but he supposed that being stabbed would do that. He could have been a lot worse off, considering everything.

"It's okay if you can't, but do you think you can get on Sam's other side?" he asked. Of the two of them, Sam was the one he was worried about being able to keep his balance.

Jack perked up at that, smiling. "I can do it. I'm just a little shaky," he said intently and Sam let go of Dean to grab Jack's arm instead.

"You sure? You don't have to—"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm fine now," Jack said, patting Sam's hand and giving him another brilliant smile that seemed to ease Sam's concern some.

Dean stepped over Sam's outstretched legs to put himself on his left side—his bad side—even as Mary began to rush around the room, gathering their belongings. Cas was as well, even if he was moving slower, exhaustion coating his every movement. He'd done a lot of healing over the last twenty-four hours; they had all but tapped him dry.

"Try not to jostle Sam too much," Dean ordered Jack, and he nodded seriously.

Sam tentatively wrapped his good arm around Jack's shoulders, giving him a warm smile. Dean laid one hand flat against Sam's chest and wrapped his other arm around his waist as there was no way that he was going to try and get Sam's bad arm over his shoulder.

"This might hurt," he warned but Sam just rolled his eyes.

"Dude, I'm not an idiot."

"I dunno. Could have fooled me," Dean said, the banter thoughtless as he looked over at Jack. On the silent count of three, he and Jack stood, pulling Sam up with them.

Sam went even paler than he had been before, but he did manage to stay upright and Dean was going to count that as a win.

Together, he and Jack marched him forward and towards the door. He couldn't help but notice that Sam was leaning as little of his weight as he could on Jack. Tightening his grip on Sam, he tried to help all three of them find the balance and strength that they needed to get to the cars.

The wind and rain buffeted them to the side as they squeezed through the door, and Jack staggered a little, his face determined if strained. Sam gave a stifled groan as he stumbled and his arm was jostled.

"We're almost there," Dean said.

The Impala was waiting for them, her trunk still hanging open from Dean's frantic rush only minutes before. Had it really only been that long?

Sam nodded, but he was starting to pant heavily. And then, without warning, he abruptly bent over at the waist, groaning as his arm slipped from around Jack's shoulders to wrap around his middle.

"Woah, hey," Dean said, trying to push Sam back upright with the hand that he still had pressed against his chest but then Sam was retching, bringing up broth and bile. Jack made a faint sound and looked quickly away but Dean simply braced Sam. "Get it out, better here than in my car," he said, chafing Sam's back as he heaved again, bringing up more bile. Shaking, Sam wiped his hand across his mouth as he remained bent over. When he didn't throw up again, Dean pushed him gently upright. "Alright, here we go. Easy. "Jack," he called, gesturing at Sam, and Jack ducked back under Sam's arm, looking at anything but the puddle of sickness.

Dean guided them around it. "So, how'd you know how to kill the Du'a jiraataa? Sakina told us that you had to separate it from the host, but she didn't tell us how," he asked more to distract Sam than out of an actual desire to know, as he glanced around, listening for any sign of the police or sirens.

"Last time, with the Du'a Jiraattaa, I discovered that it didn't like things like that. It didn't like holy water or 'pure' sigils," Sam said slowly, his voice paper thin, "so I figured that if we put cleansing herbs together in the holy water, add an enhancing spell, and then get it into the bloodstream, that the Du'a jiraataa would have no choice but to leave the host. That way you could kill it—or at least I was hoping that was what would happen."

"You hoped?" Jack asked, looking over in surprise, and Dean snorted.

"With the number of times that Sam has tried something and hoped that it would work, it's amazing that we are all still alive." They reached the Impala, and Dean gestured at the door with his head. Jack ducked out from under Sam's arm to open it, and then Dean helped to ease his brother onto the seat.

Sam sat down hard and he tipped forward to rest against the door frame, panting and sweating heavily. His body hadn't been ready for what it had just gone through and Dean felt his heart clench.

He swore that he was going to wrap Sam up in bubble wrap after they got out of here.

"Stay with him, Jack, and yell if he gets worse. I'll be right back," Dean ordered as he straightened. Mary was right. The police would be coming; there was no way the fight hadn't been overheard, and they needed to be gone by the time they came and discovered Hayley's bloody body.

Jack nodded, sinking down to sit in the footwell next to Sam.

Dean briefly patted the side of Sam's face and then ducked back into their motel room, and began to hurriedly gather up what little of their belongings had made it into the room.

#

Sam breathed through the remaining queasiness as he carefully brought his left arm up to cradle against his chest. It was throbbing bad enough that he still wasn't sure that he wouldn't throw up again and he felt both hot and cold all at once.

He might be going into shock.

Pushing that happy thought aside, he glanced down at where Jack was sitting. He had to swallow back the urge to retch again, but this time he wasn't sure that it was all from pain. Jack was covered in his own blood and that wasn't a sight Sam had ever liked seeing, not when he had sworn that he would protect him.

"You alright, Jack?" he asked.

Jack took a shaky breath, his hand ghosting over his ribs. "I'm fine. It's not like this was the first time that I've been stabbed."

He said it lightly, but Sam's stomach dropped as he remembered Jack's face after Lucifer—his father—had stabbed him. He'd failed him that time too but Jack had been okay then and he'd be okay now.

God, his arm really hurt, and he felt kind of foggy.

"What about you, are you alright?" Jack asked with a weak smile.

Sam let his impossibly heavy head fall back against the seat at the question. "I'm okay, just tired."

"Good. Let me know if you need anything and I'll get it, okay?"

Sam nodded, swallowing thickly as the nausea refused to be quieted. Dean would be out in a matter of moments, and then they would hit the road. That wasn't an appealing thought either, but it wouldn't be for long, he could handle it. He'd had worse and he wasn't the only one injured tonight. Dean's face had been covered in blood, and both Mary and Cas looked to be unsteady.

If they could make it through without complaining, then he wasn't going to be the one to start.

"Sam?"

Sam looked down at Jack again and found him staring at the gravel, his lips pursed together in a frown.

"Yeah?"

Jack opened his mouth and then closed it again, clearly hesitant to say anything.

"Jack, what is it?" Sam shifted upright, giving Jack his full attention. "Look, I know that the last few days couldn't have been easy, and if…I'm here to listen, if you need to talk."

Now really wasn't a time for a heart-to-heart, but they rarely had ideal moments for that.

When Jack looked up at him again, there were tears in his eyes and his hand was pressed back to the place where Lucifer had stabbed him. "Do you remember what it was like to die?" he asked and Sam blinked in surprise.

"To die…?" he asked slowly, trying to buy himself time. Jack nodded hesitantly.

"Was it scary or was it peaceful?" he further clarified and Sam could see the fear there that he was trying to hide and his need to know.

Sam paused, chewing on his answer. He had died so many times, it should have been easy, but there really was no easy answer here. It hurt. It was often terrifying and far from peaceful. When you realized that you were dying, that you were never going to get up again and see a new sunrise, that you didn't have any more time to accomplish anything. That you were leaving loved ones behind to face a colder reality and that you couldn't help them anymore…well, it sucked.

It made sense that death was on Jack's mind tonight.

"It's not—" Sam squared his shoulders. "It's not as scary as it sounds, especially since you know where you are going after."

Sam wasn't quite sure where he'd end up—Hell, the Empty, and Heaven had each at some point claimed his soul—but this kid…he was precious. He was too good for the world and Kelly's son through and through. Not even a hint of Lucifer—if anyone should know it was Sam—and he found himself smiling as he reached out with his good hand, ruffling Jack's hair in an unusual gesture of fondness for him. Dean, despite his efforts to pretend otherwise, was the more tactile one between them. He also sometimes had an easier time showing that he cared, in letting others see just how much he loved them even if it was Sam who said the words more frequently. It was a talent that Dean had, one that Sam had often wished he could emulate.

"Do we?" Jack turned more directly to face Sam, and the uncertainty was clear on his face. "I'm Lucifer's son and I belong in Hell. I've hurt people."

"No," Sam said firmly, shaking his head despite the headache that flared up. "No, Jack. When you die—hopefully many, many, years from now—then you will go to Heaven. Your mom will be there. She was good, just like you are. You are so good, Jack, you understand that, right?"

Jack looked away, the frown back on his face as he kicked out at the loose gravel.

"Jack, I wouldn't lie to you about something like that. If you die, you will go to Heaven, I swear," Sam promised, and Jack sniffed, brushing a hand across his face before he leaned his head to the side, resting it against Sam's leg.

"I'm glad that you're back," he said and Sam dropped his good hand down onto his shoulder, squeezing.

Sam wasn't completely satisfied that he had convinced Jack that he had nothing to worry about, but before he could press the issue any further Mary and Cas were hurrying towards them. Mary was wearing a worried look and kept checking over her shoulder.

"We need to go. We should have been gone five minutes ago," she said before abruptly turning on her heel and announcing. "I'm going to help Dean."

Cas crouched in front of the car, looking between Jack and Sam. "How are you both feeling?" he asked, lightly touching Jack's knee and searching his face.

"Fine," Jack said hurriedly and Sam nodded slowly, trying not to aggravate any of his aches and pains.

"Neither of you are fine," Cas grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Sam, your arm. Let me see it." He beckoned for it, but before Sam could offer it, Dean was opening the door and gesturing at Mary to go back to the cars as he held up his and Sam's duffle bags and moved to toss them into the trunk.

"We'll stop again after we cross the state line. It's only a couple of hours away," Mary said briskly and Sam clutched his arm closer to him, giving Cas a wan smile.

"No time. I'll be okay for that long."

Cas looked like he wanted to fight it but Mary had crossed back over to them and was pulling Jack up and guiding him towards Cas's car. Sam knew that getting away was more important but he reached out, snagging Cas's coat as he rose and nodding his head towards Jack. "Hey, talk to him. Make sure he's okay after everything that happened," he requested as Dean came around to his side, keys in hand and a rushed look in his eyes.

"Feet in, Sam, we've got to go."

Cas locked eyes with Sam and nodded briefly before striding towards his car. Sam grunted, dragging his legs in and twisting to sit facing forward. Dean slammed the passenger door shut for him and then hurried around to the driver's side.

Then they were peeling out of the parking lot and putting as much distance between them and any arriving cops as they could.

If anyone had gotten a good look at them then they would probably never be able to return to Centerville again. That was if they were even still in Centerville. If the weather and the view had been better then they could have been in Tahiti for all that Sam knew.

"You hanging in there, Sammy?" Dean asked, reaching across to squeeze his shoulder as they turned off the main road, taking the back roads out of town.

Sam was starting to get really tired of that question, and he shifted gingerly, still bracing his bad arm against his chest. "I'll live," he grunted, and Dean glanced over at him with one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Really, I'm just…it was all a lot."

Dean snorted. "Understatement of the century. And don't lie to me. I know that you are in pain. That arm has to hurt like hell."

"Pain is just pain," Sam murmured.

Dean heaved a sigh, tightening his grip on the wheel before releasing it again. "I'll dig out some of the best painkillers we got once we put some more distance between us and Hettinger."

Sam nodded and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. He still felt sick. And weak. But Dean's face was covered in blood from his nose and no one had checked his head.

Leaning forward with a low groan, Sam snapped the glove box open to get the wet wipes that they kept there for various purposes.

"What the hell are you doing? Sit back, I'll get whatever you need," Dean insisted, his hand coming up to press flat against Sam's chest, trying to ease him back.

"You've got blood all over your face. You might need stitches and we've got to clean the cuts," Sam said wearily, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"My nose is busted, it's fine."

"But your—"

"Sam, my head is fine. I didn't even pass out, and you can't say that," Dean growled the last bit, pushing back with a little more force and Sam hissed sharply, his hand coming back up to clench around his arm just below the new break to provide pressure against pain.

"Sorry," Dean said after a moment, but Sam shook his head, waving away the apology.

"You really should clean those cuts," he insisted and Dean snorted as he reached over to first snap the glove box closed before turning on the music.

"What's the use of having a literal angel on your team if we always bench him? I'll get them cleaned up when we stop after he takes care of you," Dean said as he started to scan the stations, glancing between them and the road. He found the soft rock station and gave a pointed look in Sam's direction.

Sam hesitated, not wanting to go to sleep just yet but the moving scenery was making him more nauseated, and he waved his fingers limply, saying 'fine' before closing his eyes. It didn't exactly help, but sleep was waiting for him, and he was too exhausted to resist its pull.

When he woke, the interior of the car was cold, and the engine had been turned off.

Frowning, Sam slowly raised his head from where it was resting against the window. There was a crick in his neck that twinged as he moved, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his arm. Each beat of his heart was accompanied by a spike of agony. Clutching his arm closer, Sam looked around blearily, wondering where everyone else was.

It was only then that he noticed the soft voices that were coming from just outside the car.

It was still dark out, although the stars were starting to disappear as dawn crept in, he could see Cas and Dean leaning against the hood of the Impala. They were in the middle of what looked to be a heated, if quiet, discussion, with Dean making emphatic gestures as he talked. Cas responded to whatever Dean had been saying with a hand on his shoulder and one hand out to prove his point.

Sam chewed on his lower lip, torn. His arm hurt and painkillers sounded amazing, but he didn't know if he dared interrupt the moment, not if Dean was talking about what he had gone through those past few days. It had surely been traumatic and talking about it was better than holding it in.

Leaning his head back against the seat, Sam decided to give them a few more minutes and sat there with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the pain.

That didn't last long. When it became bad enough that the nausea spiked again as well Sam gave up waiting as a bad idea. If he threw up in the Impala, then even having recently died wasn't going to grant him much slack so Dean and Cas were just going to have to finish their conversation another time.

Taking a couple of deep breaths through his mouth to muster his energy, he fumbled for the handle and pushed the door open.

As predicted, Dean cut his conversation short as soon as the hinges squeaked, announcing to the world that Sam was awake.

"You still doing okay?" Dean was asking before he even rounded the car. Sam winced, the pain and queasiness rearing its ugly head, and leaned forward, bracing his head in his good hand as he felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat. "Sam?" Dean's hand dropped down onto his shoulder, squeezing hard and prompting a response.

"I'm good, I swear, I'm just…not feeling great right now. Think I'm going to throw up," he muttered.

Dean's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Hold on, let me grab you some painkillers, that might help. I was going to get you some earlier but I didn't want to wake you up." He disappeared and Cas came to stand next to Sam instead.

"Where's—" Sam swallowed thickly. "Ah, where's Mom and Jack?" he asked, looking around before dropping his head again and squeezing his eyes shut as his stomach gave another warning lurch.

"Mom and Jack snuck into the closest town to see if what happened in Hettinger is common knowledge yet. Mom wanted to know how much we need to avoid the main roads or how far we need to run," Dean said before Cas could answer even though the angel had opened his mouth.

Sam nodded again, gritting his teeth. Dean twisted the lid on the bottle of pills, popping the lid off but Cas shook his head.

"Don't waste them, I can heal him now. If you would like it, that is, Sam?

"Did you get to Dean and Mom?" Sam asked tightly, rubbing the heel of his hand into his forehead.

"Dude—" Dean began in exasperation only for Cas to interrupt him.

"I've had enough time to regain my energy and have seen to your mother and Dean. Now, you're arm needs to be healed," Cas said firmly.

Sam hesitated, his arm still clutched close to his chest as he tried to will down his instinct to not move it, before nodding. Dean tucked the bottle of pills back into his pocket and moved closer, his hand once again finding Sam's shoulder.

Cas reached out and gently lowered the arm. Sam screwed up his face, hissing softly. He hadn't gotten a good look at it before, but his fingers were puffy and distended, and the rest of his wrist and forearm were swollen and badly bruised. The bone hadn't broken through the skin this time and he supposed that he should be grateful for that small thing.

"I can also heal the older break now if you would like, or we can wait until you are stronger. Unless it is causing you pain. I think that—"

"Just heal both of them now," Sam interrupted tightly. He smiled weakly at Cas. "Besides, I can handle a little bit of pain."

Cas nodded, a frown creasing his forehead before turning to Dean. "Do you have a knife?"

Dean began to dig in his pocket but Sam put out his free hand, stopping him. "I don't have that many hoodies that actually fit, can we not cut it?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it, I'll buy you a new hoodie," Dean said, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Cas, just—see if you can roll the sleeve up," Sam said over his brother and Cas nodded.

He began to roll the cuff back and Sam clutched at the car door frame with his good hand, biting down on his lower lip. His arm was so grossly swollen that for a minute he thought that Cas wasn't going to be able to get the sleeve over it and that he was going to pass out from the pain as white stars burst in front of his vision.

"Sammy—" Dean said tightly but then Cas got the sleeve over the worst of the break and was sliding it up until it was up past his elbow, revealing the crooked angle of his arm.

"You know that there is only one way to fix this older break, right?" Cas asked as he carefully prodded along Sam's black and blue arm.

"I know. You're going to have to break it again."

Cas nodded seriously. Sam leaned back further into the car and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this and watching was just going to make him more tense.

Dean's hand left his shoulder and then he tapped his arm. "Here, you might need this," he said and Sam opened his eyes to see Dean offering a roll of cotton from the first-aid kit. Sam grimaced but took it. Biting down on it, he grabbed the door handle again and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

Cas took his arm and Sam could almost feel Dean vibrating with tension next to him as he shifted closer.

Cas didn't give him any more warning before twisting his arm violently and, for the third time that week, the bone in his arm snapped. Sam screwed his eyes shut, his stomach forcing its way up his throat around the yell that he didn't try and stifle.

Just as quickly as he had broken the arm, Cas's fingers were pressed against Sam's forehead and the pain turned to warmth, but it was too late to settle his stomach. Sam sat forward, spit out the cotton wad, and proceeded to throw up stomach bile, just missing Cas's shoes.

Dean patted his back roughly, his face pale.

Once the nausea had dissipated, the relief sank in. Gasping in a deeper breath, Sam sank back into the seat. He had been hurting for so long that it was like a high to no longer be in pain.

"Sam?"

Sam breathed out slowly and then sat back up. "I'm okay. Thanks. That was better than any painkiller could have been." He smiled at Cas even as he flexed his hand. It was as good as new and even the rampant bruising had disappeared. The power of angels would never cease to amaze him.

Sam began to roll down his sleeve, shivering lightly in the cool air. "Where are we?" he asked, looking up at Dean who was continuing to hover right next to him.

"We are somewhere in New York and close to the Pennsylvania border. We'll be leaving again as soon as Mom and Jack get back," Dean answered.

Cas looked back over at that. "We might not stop again for a while. I thought that you might be hungry when you woke up," he said to Sam even as he gave Dean a pointed look. Dean's lips tightened, and Sam felt like he was still missing half of the conversation and that feeling only increased when Cas sighed dramatically. "As I said before, Dean, you need to eat something as well. Go get some real food for the both of you before Mary and Jack come back. Sam needs it even if you don't think that you do. His body has to be running very low on energy."

"I mean, I'm fine," Sam interjected, and Cas shot him an exasperated, sideways, look.

"See?" Dean said, like that settled it.

Cas stared directly at Sam before nodding his head slightly in Dean's direction. He wanted to talk to Sam—alone. It had to be important, and Sam sighed.

"Toast—bread, I guess—sounds good," he said and the request made Dean's defense crumble. He cast another look at Cas, and then at Sam before making a face.

"Well, Cas, you heard the man. Go get him some food," Dean said, pointing at the angel's car, but Cas shook his head.

"I will watch Sam, you go."

"But—"

Sam, fighting down the urge to declare that he didn't need watching, said only slightly stiffly, "Dean, you know what you want; he doesn't. Besides, Cas'll take forever to pick out anything, you know how he is shopping."

Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam gave him a look and Dean shook his head with a sigh. Twisting, he stuck a finger in Cas's face. "You, watch him—" he ordered before looking over at Sam and giving him the same glare. "And you, don't do anything stupid."

Grumbling under his breath, Dean marched away and got into the car as Sam slammed the passenger door and backed up a step.

"Why'd you want to send Dean off?" he asked as he slowly made his way over to lean against Cas's car instead. He still felt weak and he must have appeared unsteady because Cas followed with one arm outstretched to catch him in case he fell. He slumped back against the car, letting it take most of his weight as he regarded Cas.

"I wanted to talk to you alone and I don't know when we will have the chance again," Cas said solemnly, leaning against the car as well.

"Dean?" Sam hazarded a guess. "Was it bad, while I was dead?"

Cas snorted. "You have seen a grieving Dean Winchester before, and this time was no different.

Sam shook his head in understanding and maybe a little bit of exasperation. Dean could be…impossible, especially when he was grieving and terrified and that brought up a whole other, more important, concern. "Look, Cas, I'm sorry for him. For anything that Dean may have said or done. He didn't mean it, he just gets a bit carried away and doesn't know how to take it back later."

Cas leaned his head back, looking up at the stars. "Carried away? That's perhaps a bit of an understatement. He told your mother in no uncertain terms that she had failed you, that she was a bad mother. That we all had."

Sam's stomach lurched. "That's not—none of you have failed me," he reassured Cas. "What else did he say? I'll talk to him. See if I can get him to see—"

"Don't worry about it, Sam."

"But—"

"No. That's…that is not your concern. You are not your brother, nor are you responsible for his words or actions."

Sam shook his head doggedly. "Dean doesn't—"

"We can discuss Dean later." Cas gave him a long, piercing look that promised that they would indeed do so.

Sam still frowned, subconsciously flexing his recently healed hand. "But…if that's not what you wanted to talk about, then what?" he asked in confusion.

"You," Cas said seriously, and Sam leaned his head back as his face flushed.

"I'm fine," he repeated for what felt like the umpteenth time as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Maybe. But do you want to know what Dean and I were discussing right before you woke up?"

Sam made a face. If Cas was phrasing it that way, then he wasn't sure that he wanted to know. "I figured that you were talking about what happened."

"Partly, but Dean is—well, worried might be putting it lightly—but he is deeply worried about you. About how hard you were pushing yourself before this hunt and Dean is fearful that you will continue to do so after this. He didn't exactly phrase it this way, but he's terrified that it is going to lead to your death again."

"That had nothing to do with it," Sam said stiffly, a little miffed. "I was fine, it was—it was just a freak accident, and the Du'a Jiraataa wasn't exactly a teddy bear. Bad things happen all the time on hunts."

"Maybe, but Dean doesn't see it that way. All he sees is his brother pushing himself to the edge over and over again and threatening to leave him."

Sam actually laughed, even though he found very little funny about all this. "I'm not leaving Dean, and I'm not on some sort of crazed suicidal mission. I'm just— those hunters are my responsibility. I have to take care of them."

"But you also have to take care of yourself," Cas refuted.

"I'm not—"

"Dean told me that you sleep for less than three hours a night, that you barely find the time to eat. That is not taking care of yourself."

Sam looked away, uncomfortable. "Look, I know that I've been burning the midnight oil but what other option do we have? It's not like we have ever been able to take time off and get our hair done or go to the spa. I don't get why you are so worked up about that now."

"Sam, you were dead."

"Oh, wow, I didn't realize that."

"Then maybe you can understand why we are all just going to be a little more protective of you right now, why we would want to right the wrongs and do all we possibly can to ensure that it doesn't happen again."

Sam heaved a sigh, scratching at his forehead. "It's not like we live a safe life. None of us is ever guaranteed another day."

"No, but we can take precautions. Sam, you must take care of yourself, you must not continue to put your needs last," Cas insisted, and Sam took another deep breath, praying for patience.

"Alright, alright. I'll…I'll do better. I'll get more sleep and set aside time to go smell the flowers."

"Good. You should let Dean know the same because he will be talking to you about this. I was trying to give you a heads up."

Sam nodded, not wanting to push the issue any further. "Anything else?"

"Actually, yes." Cas straightened, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, and turned to face Sam more fully. "I know that Dean can be easy to talk about and worry about. We were doing it just a few minutes ago, in fact. Dean's reactions tend to be explosive and worrisome, and yours…are not, even if they are just as deep. In many ways, people don't worry about you as much as they do Dean, and you have so often been the one that people have come to depend upon. I've seen you bury any pain or hurt that you are feeling to appear strong and dependable."

"Dean doesn't do it for attention, if that's what you're saying," Sam said stiffly, frowning at his friend, but Cas was already shaking his head.

"No, and I know that, but that's not the point. The point is that all too often, you disappear, and I don't know if you know that it's alright for you to be struggling, for you to be the one who needs help. Everyone around you doesn't have to be okay for you not to be or for you to ask for help. When Dean talks to you, try and be more open to that."

Sam was silent next to Cas, looking down at the dirt underneath his feet. He didn't think that—Dean had played that role for years growing up. It was only right that Sam repay that debt now, that Dean be given a chance to express what he was feeling. And it was only fair that after dooming the world so many times, Sam should try and hold it together.

He didn't have a right to be fussed over, he didn't think. Not after everything that had happened. It wasn't much penitence, but that and trying to save as many people as he could were all he had to offer.

Cas paused, waiting for him to speak, but when he remained stubbornly silent, he continued, "You don't always have to be the one to suffer in silence and to carry the load alone. We are here to help you just as much as we are there for Dean. I am here for you. We care about you, just as much as we do Dean."

Sam didn't mean to, but he let out a wet laugh, his own eyes starting to burn for no good damn reason. He'd never exactly resented Dean his popularity, and he knew for many of their friends that he was the second choice, and he was alright with it. He really was. Hell, Sam felt the same. He knew and appreciated Dean better than anyone, and Dean cared so deeply about him that no one else's opinion mattered.

…but it didn't mean that it wasn't a lot to process sometimes.

Cas's eyes softened and Sam looked away, blinking rapidly. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man, he wasn't some self-conscious teenager playing the popularity game in high school.

Cas gave him a little smile, reaching out to brace his shoulder. "It was not right when you were gone these last few days, and I deeply missed you. We missed you that night at the bar, and I wanted to let you know that. The world needs Sam Winchester—we need Sam Winchester."

Sam sniffed, wiping a hand quickly across his face, and then reached out to grasp Cas's shoulder in return. "We have been through a lot together, haven't we?"

"That we have."

No more words needed to be spoken, and they stood together in comfortable silence until Dean pulled back in.

"Here," Dean said, thrusting a small bag and a Styrofoam cup at Sam. "Your food, princess. Bland, boring, bagels."

"What'd you get for you?" Sam asked, accepting the bag.

"Egg sandwich and coffee," he said, holding up a second bag before pointing at Sam's. "There's a second bagel in there for you, too, Cas, if you are hungry."

Sam held the bag out for Cas, who rummaged through it while Sam pried open the lid on the cup to see that Dean had gotten him tea—some kind of herbal, lemony, tea from the smell of it. He started with that, taking a slow hesitant sip. When it stayed down and didn't make him queasy, Sam took another swallow, savoring the warmth and wrapping his hands around the cup.

Cas handed the bagels back and Sam dug one out and ripped a chunk off.

"Are you going to eat that plain?" Dean asked, sitting next to Sam with his own food and giving him a quizzical look.

Sam shot him a look back that had Dean's lips curling up in a smile. "Well, did you bring me anything to go with it? I'm not the one who went out to get food."

"I'm not an idiot. There's some cream cheese in the bag."

"Well, why didn't you tell me that in the first place," Sam snarked, reaching for the bag again and then looking up. "Did you get a knife as well?"

"Sam, we have probably twenty knives in the car, if not more."

"Dude—not one of—you know what, never mind."

Dean smirked, pleased with himself, and Sam rolled his eyes as he ripped another chunk off and settled for dipping it in the small container of cream cheese.

He didn't feel like eating that much and he picked his way slowly through the top part of the bagel. Cas had just finished his own when Dean's phone rang and he fumbled to answer it.

Sam frowned and abandoned his food to search his own pockets at a sudden realization. He had no clue where his phone was, and he was sure that he had to have dozens of missed calls and notifications.

Dean paced back towards them, talking quietly. "Ohio? Yeah, that should be far enough. Especially if we cut straight through…alright, I'll see you soon…yeah, he's okay, but yeah, I'll tell him."

With that, he hung up the phone and turned back to Sam. "Mom says hi and to take it easy."

"Are we headed towards Ohio?" Sam asked, brushing the crumbs off his pants and straightening. Dean nodded.

"That should get us far enough away from the authorities to stop looking over our shoulders. They found the body, and there is quite the manhunt going on in Hettinger. It's probably best to put some solid distance between us and them."

Sam nodded, pushing away from the car. "Probably smart."

"Mom is just taking Jack and going, I think. You want to ride with us? We can circle back for your car in a few weeks?" Dean asked Cas, gesturing at the backseat of the Impala, but Cas shook his head.

"I'll follow."

"Alright, but you stay right behind us, okay? Just in case. I don't want any of us separated."

Cas nodded solemnly, and then they all piled into the cars, Sam still clutching his cup of tea and half-finished bagel.

Ohio was probably about eight hours away and, while Sam planned on sleeping for a large chunk of it—he still felt like he could sleep for a week, and that just wasn't fair, not when all he had been doing since he had been brought back was sleep—he also planned on talking to Dean.

Cas was right. They needed to talk about what had happened and alleviate some of Dean's fears. It was the only way that they were going to be able to move forward.

Chapter Text

Dean knew that Sam wanted to talk.

He'd been giving him not-so-subtle looks ever since Dean had gotten back with the food. Damn Cas, he'd known as soon as he'd left them alone together that he shouldn't have. They'd probably discussed him and everything that had happened, which meant that Sam would want to confront it.

But Dean wasn't ready to talk.

Not when Sam was still shaky and pale. Not when his arm had been broken three separate times, and not when he'd just come back from the dead in the worst way possible. And if it was a little bit for Dean as well, because he hadn't really slept in days and he was exhausted and on edge, then that was just a bonus.

Sam shifted in his seat again, shooting Dean a sideways glance, and Dean gripped the wheel tighter, preparing himself. Sam would start with an easy question, something to lure him in and test the waters.

"So…" Sam began casually after the song that was currently playing had ended. "What happened to the other victims?"

Dean heaved a sigh, rubbing at his forehead. "I don't know exactly. Only one survived, and I think Cas said that they dropped her off at the hospital when they thought that she would make it. The newspapers are going to have a field day with it, that's for sure."

Sam snorted, shifting again with a wince and leaning more into the seat. "Yeah, that's probably an understatement. She's going to be the talk of the town."

"Yeah, well, at least she's alive."

Sam latched onto that, and he turned to more fully face him, but Dean couldn't do it.

"Dude, no. Not right now."

"Dean, I was—"

"Not right now. Later. We can talk about literally anything else you want to, just…not that."

"Look, I don't even know anything that happened."

"I know," Dean cut in quickly. "I know, and I'll tell you just...not right now. Later."

Sam clenched his jaw in frustration but then he took a deep breath and his expression leveled out. "So what about those Dodgers, huh?" he asked, and Dean was impressed that he managed to keep any resentment that he might be feeling out of his voice.

He knew that he was pushing Sam off and that it wasn't fair to his brother, but Sam was still giving him more slack than normal and he wasn't above taking advantage of it. It also showed just how truly off Sam must be feeling because if his brother had been feeling up to par, there was no way in hell that he would have been content not having answers for this long.

Dean would answer all of Sam's questions. Just…later, when they were both up to it.

Sam didn't try again and about halfway through the drive to Ohio, he had fallen asleep leaning against the window.

Dean was absurdly grateful when they reached Cincinnati for more reasons than one. He was exhausted, and Sam was still recovering from being freakin' dead and God forbid that they get an actual bed for him to do it in.

Mary had texted them the location of the hotel that she and Jack were at, and they all waited in the parking lot for Cas to arrive before going in. They debated while they waited about how many rooms they should get until it was decided to simply get two double queen rooms. Cas didn't need to sleep, so Mary and Jack got a room while Dean and Sam got the other.

It was only going to be for a few hours. They would be up and going again once they all had a chance to sleep enough to not drive off the road. Sam, who had been bleary-eyed and quiet the whole time they were figuring out the motel situation, passed out again as soon as he had curled up under the covers.

Dean's sleep, however, was far from restful. He kept having weird dreams that would wake him up in a cold sweat. He couldn't remember what they were about, but they left him uneasy. He finally gave up sleeping as a bad job and simply lay there as time ticked on, counting every one of Sam's steady breaths. They were something that he wasn't going to stop being grateful for anytime soon.

He gave up on all pretense of sleeping when Sam woke up sometime in the early afternoon and looked around sleepily until he found Dean.

"Hey," he said, his voice thick and slurred, but this time it was just from sleeping too deeply. Not because he had been dead.

"Done doing your impersonation of Sleeping Beauty over there?" Dean asked, rolling over and sitting up to lean against the headboard while he let one leg trail over the edge of the bed.

"I feel like I've slept for a week, and yet I'm still tired," Sam mumbled into his pillow before scrubbing a hand over his face. "How about you? Did you get any sleep?"

Dean made a negative face. "Some," he expounded as Sam raised an eyebrow.

Sam's face softened. "You wanna try for a couple more hours before we get back on the road?"

"Nah. I'm up now," Dean said and got to his feet, stretching. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be back."

Dean ran the water colder than normal, keeping himself alert for the drive that was ahead. When he emerged again, Sam was sitting at the foot of the bed and making a pained expression as he tried to comb his fingers through his knotted and matted hair.

"You don't want to know," Dean said before Sam could even ask, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I think that I kind of do. You still haven't told me much of anything."

Flashes of Sam's encased body lying in a grave and then on the bed danced before Dean's eyes, and he had to swallow the lump down. He still didn't want to talk about that, but Sam had been extremely patient so far, and he looked more aware this morning. Telling him that little bit couldn't hurt.

"After you…you know, then I took you back to the motel. Hayley, um—" Dean stumbled through the words, his stomach clenching. He wasn't doing a good job of this, but Sam was smart. He'd fill in the holes. "Well, long story short, Hayley managed to get to your body and then she mummified you in this sort of grey casing and I don't think that she cared too much about keeping her little art project out of your precious princess hair," he said, trying to make it light and not sure that he succeeded.

Sam grimaced, lightly touching his hair once more. "That doesn't sound like fun."

"Yeah, you can be grateful that you weren't awake to experience any of it. I tried to get it out with rubbing alcohol, but I didn't have time to get all the knots out." Dean ran his fingers through his own wet hair, watching Sam carefully out of the corner of his eye.

"Fun for me, then," Sam shook his head in exasperation before looking back over. "Do we have any food?" The question surprised Dean.

"You mean besides the bagels that you never ate last night because you fell asleep or are you ready for actual food?"

Sam blushed a little, saying in his defense. "I'm hungry!"

"Well, I wasn't exactly sure when you were going to rise and shine. It wasn't like I can have warm food at the ready at any moment."

"I didn't say it had to be warm," Sam shot back.

"You're an idiot. Back from the dead? You deserve at least a hot breakfast. I'll go grab you something." Dean searched through his pockets until he found his car keys as Sam stood, leaning a little against the chair.

"Then I'm going to go shower, see if I can't get some of this gunk out of my hair."

Dean turned sharply back around, his heart suddenly beating in his throat before he could will it back down. "You sure that you're steady enough for that?" he asked, clutching the keys in his hand.

"Yeah. I'll be fine," Sam insisted nonchalantly, but Dean wasn't so sure. Sam hadn't been exactly steady since he'd woken up and if Sam fell and hit his head or if he passed out…Cas was just a floor down but Dean would rather avoid that.

"Maybe you should wait until I get back."

Sam started to dig through his duffle for fresh clothes. "I'll be fine. I feel better, just a little achy. And hungry." Dean hesitated and Sam half-turned, waving a hand at the door. "Go. Or I'm going to start in on your secret stash of M&M's."

"You don't even like M&M's," Dean muttered under his breath as Sam disappeared through the bathroom door.

He stood by the table, just stopping himself from going to stand outside the bathroom to wait, before he gritted his teeth and turned to the motel door. Sam was a grown man and competent in every way. It had just been an unlucky incident and Sam wasn't going to get himself killed while Dean was down at the diner, that was ridiculous.

Still, Dean found himself rushing while also trying to order anything that Sam could possibly want.

The shower was still running when he walked back into their room a half hour later with a couple of heavy bags of food. Opening up the boxes, he began to set the table even as he kept an ear out for his brother on the off chance that he needed anything. Sam had been in there long enough that Dean was just contemplating going over and pounding on the door when the water shut off.

"Freakin' princess," he muttered, even as he let out a breath, relaxing a little.

Sam emerged in jeans and a t-shirt and rubbing his hair dry about five minutes later.

"Had to wash my hair about three times to get it all out," Sam said from underneath the towel before tossing it to the side. He turned and his eyes widened before a smile appeared that was deep enough to show his dimples.

"We can't eat all that," he said, laughing a little. Dean looked back at the spread but refused to be embarrassed.

"It's not all for you, dude. The others will want to eat as well, we just get first pick because I paid."

Sam rolled his eyes but sat and began to fill the paper plate that Dean thrust at him. There was French toast, waffles, and pancakes, along with eggs and toast, even muffins. There was no bacon or sausage, however. On bad days, Sam had a hard time with meats and Dean didn't know what kind of day it might be. There was no way that he was going to jeopardize Sam's hunger over something as stupid as the smell of breakfast meat.

Dean would survive without bacon for a day.

He handed Sam a cup of coffee as well before digging in on his own plate.

Sam was about halfway through his second helping, and Dean honestly couldn't have been more pleased, when the door opened. They both looked over to see that Mary had entered.

She swung her duffle off one shoulder and smiled at them in a way that didn't reach her eyes and Dean's heart dropped. Sam stopped eating, resting his fork against the plate as he looked between her and Dean, like he somehow thought that Dean knew what was happening.

This time Dean didn't, but the mere fact that Sam thought it dug the guilt that Dean sometimes harbored in deeper. Normally, he could shove it away fairly easily and ignore the longing in Sam's eyes but not today. Not when Sam had been dead, and Mary hadn't even taken the time to have a one-on-one conversation with him yet.

Dean didn't know how to fix this.

"You want something to eat? We've got more than enough," he said, gesturing at the food helplessly.

"No. I've already eaten. I just came to say goodbye."

"You're leaving already?" Sam asked, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral.

"Yeah. Bobby was wondering where I was at. I was only going to be gone for a couple of days," Mary shrugged, shoving her hands deep into her pockets and rocking back on her heels, "and he was getting worried and, well, I figured that it was time to get back."

Dean looked over at Sam and immediately wished that he hadn't as he watched the disappointment and hurt flit across his face, but he thought that he was the only one to see it. Mary didn't seem to and Sam hitched the smile back on his face as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. We get it."

Dean didn't, and he wanted Sam to be mad about it. To demand that Mary stay with them and at least have a conversation with Sam. To let him know how much she loved him, how she had mourned for him.

Mary smiled at him and turned to Dean. Bending down, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a hard hug. Dean returned it, if not as tightly as he might have normally.

"Travel safe. Let us know when you get back," he said stiffly and she nodded before moving around to Sam. Reaching out, she smoothed back his wet hair before cupping the side of his face. Sam closed his eyes, leaning into her touch and Dean wanted to be angry at Mary like he had been able to when Sam had been dead.

Sam wanted this so bad.

"Sammy," Mary said like that would somehow say it all, but it didn't. Dean didn't even think that it came close and he knew Sam felt the same, but even as he watched Sam fortified himself, letting the hurt roll off his back.

"I'm glad that you were able to make it. Stop by the bunker when you can," he said and Dean looked away.

Mary patted Sam's cheek, hugged him as well, and then turned, breathing out a long sigh. "Well, I've got to get on the road but I'll let you know when I'll drop by next, it shouldn't be that long," she said and then she was gone.

Dean shot Sam a sideways look out of the corner of his eye, watching him fiddle halfheartedly with his fork before taking a breath and forcing a smile in Dean's direction like he wouldn't be able to read the hurt in his eyes. Part of Dean wanted to confront it, but they had been letting it lie for so long now that it seemed useless to bring it up. Or at least that was what Dean was telling himself.

He'd…he'd think on it. Figure out how to talk to Sam, to let him know that he wasn't purposefully trying to exclude him.

"She'll be back. We'll see her again soon," Dean said in the meanwhile, wanting to erase the hurt from his brother's face.

"I know." Sam gave him another fake smile and then turned back to his pancakes.

Dean let the guilt linger for a moment and then pushed it to the back of his mind. Today, he was just going to be glad that Sam was alive and that Dean wasn't going to have to try and navigate this world without his brother by his side.

Sam absently reached up, rubbing at his left shoulder and Dean instantly clocked the movement.

"Is it still hurting?" he asked, already half out of his seat and ready to grab painkillers.

"Not really," Sam said, giving Dean a more real smile. "It's just sore."

"Probably is going to be for a while." Dean didn't want to say for the rest of Sam's life, even if he was sure that was going to be the case. He had aches and pains that haunted him, and he knew that Sam did as well. This was just another one that they could add to the list.

They finished up breakfast without another word and Dean boxed the rest of it up for Cas and Jack to pick over if they wanted to or for them to finish off later. Sam wandered back to his duffle and began to go through it. His movements were still slower than normal but Dean tried not to pay it any mind.

Cas was right. It might just take time for Sam to return to full health. This wasn't something to be overly concerned about.

"What are you looking for?" he asked after a moment because he'd been the last one to gather up Sam's belongings and would probably know where whatever it was that Sam wanted.

"My phone. I can't seem to find it. Do you…?"

Dean grimaced. "Oh, yeah, about that." He left the table, reaching for his jacket and going through his pockets until he found Sam's phone. "You're probably going to need a new one," he said, handing it over.

Sam frowned, looking at the cracked screen that feebly buzzed to life when he powered it on. The screen was almost undiscernible now and Sam heaved a sigh even as he tucked the phone into his pocket.

"Did you throw it against the wall?" he asked jokingly and Dean's heart skipped a beat. His face must have gone pale because Sam's smile slipped off his face.

"You left it behind, in the office upstairs of the funeral home. We think that Hayley stepped on it or destroyed it, or something," he said quietly before shaking his head and sinking down onto the edge of one of the beds. He didn't know why that had hit him like a truck just now, but it had.

"Dean?"

"Why didn't you have it on you?" he asked roughly, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sam frowned, "I don't remember for sure. What happened that night— It's still a little foggy. I think—I just needed some air. I didn't even know that Hayley was going to show up."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't have your phone on you. If you had, then maybe things would have ended differently."

Sam sighed, sitting next to Dean, close enough that their shoulders were just brushing. "It was a dumb mistake, and I knew it, but by then it was too late. I had just gone down to check the locks, it was bad luck that she broke in right then."

Dean sniffed, blinking and trying to subtly wipe at his wet eyes. Sam bumped his shoulder against his lightly and Dean forced himself to take a deep breath. "Next time, keep your damn phone on you. At all times."

"Noted," Sam said dryly and Dean shook his head again, reaching over to smack Sam's arm before standing. Forcing a more real smile back on his face, he went back to the table. "Besides, this will at least stop you from getting notifications every ten seconds."

"Do they all know, then? The hunters?" Sam asked hesitantly and Dean shrugged.

"I think Mom told them. I mean, they would have guessed that something was up. You missed your check-in." He smiled grimly at his brother over the box of muffins.

"Great," Sam said softly and Dean could almost see his shoulders dropping, the weight of everything coming back to rest on them. Dean hated it more than he could say, but he knew that Sam would not be giving any of it up anytime soon.

"Sam, it's not going to impact their opinion of you. You can't be invincible, that's just—if they expect that of you, then they're idiots."

"No, I know, it's," Sam fumbled for a second before settling on, "I just hope that they're okay."

Dean didn't think that was fully the root of the concern but he let it slide. "Dude, you don't need to jump right back in. They'll be fine until you get back," he pointed out and Sam nodded.

"Right." He didn't sound like he believed it and Dean shook his head.

"No. They will be. I'm serious, you've been breaking your back for them and that—that has to stop. You've done a damn good job of getting them all trained up, so trust in that. Besides, I think that we should take a break for a few days." Dean was just deciding this now, but it did sound really nice.

"Maybe," Sam said, and Dean shrugged. Sam wasn't going to be the one driving, although if he threw a big enough fit, Dean would listen.

After everything that had happened, didn't they deserve a break?

Sam had picked up his phone again and was turning it over with a slightly mournful look, and Dean took pity on him. Digging through his pocket again, he pulled out his own phone and tossed it in his direction.

"You should give Jody a call at some point, and Donna. They were both calling, I'm sure to ask about you."

"Did you talk to either of them?" Sam asked, twisting a little to look at Dean. He felt his smile slip.

"No," he said firmly, and Sam knew better than to pry.

"I'm going to make some calls. I'll be back," he said, standing.

Dean nodded, before yelling after him, "I want to leave within the hour!" and Sam raised a hand to show that he'd heard.

Much to Dean's surprise, Sam was back long before the hour was up and helped him finish packing everything up. Dean didn't question it.

Cas and Jack found them in the parking lot before they could go in search of them.

"You guys headed back to the bunker?" Dean asked, handing Sam the last of the duffle bags so that he could put them into the trunk.

"Yeah," Jack said and Cas nodded.

"I think that we are ready to go back and regroup there," he said and Dean nodded in understanding.

"We'll be behind you, but Dean wants to take the long way back," Sam said, shutting the trunk and then sticking his hands into his pocket.

"Once you do get back, then we will have to properly celebrate your return," Cas said, smiling, and Dean lightly grabbed Sam's shoulder, giving him a friendly shove.

"You hear that? You're going to be a big deal."

Sam flushed, looking embarrassed, and shook Dean's hand off.

"No, nothing like that's going to happen," he said, pointing a finger in Cas's direction but Dean gave Cas a look behind his brother's back. If they wanted to throw Sam some big shindig celebration, then Sam himself had better not stop them.

After that they stood for a moment together, the silence heavy with the weight of what they had all been through, before Cas gestured at the car. "We'd better go, Jack."

Jack nodded, holding up a hand in farewell. Cas offered both Dean and Sam a smile and then they climbed into his car. Sam and Dean did the same, and they followed them out of the parking lot and down the main street.

At the stoplight, Cas turned right and Dean left.

Sam looked over at him. "You really weren't joking about taking the long way."

Dean shrugged, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel to the beat of the music. "What can I say? My baby wants to feel the open roads. It's been too long; it'll do her good."

Before Sam could say anything else, Dean reached over and turned his music up. Grinning, he half turned to Sam and began to sing as loudly and as off-key as he could.

#

It was almost one in the morning when Sam woke up with his head against the car window and a blanket that he didn't remember getting draped over him.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He and Dean had been talking on and off about whatever crossed their minds and it had been…well, it had been more needed than Sam had realized. It had been a while since they'd had hours of nothing ahead of them and just the open road.

He hadn't meant to spoil it by falling asleep but, despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, he was still recovering.

Stretching, Sam yawned widely and rubbed a hand over his eyes before glancing over at Dean, who had his head propped up in one hand as he drove and was humming almost silently along with the quiet music.

"You want me to take a turn?" Sam asked through another yawn and Dean threw a fond, if exasperated, look at him.

"Nah, I'm good."

Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't call him out on it. Dean had to be just as tired as he was but he would never admit to that. Stifling another yawn, Sam looked around.

They were in the middle of nowhere and there was nothing but rows and rows of corn around them. God only knew where the next town was. If they were going to get any sleep that night, it was probably going to be in the Impala.

Sam glanced up through the window. They'd left the storm behind in Vermont, and the stars were shining brightly overhead and he stared at them for a while as they drove in companionable silence, thinking.

"Hey. You should pull over," he said at last.

Dean's head jerked in his direction. "Why? You gonna be sick?" Already the Impala was slowing down, but Sam rolled his eyes.

"No, dumbass. And not right here, somewhere we can stop for the night and see the stars."

Dean relaxed a little, the car speeding up again. "Next time don't announce it that way. And you did throw up yesterday, in my own defense," he grumbled.

It wasn't long after that Dean found a secluded spot and pulled over.

"I'll get the beer," Sam announced and when he had got back to the front of the car, a six-pack in hand, Dean was already sitting on the hood.

"You going to be able to get up here without help?" Dean teased and Sam flipped him the middle finger as he pushed himself up. The hood was still warm and he settled back before he opened two beers, passing one to Dean.

Dean sighed and then leaned back against the windshield, staring up at the sky. Sam remained upright, nursing his beer even as he stared upwards. The stars never failed to amaze him with their beauty while also managing to remind him of his own nothingness. Of how the world kept turning, with or without him.

Some day he was going to leave this world behind for good.

Sam opened his mouth and didn't say anything so he took a long swallow instead. They needed to talk and get everything out in the open. Otherwise, they never would and it would become one more regret later when one of them was dead for real.

Hell. Dean had hardly been able to tell him the bare details of what had happened. He needed to get it out.

"You know," Sam said at last as he played with the corner of the label on his bottle. "That night, at the funeral home, I couldn't—I wasn't able to move much towards the end. So I was just lying there and I was looking at the stars." Dean had gone rigid next to him but Sam didn't look at him, keeping his gaze focused on the heavens. "And I was thinking that we should do this more. Do you remember how we used to do this literally all the time? When we were living out of the Impala more?"

Dean tried to say something but his voice caught and he cleared it roughly before trying again. "Yeah. Of course."

"Anyway. I was just…I was just thinking about that right now."

Dean was silent for several long moments, not even lifting his beer to take a drink before finally saying in a hushed tone, "Did it—" he broke himself off abruptly before saying, "I know that you were alone. That couldn't have been—I'm sorry, I should have been there."

Sam waved away the apology. "Dying's never exactly fun, but I was alright." Dean shot him a disbelieving look. "No, really, it wasn't—it was better than when Anna killed me or when I jumped into the cage. I…" Now it was Sam's turn to fumble over his words. "Those were really bad because I wasn't sure—I just, that was when you were mad at me, and rightly so, but now we're in a better place. And this time it wasn't like I wanted to sacrifice myself or anything."

Dean shuddered next to him before he brought a hand up to cover the side of his face, and Sam had the suspicion that he was trying to hide tears. His choked voice confirmed it. "That's good, Sammy. I—those weren't good times."

They were both silent a moment until Dean broke it. "I left you alone. I—I was out drinking while you were dying. I was having a cold one and a good time with Cas and Jack while you were bleeding out. I wasn't even the one who found your body."

That brought Sam's head around in surprise. He hadn't known that and he'd just assumed that it had been his brother. "You didn't? Then who did?" If some poor worker had walked in on him then Sam was going to feel terrible. It could not have been a pretty scene, there'd been a lot of blood.

"Cas. Cas and Jack," Dean said softly, not looking at him again. "They'd gone to switch places with you. Mom had just gotten into town and they wanted us to be able to spend time alone with her. I had to get a call, Sam. A call where they told me that you were—" Dean was struggling, his voice near to breaking once more, "That you were dead. And I had to walk into that funeral home knowing that and then take you back. I had to clean you up. I had to prepare you for burial. And all I kept thinking was maybe this wouldn't have happened if I had been there and how I failed you. I shouldn't have let you convince me to stay behind."

Sam shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dude, that's not on you. I was the one who made the decision and even if you had been there, it probably wouldn't have made a difference. You might have ended up dead as well."

Dean made a face. "Better both of us dead than just you," he said truthfully, and Sam couldn't debate it. God knew he felt the same about Dean. It was just too damn hard to live without the other. Dean continued before Sam could vocalize the thought. "Man, all I wanted those few days was to bring you back. To make things right."

Sam lightly elbowed Dean. "But you didn't do anything stupid, you kept your head."

Dean snorted, his focus on his beer. "I didn't want to. I wanted to bring you back with every fiber of my being and I was even thinking about praying to Michael." That made Sam shiver. No. There was no way that he was worth that. "I wanted to so bad that it hurt, but I learned my lesson last time. I really was ready to respect your wishes, I want you to know that. Not until we realized what the Du'a Jiraataa were and what they could do."

That meant more to Sam than he would ever be able to put into words.

"Thank you," he said, matching his brother's quiet tone. He knew better than anyone what kind of sacrifice that was.

"Don't you thank me. Don't you do that," Dean said thickly. "After what happened with Gadreel—" Dean had to pause again and he momentarily raised his hands to cover his face before dropping them again. For Sam, that pain was an old hurt and it slid by with only a twinge but the pain on Dean's face was raw. "Sammy, I don't know if I ever even apologized. I screwed up so bad with that and I didn't even realize just how messed up what I had done was. I just let Gadreel possess you, because I was a selfish bastard. But now I realize—I didn't before—that it was one of the worst things that I could have ever done. It is—terrible doesn't even begin to—and I did it to my own brother."

Sam reached out, laying a hand on Dean's arm. Some part of him had longed to hear this apology, even years later when he still thought about how much that had hurt. How deep that betrayal had cut.

"Dean, I forgave you for that a long time ago." That was also true. Forgiven, but not forgotten. That was one scar that had been etched deep into his soul but he also understood. He'd also done dumb things when Deans's life—when his very soul—was on the line.

"You shouldn't have." Dean's voice was dripping with self-loathing and disgust at his past actions.

Sam smiled crookedly. "You forgave me for starting the apocalypse. For almost killing you with my bare hands."

This time it was Dean's turn to shake his head. "That's not even in the same ballpark. You were addicted, out of your head and, not to mention, manipulated. I knew what I was doing. I knew that you wouldn't want me to do it, but I still did it."

Sam huffed sadly. "And I also let out the Darkness and got Charlie killed. Dean, we could play this blame game forever. We've got too many battles under our belts. We can't do this now."

Dean took another long sip, finishing the last of his beer. Dropping it down by the side of the car, he reached for another and took another long swallow before saying in a calmer voice. "If you die again, I won't bring you back, but you should know that I can't go live the life that you want me to. No, listen, Sammy," he held up a hand, forestalling Sam before he could start. "I've done a lot of thinking the past few days. About what has happened when you've, you know, before. About Jake stabbing you, about Hell. About the decisions I made each time it's happened."

"I can imagine," Sam said dryly. He'd been there before. Those weren't good thoughts.

"Sammy, I thought a lot about Ben and Lisa." That brought Sam's head around. They didn't talk about Ben and Lisa, not really, it was too painful a subject for Dean. "I can't—Sammy, I can't do that again. I feel like you have this sort of expectation of what's going to happen when you die, if you die before me and God, I hope not. I feel like you think that I can just prance off and go find that again, but I can't do it. I don't think that I can go live some apple pie life."

Sam's stomach dropped and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to believe that. More so, he didn't want Dean to believe it. Dean had flourished with Ben and Lisa, he knew that he had, despite what he tried to tell him. Dean deserved so much more than the hunting life of pain and misery.

Dean was a family man through and through; if he didn't have Sam then he would need something to focus his love towards something else.

"I—" Sam didn't know what he could say that would help Dean understand and he felt tears prick in his own eyes. He just wanted Dean to be happy.

"No, seriously. I wasn't any good at it."

"Yes, you were," Sam protested stubbornly.

Dean scoffed. "I wasn't happy. I put on a damn good façade because I thought that was what you wanted and that had been my promise to you, but, man…the only reason you didn't pick up on it was because you were a soulless dick-bag. I was miserable. I was paranoid. I mean, I made Ben and Lisa move more than once. I got blackout drunk more than I want to admit to, especially at the beginning. The nightmares were really bad and they…just didn't get it. I loved them. I really did love them and I always will, but they didn't understand and I felt really alone a lot of the time."

Sam still didn't say anything, a lump in his throat, and Dean sat up with a sigh. "Sam, even if I wanted to go live that kind of life I can't. Not with you dead, because when I lose people I care about, my head goes right out the window. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. I know that I've said things to you that still haunt you from when I thought that Mom was dead, or when Charlie died or Cas, or whoever. When I lose people, I get angry. I get desperate and I hurt others. I'm not fit for a life not filled with violence, and if it's you…" Dean trailed off, his voice cracking with emotion and he had to take a deep breath before he could continue. "I'm not proud of it, but I went off the rails. I was mad at Mom and said some things that I can't take back. Same with Cas and even Jack. I was mad at myself too, and I wasn't happy. I was miserable and all I cared about was taking care of you, and then getting revenge. It wouldn't have been any different if I had a family like Ben and Lisa. It probably would have been worse because I would have lashed out at them as well. Even if I had an ideal situation, I would probably manage to destroy it for myself and the others around me. It wouldn't be fair to anyone."

Sam looked away, taking a deep breath. The stars were blurred now and he blinked his eyes clear.

If he couldn't be there for Dean, then he needed to know that someone was there to watch his brother's back, but he knew that, to some extent, Dean was speaking the truth.

He'd seen the many missed calls on Dean's phone when he had borrowed it earlier and had seen the handful of texts from Cas and Mary, mostly pleas for Dean to call them, or let him know where he was at. Cas had basically told him last night that Dean had isolated himself and pushed the others away.

He didn't know how to help his brother past this, he didn't even know where to start. How could he help Dean to see that he was allowed to be happy if Sam was dead? That he wasn't meant for a life that was all violence and blood.

Dean took his silence as rejection. "I just can't picture it. I'm either going to hunt until I die or get obsessive until I find a way to bring you back. I'm not doing that again. I'm not hurting you like that, so I guess it's the first one."

"Dean—"

"No, I know it's the truth and I'm okay with it, really. The sooner I get out of this hellhole if you're not here, the better." Dean was aiming for a laugh but Sam couldn't joke about it.

"That's not funny," he managed to get out in a thick voice, and Dean sobered quickly.

"I know. It's just, that's not for me, Sammy, and I'm okay with that, but…but I want you to know that I'm okay with it being alright for you."

That brought Sam's head around with a jerk. "What?" He hadn't expected that, not in a million years, not with their history.

Dean relaxed back into his original position and blew out a sigh. "I also thought a lot about the times that I screwed up, and not just with, you know, Gadreel or the deal. I've sometimes raked you over the coals for things that I had no right to, and since I have you back, I want to make something clear. If I die—"

Sam's stomach turned to ice at the thought and he felt his heart skip a beat. No, never that.

"—then I've come to terms with the fact that you're probably going to leave this life behind and go have that white picket fence that you've always dreamed of. Maybe even have a couple of mini-Sammys." Dean broke into a wistful smile and this time it was Sam who had to clear his throat so that he could speak.

"I've only ever lived this life for you, Dean." He'd sacrificed everything for Dean when he'd walked out of his and Jess's apartment to hunt that woman in white, even if he didn't know it. Even if he had known it, he would still have done it.

"I know, and I love you for it." Dean threw Sam a crooked smile. "I just wanted you to know that if I ever kick the bucket before you do, that I understand it now. It wouldn't be like Stanford or Purgatory."

Sam didn't say anything for a long moment as he finished ripping the label off the bottle, unsure of how to say what he wanted to.

That had been hell for him. Even the white-picket fence of his childhood dream was not appealing, not without Dean. They had been through too much together for either of them to be truly happy or content without the other one present. His time with Amelia had gotten him through that experience alive, but it hadn't actually been living.

Sam just didn't think that he could continue hunting with Dean gone. Not even for the other hunters. It was the lesser of two evils because if he stayed hunting, he was more than afraid that sooner rather than later he would end the world again just to get Dean back. He had to take the option off the table.

"I'm no good without you either," Sam said, now rubbing at the glue that the label had been attached to. "I mean, I started the apocalypse the first time round and when Michael disappeared with you—you think I'm bad now, you should have seen me then. It was—I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't stop thinking about what you were going through, how horrible it was. How I had never wanted you to go through that."

"I know." Dean leaned forward just enough to knock his beer bottle lightly against Sam's shoulder, his expression serious but also soft. It was an acknowledgment of everything they had been through, and that a lot of it had really sucked. But they were still here, and they were still together despite everything that had happened.

"Hey—" Sam looked back at Dean. "What if we both just throw in the towel?"

"What? Like retire?" Dean frowned, but Sam didn't give up. It was a conversation that they had had before, and probably would again but it didn't stop the hope from blooming.

"Yeah. Like that. We could go live that apple pie life—together."

Dean was silent for long enough that Sam was giving up hope on him answering at all when he said, "Do you really think that we could do that? I mean, you're chief and I've got to figure out the Michael problem. And if it's not that, then it's something else. I don't think that the world is ever going to let us retire."

"But what if we did," Sam was warming to his subject, and he leaned forward eagerly. "What if we could. Would you…?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe. I don't know, Sammy. I'll think about it, though. It wouldn't…if you were there, then maybe," he conceded.

That was enough for Sam, and he smiled and took the last sip of his beer. Reaching back, he pulled out the last bottle and popped the lid off.

"Hey—to still being alive and together," Dean said, raising his still mostly full bottle in a silent salute, and Sam did the same.

Then there was only the sound of crickets and the wind in the fields. It was peaceful, and Sam eventually leaned back against the windshield as well.

All was still until his brother began to snore.

Looking over, he found Dean sound asleep, the beer bottle limp in his hand.

Sam couldn't imagine a life without Dean, not in the big moments, not in the small. He didn't want that life.

Smiling fondly, he removed the bottle from Dean's hand before he could spill it and then took a sip.

It was cold out, and he took his jacket off and laid it over his brother's shoulders. Dean shifted, rolling a little bit more onto his side and crossing his arms over his chest even as he murmured sleepily, "Don't need your jacket. I'm not some whiny bitch."

"No, but you are a jerk." Sam's smile grew as Dean's lips twitched upwards.

"That's right, I forgot. You're the bitch here."

Sam rolled his eyes even as he settled onto his back, one arm under his head.

The stars twinkled overhead and he stared up at them.

Maybe one day he and Dean really would retire.

It was the only way that he could see a happy ending for both of them and, if Dean asked, then he would retire as soon as he could figure out what to do with the other hunters. Well, maybe he'd become something like a Bobby figure. They probably both would.

It was something to think about, anyway, even if it was just a distant dream to hold onto but Sam always had been a dreamer.

Next to him, Dean started to snore again and Sam heaved a sigh, taking another swallow of Dean's beer.

Someday, maybe, but for this moment he was just going to be grateful that he and Dean, despite everything else, still had each other.

For them, that was enough and always would be.