Chapter Text
There's a line of cars that goes on for, as far as Dean can tell, half a mile. The red car lights make his eyes sting, almost more than the tears welling behind his eyes, he pushes them back and pulls into the emergency lane, speeding down and past all the traffic. If the cops pull him over he's got a damn good excuse.
Even as he gets off the highway, his stress doesn’t alleviate. Keeps’ trying Sam's phone but the sonofabitch won't answer. “Sammy?! Pick up your damn phone. Curing that mother‘s gonna kill you.” At this point he’s sent him over 50 voicemails, and by god if he wont send him 50 more before he gets to him himself.
After some sharp turns, red lights ran, speeding tickets avoided, he made it. The church. The shabby, barely passing as a church anymore, church.
He rushes out from the impala, from just out of the church he can hear loud sobbing, he puts his whole body weight into pushing that stupid door open.
Sam’s died before. Dean has watched the light drift from his still open eyes. But he hasn’t died like this before. This one, he can't come back from. Closing the gates of hell kills you all the way dead, no take-back-sies. The ultimate sacrifice.
As he breaks through the door, he is met with two horrible sights; Crowley, crying. And his baby brother's lifeless body on the floor. Through sobs, Crowley gets out an anguished, ”I’m sorry.”
Dean exited the church just about as quick as he entered to get some air and not share a fucking sob sesh with the king of freshly closed hell. When he looks up he finds yet another reason to break down right here, right now. Tears cloud his eyes as he falls to his feet, back against the impala, and he prays. “Cas? God, I hope you can hear me. I - I need you here, man. Sam is --” he can’t even say it. “Just - get here - I'm - I ain't pissed at you for the angels —“ he chokes through sobs.
He doesn't know how much time has passed by the time he goes back into the church, but he knows Sam aint waking up. Not if he stayed here till dawn, high noon even. He ain't waking. This death was planned by God himself; the third trial ends in the ultimate sacrifice. All that's left to do is to drag Sam's body out. Give him a real good tried and true salt-and-burn funeral pyre goodbye. But Dean just. can’t right now. Instead, he unties Crowley and tells him to get out, before he starts swinging. Crowley cries quietly, and even quieter he keeps muttering ,”I’m so sorry.” as he stumbles out and away from the church.
Dean wakes up slowly. His back is in knots from sleeping in his car, he's way too old for this. He goes over in his head what happened yesterday, last night more specifically, and his heart pangs with the all too familiar pain of loss. Right now he wants to drown himself in shitty whiskey and stolen shots, and it aint even noon yet.
The just-okay makeshift pyre he made creaks as he lays Sam’s covered and all too-lifeless body on it. The sound hurts his ears. Dean coats his baby brother's corpse in a pretty layer of salt and kerosene. He lights the match stick and thinks about what Sam would be doing right now if the roles were reversed. It hurts to wonder. Dean wishes the roles were reversed. He throws the burning match, and the fire engulfs the body and pyre, the heat of it burns his skin from here.
Dean stays watching the flames. The smell burns his nose and tears through his soul. He's not sure how much of it he'll have left of it when he leaves here. Wonders how much of his soul is burning away on that pyre.
The impala feels too big. The empty space makes him all to aware of what he's lost. Dean tears up at the thought, pushes it down as he pulls away from the church. He thinks about staying at a motel nearby, but there ain't one for another 40 miles, so it would be useless. The Bunker, then.
About 100 miles away from the church now, Dean hopes he never has to see it ever again. He’s laser focused on the road, and speeding, trying to further dismiss the burning in his throat and the painful ache in his soul. He deems now as good a time for music as any, but as he reaches for the radio, his phone rings. An unknown number with a colorado area code. Dean lets it ring for a moment, before picking up.
“Who is this?"
A familiar voice answers, “Dean.”
“Cas? You alright? What's goin' on?”
“Metatron tricked me. It wasn’t angel trials. It was a spell. I wanted you to know that.”
“That why I saw a ‘once in a lifetime’ meteor shower last night?”
He pauses, his shaky voice is so clear and audible, even through a damn phone call.
“What's wrong? Did the trial not work?”
“It —“ he can't say it. “Have you heard my prayers? I mean any of em’?"
“Dean, Metatron - he - he took my grace.”
“What?” he says, all too quiet.
“Don't worry about me. What happened with the trial? With Sam?”
Dean pauses. Collecting himself. “He - He’s gone, Cas. For all I know, the trials closed the gates.”
Now, Castiel pauses. “..Naomi was right.”
“No shit, sherlock.”
“Did you..”
“Salt and burned. Made a crappy pyre to go along with it.” Dean sighs, tears well up in his eyes, “It should've been me, Cas.”
“Dean.”
“No. It shoulda been me that took on the trials and you-- you know it, man. He-” hot tears stream from his eyes. “He was too young. Too damn young." He mutters under his breath, "So stupid.” Dean tries focusing on the road, but the only thing keeping him from pulling into the wrong lane right now, is Cas's voice. So he focuses on that.
“Where are you headed now?”
“Bunker. Where are you? You near there?”
“No. I’m in colorado. It might be a few days for me to get there.”
Dean thinks for a moment, Colorado's farther than kansas. About 500 somethin' miles farther. Doesn't matter.
“Where are you exactly?”
“Longmont, a gas station off route 287.”
“That's specific. Listen, I can get there in a day or two, I'll be there as soon as I can - but in the meantime; find a motel or somethin’ to stay at.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hey, Cas, listen, I know you can handle yourself, but there are probably thousands of pissed off angels looking for you-”
“Not all of them, Dean. Some are just looking for direction. Some are just lost.”
“What?”
“I met one. I think I can help her, Dean.”
“No, Cas, I know you want to help, okay? I do, but helping angels is what got you in trouble in the first place. I’m begging you man - for once, look out for yourself. Please. Until we’ve figured out what's going on, trust nobody."
“And do what? Abandon them all?”
“Damn it, cas. You hearing yourself? There’s a war on, and it's on you. There's thousands of them out th- You said you lost your grace right? That means you're human. That means you bleed and you eat and you sleep and all the things you never had to worry about before.”
“I’m fine, Dean."
“Just - Please get yourself to a motel safely and, for the love of god, without any newly fallen angel pals, alright?”
“Alright.”
“Call me when you’re safe and got a roof over your head.”
“Okay, Dean.”
Dean hangs up, mashing the instructions into his shitty samsung. He tries pushing down the worry screaming from his heart. He flicks the radio on and a song from his teens is playing. Alice in Chains, Nutshell. And it hurts. Hurts like hell. He’s crying again, and he’s damn glad no one can see him right now.
A couple of hours later, Dean's phone rings, a different unknown number from last time. He lowers the radio before he picks up.
“Cas?”
“Hello, Dean.”
“What took you so long? You okay?”
“The angel I met she uh - she kidnapped me, wanted me to take her to the grand canyon. To put it simply, I took care of it.” He pauses before continuing,”I have a motel room, but I couldn't afford 2 nights.”
“That's fine, I can get there by noon tomorrow. What motel and room number?”
“It's uh - ‘Super 8’, the one right off of route 287. Room number is 103.”
Dean punches in,’Super 8, Longmont Colorado’ to his cell. “Super 8, 103. Got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Dean, are you alright?”
“Noon tomorrow. I'll see you then.”
“Dean-”
Dean hangs up, he’s got a long drive ahead of him. He ain’t lettin’ himself sleep until he’s seen Castiel and made sure he’s okay. As okay as an angel turned human can be.
The drive to Longmont is lonely and slow, the music is the only thing that keeps him awake, aside from the rest stop coffees he gets every time he stops. The thought that Castiel’ll be waiting there for him helps for a while, but as the ride goes on and as the sleep seeps from Dean's tired bones, his anxiety is making him spiral. Thinking of the worst things that could be happening or already happened that he couldn’t protect Castiel from, it makes him sick. At the last stop he makes as he’d just hit Colorado's border he thinks he might puke, but he pushes it down, and drinks his shitty $3.50 coffee. Which makes him more jittery and more nauseous, so, lose lose.
Eventually, around noon, Dean arrives at the ‘Super 8’ motel, as he’s pulling up to the parking lot; the music playing on the radio is Bob Dylans ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’. Dean doesn't pay much attention to it, since he’s barely awake, but he notes the irony of it.
Dean knocks on the door, it reads ‘103’ on the front. It opens with an awkward creak,
“Dean?” Castiel looks at him and his eyes widen, like he’s seeing him for the first time in years. Dean doesn’t pay mind to it, way too out of it, he wasn't sure he even knocked for a second.
“Hey, Cas.” Dean says, pulling Castiel into a tired barely-hug hug. Dean smiles warmly, or as warm as one could smile on 0 hours of sleep and having just lost their brother. He pulls away before he passes out in Castiel’s arms and throws his bag onto the made bed.
Castiel closes the door, “Did you get any sleep on the way here?”
“If you don’t count dozing off a little at the wheel, no. Also by the way, I paid for another night.”
“You should get some sleep, Dean."
“Yeah yeah I will.” he sits on the untouched bed, expression sort of blank, “What about you? You sleep okay? You sleep at all?”
“I slept fine. I fell asleep some time after our call last night.”
“Dude - it was 3pm when you called”
“Yes?”
Dean sighs, shaking his head, “Nevermind.”, he tiredly grabs his bag and shuffles through it to get his travel bag and a proper change of clothes, “I’m gonna get ready for bed, see if you can find an old cartoon show re-running on tv - need somethin’ simple to lull me, yknow?”
When Dean stumbles outta the bathroom, he's got a water stain on the frontside of his shirt. Guess the sink didn't agree with the vintage 'Kansas' tee.
On the tv, an old episode of ‘Tom and Jerry’ is playing, before Dean can say anything about it Castiel is already explaining; “They keep trying to kill each other, In more and more convoluted ways. Dean, aren’t these cartoon shows directed at children?”
“Cas - “
“I don’t get this cartoon. I miss the coyote and greater roadrunner.”
Dean gets to his bag and grabs a fresh shirt and jeans and hands them to Castiel, who gives him a puzzled expression. “You need to shower, man, you reek. Human now, remember?”
“Oh. Thank you, Dean.”
“Yeah yeah.” he waves a dismissive hand, “I’m gonna take a quick power nap and then we can get some grub n’ go. Should probably call Kevin to let him know before we leave, though.”
“I’ll remind you to do that when you wake up.”
“Yeah, thank you. Now go shower, man. Just standing there ain’t gon’ start the water.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and lays back on the nearly comfortable queen sized bed, and Castiel makes his way to the bathroom, his newly acquired clothes folded loosely over his arm.
When Dean opens his eyes again, he’s met with a cold, dark room. He can barely make out the shape of Castiel, very asleep, on the other bed. Dean makes his way to the bedside table, the clock reads in a barely visible neon green ‘06:24’. He tries to do math in his head to figure how long he was out, but he stops counting after 10. He slept in such an odd position that now the entire left side of his body aches. He slowly gets up, reaches for his phone and dials Kevins number, hoping the kid is awake.
The line doesn't even ring once, just leaves an automated voice. “That ain’t good.”
Dean gets out of bed, turning to walk towards the bathroom.
“Get up, sunshine." Dean calls out. "We got a lot o’ drivin’ ahead of us.” his stomach roars, “After we get grub. Then we go.”
“I’ll have whatever today's special is and my friend here will have a regular hamburger, hold the pickles, please.”, The waitress scribbles down the order on a notepad, nodding as she leaves.
Castiel has this weird, uncomfortable look on his face.
“Cas, you okay? What's wrong?”
“It’s very loud in here.” he shifts uncomfortably in the booth, Dean eyes him for a moment before reaching into his duffle bag for something,
“I have some foam ear —" Dean makes a face, having forgotten the word. "— thingies. I’ll show you how to put em’ in.” He hands Castiel two foam earplugs from a small plastic bag and Dean grabs a pair for himself too.
“Just like this - got it?”
Castiel nods, mimicking the action.
“That better? If it isn’t, I got some other ear protection in the trunk-“
Castiel interrupts him, “It’s much better. Thank you, Dean.” he smiles softly
Dean laughs awkwardly, “It’s nothin.”
A few minutes later, the waitress comes back with their food. ‘Today's Special’ is apparently a horrendous amalgamation of waffles, marshmallow fluff, and bacon, and makes Dean regret internally not just getting a burger. He would ask to swap with Castiel, but the guy don’t look like he’s eaten much of anything the past few days, seeing as he just became human and is currently wolfing the burger down, so Dean decides that he'll just have to deal. He shoves the waffle-bacon-marshmallow-sandwich-amalgamation down and is honestly surprised when doesn't taste as bad as he thought it would.
About an hour into the drive to Lebanon, Castiel is passed out in the passenger seat. The morning sunlight flickers through the trees out the window and the light pours across his face. Dean mentally notes how peaceful Cas looks when asleep, remembering the last time he was passed out in this car. "Awe, ain't he a little angel?" Dean recalls saying, and Sam replying a moment later, "Angels don't sleep."... Sam replying. Sam.
Dean doesn't realize he's crying until his vision begins to blur and he can barely read the stoplight. A car horn honks behind his and he wipes his eyes to see his light's green and apparently has been. He puts pressure on the pedal and begins turning the wheel.
*
The door twists open in a familiarly old way, an arrow flies in Dean's direction as he enters, getting caught in the railing in front of him. “The hell?”
Castiel enters behind him, Dean's bag in hand.
A familiar disheveled figure emerges from a makeshift barricade of books and a flipped over table, a crossbow in his hand, “Dean? Cas? You’re alive!” Kevin smiles up at them.
“Yeah, 'cause you're a crappy shot..” he says, pulling the arrow out of the handrail, ”..Katniss.” He shoots Castiel a worried look as they make their way down the stairs.
Kevin's smile falters as he speaks, “Sorry. It's been a bad couple of days.” collecting his words, he continues,” I-I haven't slept, or eaten, I...I'm pretty backed up.”
“Okay, overshare."
“After we talked, this place went nuts, alright? Th-there was some alarm, and all the machines were freaking out, and the bunker just locked down! I couldn't open the door, my cell phone stopped working, I thought the world was ending!”
“Close,” Dean looks to the floor, trying to piece his words together, “The angels fell. And uh - Sammy closed the gates to Hell. Let's hope for good” is what he manages.
“What? I thought you were-were gonna stop Sam, —and-and what do you mean the angels fell?”
Dean takes the crossbow from Kevin, as he stands blank faced, the cogs in his head turning. “Naomi was right. About all of it. The ultimate sacrifice. Mettatron tricking Cas.” Setting the crossbow down at a table Dean explains, “Sam’s - Sam’s death and Cas’s grace, they were the final- “
Kevin cuts Dean off, "Sam's dead?"
Dean stares back. Unable to give a verbal reply, his eyes dart down to the table as they well with tears. "Yeah. Yeah, Kev, Sam's gone." His voice croaks uncomfortably.
A momentary silence fills the room and the three of them just sit in it. Kevin tries to process the overload of information.
“It’s a lot to take in. Dean tried contacting you sooner, but-“ Castiel offers, but he's cut off.
"Wait— what did you mean when you said 'Cas's grace?"
Dean gets a notification from his cellphone and takes it out, “I got service.”
Kevin flips a switch on what Dean can only guess is some kind of control panel, a couple of lights buzz into life and there are sounds of mechanisms whirring awake.
“It's back online. Maybe when you opened the door from the outside door, it reset the system.”
Dean nods as he speaks, “Yeah, okay, let's go with that.”
The air feels stagnant and the usual noises are a bit too loud for Dean. The lump in his throat refuses to dissolve, no matter how much shitty beer or half-decent whiskey. The wound on his heart still bleeds. As though he left a part of his soul back at that dingy church. Because he did. And Sam’s gone. He ain’t coming back. Dean doesn’t dare to walk down the hallway that leads to Sam’s room. He doesn’t think he can take it. Not yet.
“Settle in okay?” Dean wavers at the doorway, unsure if he should enter. Is this okay? Should Dean even be checking on Cas? How is Cas handling Sam’s death? Does he feel guilty? Angry?
Castiel nods gratefully. “Yes.. Thank you for letting me stay here, Dean.”
“Least I could do. You’re..” Dean hesitates. “You’re family, Cas.”
Family.
It repeats in his head, pours from his ringing ears. Family. The entirety of his biological family is dead. Atleast as far as he knows. And he has to live with it. First mom, Mary. Then dad. John. Now.. —how will he cope? How can he?— Drinking before noon? Throw himself into hunting? Into jobs?... Jobs. Sam would probably want Dean to have a job. A real one. Not going from hunt to hunt. But he can’t just yet.
And Castiel.. Family? Family? What does that mean? They’re more than ‘just friends’. But family? Dean doesn't see Castiel the same way he sees Sam. Those feelings are different. Not just because Sam is gone. Dean’s known it’s different. Not like it matters. Dean’ll be alone for the rest of his life anyway. He’ll die alone. He belives so, anyway. Sam dying is almost a poetic final nail in the coffin. Confirmation.
When Dean realizes he’s been standing in the doorway for too long he clears his throat and speaks, “Well, I need to call every hunter we know and make em’ aware of the whole —well—you know.”
“I’ll help you.” Castiel replies, a little too quick. “If you want. I understand if you don’t want me to.”
“No - I’d appreciate it, actually, thanks.” Dean admits, flashing a small smile at Castiel.
“-Yeah, just making everybody aware. Thanks Rudy. Spread the word.” Dean turns his phone off and puts a hand to his head. All of this.. Its too much. But he can’t just stop. Thats the funny thing about life and grief. No matter how much pause feels necessary, moment of silences, the world doesn’t stop. Even when it feels as though it has for Dean, His heart weeps. Pleading for a moment to breathe, but everyone keeps keepin' on because — they have to. He Has to. He knows he does.
Dean thinks back to his childhood. Their shared childhood —Or lack ther-of.— When Sammy would ask over and over again what dad did for work, what happened to their mom, and Dean kept repeating, “You don’t wanna know, Sammy. Trust me”. Dean just wanted Sam to be a kid for a little while longer. Now look where we are. Look where Sam is. Dean couldn’t protect his kid brother. And that.. That guilt, that pain— It won't ever leave Dean.
“Should we have a funeral for Sam?” Castiel speaks, looking in Dean’s general direction, but gaze not fixed on him.
A funeral. A celebration of the man that Sam was. Sam was beloved by all those who knew him. They should have a funeral. Then again, Dean is out of his head with grief. How is he supposed to plan anything in his current state? Do hunters even do funerals? They didn’t have one for.. John.
“I don’t know.” Is what Dean decides on. Not meeting Castiel's eyes that now look at him directly, and he leaves the room.
Tonight, Deans' mind has decided to replay a night from his childhood. Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. Dean had left the motel room to just get some air, and when he came back, he heard it. Felt the cold air escaping through the open window. He quietly pushed open the door to the room Sam was sound asleep in.. and he saw it. The cloaked, ancient, and wrong looking figure. It's witch-like hand pressed down on the young boys' chest, agape mouth over his face, feeding. Dean remembers pulling the shotgun up to his chest, his small hands encompassing it in an over-practiced fluid motion. He clicked the safety off and it saw him. But that wasn't the scary part. It was how his dad looked at him after. It was how close Sam got to becoming one of those sick and dying kids and he didn't even know, he wouldn't even remember.
Dean's worst nightmare has come true. And he doesn't know how to deal with it.
*
Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, his shirt slick to his back and his eyes erratic and disoriented. He's been sleeping worse than when he'd just come back from hell. Dean throws the covers off from over his legs and turns to the side of the bed. Sitting up now, his hands go up to his face, pushing in his eyes to remind himself he's really here.
A knock at the slightly ajar door. Dean looks over, "Come in." his tired voice calls out.
Castiel. "I-" He stops himself, "Oh— sorry Dean. I didn't mean to wake you."
"I was already awake." Dean says, looking away from Cas and turning on his bedside lamp. "What did you need to tell me?"
The others' expression is clearer with the new light source, and it changes as he looks around Dean's room. Cas studies his face.
Dean has bags under his eyes, the dim light is accentuating them in a way that resembles tired med students and the dead. There are beer bottles disjointedly scattered throughout his room. Most are empty, say for one on his desk, half drunk, where he has his childhood photos and his dads journal laid out in an odd order. The photo that is on the top of his dad's journal is one of him and Sam when they were 15 and 11 respectively.
"Sorry for the mess, I uh," Dean pauses, meeting Cas's expression, "I haven't really felt like pickin' up."
After a moment, Castiel says, "You're grieving." in an honest and understanding tone.
Dean nods and faces away, no longer making eye contact. "Yeah."
"I made breakfast," Cas says. "-if you feel up to eating."
“How’d you sleep?” Dean asks, tone attempting to sound casual.
“I slept fine, Dean. How did you sleep?” Castiel's brows furrow and his eyes squint slightly as he attempts to search Dean's expression.
Dean chuckles dryly and looks away. Idly sawing through the slightly-burnt sunny-side-up egg. “Want an honest answer?”
Castiel nods, and Dean looks away.
“I slept maybe two hours. —Give or take.” Dean replies, taking a bite of his food.
Castiel keeps his expression focused on him.“That’s not sustainable, Dean.”
“I know," He breathes, trying to regulate, "Its just —what am I supposed to do?" He laughs humorlessly. -Maybe it was more of a cough escaping, the air in his lungs getting caught on its way out. "He’s--he’s gone, man. How am I supposed to—“ Dean’s eyes tear up, against his will. He sets his utensils down and looks briefly at Castiel before he turns his eyes to the fluorescent ceiling lights, cycling through them in a repetitive motion.
Castiel lets silence fill the room. The fluorescent lights buzz in a way that almost make his ears hurt. “I miss him too.”
Dean's eyes dart back and stare unfocused at the floor, "I thought he'd outlive me." he chuckles as tears fall from his eyes and make streaks down his face. "He's my little brother. And I wasn't there to protect him. To save him, when he needed me most," He adds, quietly, "I just wasn't there."
"I'm sorry." Castiel looks up at Dean, his eyes sad and expression pained. Guilt seeps from his skin. Undeserving tears well in his eyes and Dean looks at him for the first time since they sat down to eat.
His expression cycles, a flash of helplessness, shame, sorrow, fear, before the anger marks. Dean looks away. "I know you are." he stares at the empty doorway to his left before he speaks again, "Sorry doesn't bring people back from the dead."
"There has to be a way—" Castiel offers, his voice attempting a weak and emotional driven human determination, wiping fallen tears from his face.
Dean nods, his body language closed off. "We'll find a way." He says, his voice sollum and low. Echoing the determination. Dean takes their plates to the sink and promptly exits the room, leaving Castiel to sit alone in the silence, drowning in guilt and the sound of old wiring ready to give out.
A week goes by. Maybe two. And Dean has nothing. Not one, spell, demon he can make a deal with, ancient deity to summon, nothing. Kevin has going over and over his extensive and erratic notes on the demon tablet, but nothing shakes loose. There's no answer or solution to this problem. And Dean doesn't know what to do with that. He can't hunt because, guess what? Since they got back to the bunker --a week, maybe two ago,-- he's been checking every local and state online newspaper, every paranormal blog, even Ghostfacers, nothing. Nothing. Just people being monsters, which is almost worse to Dean.
"Maybe… Maybe when both gates closed, it just.. turned all the monsters back to normal?" Kevin offers.
Dean shakes his head, "No, no, monsters are tied to purgatory. I can't think of a reason that closing the gates would do this. You're sure there's nothing on the angel tablet or in your notes?"
"For the 50th time, no, I'm sure, Dean."
"But it has to be connected to the gates closing, right?"
"I can't think of any other large-scale supernatural event that could've caused it."
Castiel enters the library, a coffee cup in hand, his tired eyes examine the scene.
"Jeez." Dean says. "Did you just wake up?"
Castiel sits down across from Kevin, sipping as he goes. "My sleep schedule and I are currently at odds. What can I help you two with?"
"Where did the monsters go?" Kevin asks. Dean notes how much his question and tone resemble Sam's when he was Kevin's age, right before he'd found out he got a scholarship and told Dean and Dad he was leaving. The call of a memory takes him out of the conversation.
Sam had found the case himself. Seemed mildly proud of it too. Dad was off somewhere in New York, and Dean thought, "What the hell, we're not doing anything else." and left Dad a voicemail 'n' drove. Dean was glad Sam was at least showing more interest in hunting lately. It might've just been an excuse to get out, in hindsight.
When they got to the place that supposed to be crawling with spirits, there was nothing. Say for a few small rodents and vacant cobwebs.
"What the hell?" Sam says, staring at his emf meter.
Dean clicks the safety on his shotgun, "Maybe you got the wrong address."
"I don't-" Sam stops in his tracks. Staring down a hallway, putting away his emf meter and taking out his flashlight.
That's not what happened last time. Last time there was nothing there. The memory? plays out, and Dean feels his brain itch.
"You hear somethin'?" Dean asks, his voice just above a whisper.
Muddled words out of reach. In-front and beside him, two voices. Dean can't focus on what they're saying, He can barely see the people beside him, his vision's blurred. He can see Sam clear as day.
Sam shushes him and slowly walks down the hallway. As he does this, Dean tries to listen for what Sam heard… There. Quiet wheezing breaths like an organ that's just been turned off. Shuffling. Footsteps?
Dean clicks his safety off, "Let me go ahead."
This is all wrong.
"I got this, Dean." Sam replies, whispering back in Dean's direction.
The teeth were the first thing he saw. Tall fangs at the front of it's bite, protruding out it's mouth almost like tusks drawing over it's bottom teeth and lips, they curved in slightly, almost piercing the discoloured skin under it's bottom lip. When Sam's light hit it's eyes it shrieked horribly. Louder than fireworks marking the sky. The sound makes Dean's ears hurt.
"What the fuck—" Dean pulls his gun up to shoot at it, but it doesn't care for that. The creature lunges at Sam, tearing into the boy's flesh. Blood hits Dean's eye. Sam's blood.
That's not what happened.
There was nothing there.
So why am I seeing this?
Why does it feel so real?
Steady hands on his shoulders pull him back, "Dean."
Dean re-adjusts to his surroundings. He reminds himself where he is. That he's safe. He takes a hand up to his eyes and finds just water. He's safe. "Sorry. I'm-" He takes a deep breath, "I'm good now, sorry about that." Where's.. "Where's Kevin?"
"He went to get you some water. Sit down." Castiel lightly helps Dean over to a chair. His hands are shaking. "What just happened? Are you okay?"
Dean puts one hand over the other in an attempt to steady them. "It was a memory. Me and Sam on a— well, what ended up to be a— bogus hunt." Dean pauses, still collecting himself. "-But it was wrong."
"What do you mean it was 'wrong'?" Castiel asks, sitting down across from Dean.
Dean repeats, "The memory was wrong. It was almost like.." He pauses, considering. Dean looks Cas in the eye, his expression lingeringly uneasy and cautious. "After my mom died, I would have these.. flashbacks. I would have nightmares every night. Each flashback would focus on something like.. like the smell, or the heat, you know? Every once in a while, it would randomly feel like I was back there. Just.. staring up at her. Stuck in the house, the fire separating me and Sam and my dad. Those ones only really let up in my teens, and eventually I got used to it. Got used to waking up in a cold sweat or being real out of it for a day or two after a flashback. Accepted they were a fact of life. Started having more 'cause shit just kept happening. That's just how it is. But this…" Dean's brows furrow and his heart beats a bit quicker when he briefly remembers the made up scene of large jagged teeth tearing into Sam, he shuts his eyes to rid the image from behind his corneas. He breathes, "This was different. It was a normal memory until that thing showed up—"
Castiel cuts him off, "How much sleep did you get last night?"
"What?"
"It could've been a waking nightmare. You need sleep, Dean."
Dean sighs and rubs at his eyes, "I'm fine, Cas. You don't need to worry about me. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself."
Kevin enters the room with a cup of water in hand, placing it on the table in front of Dean. "Feel better, Dean."
"Thank you, kid." Dean takes a sip of his drink as Kevin moves to sit next to Cas, pulling open his laptop. The blue light from his screen illuminates the small bags under his eyes. Dean thinks. "You know what? Why don't I order us a pizza and after we eat we can all hit the hay? I mean, this much research can not be good for anyone. And Kevin, -- you look like you're about to drop."
Kevin chuckles, "Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like an extra for The Walking Dead."
Dean stands, taking out his phone, "Two pies work for y'all? One plain, one everything?" Kevin nods and Dean looks to Cas.
"Yes. Thank you, Dean." Castiel replies, his expression is an unwaveringly worried one. His eyes are locked to Dean's, like he can see through him.
Dean didn't think it was still possible since Cas lost his grace, but apparently he was wrong. It makes him feel too-seen. He shoots them an, "Alright" and removes himself from the library, walking through the crows nest and down the hallway, making his way to the garage. He dials in the number for the local pizza place and barks out the order.
Every time he leaves he gets a pit in his stomach that wont let up. The empty seat next to him in Baby makes his skin itch. Some days though he'll catch a glimpse of an album Sam knew most of the lyrics to, and he cries. Other days he'll hear a song on the radio Sam would've liked, and he cries. Every day he looks to the empty space beside him and can't help but think, "What am I without you, little brother?"
As Dean passes the front entrance of the bunker, he swears he sees someone. He stops the car and cautiously walks back to investigate.
A woman. "Hello? Can I help you?" Dean calls out, and her features come into focus.
"Dean, is Kevin with you?" Linda Tran.