Archive of Our Own

Everything hurts.

His wrists burn from the ropes wrapped too tightly around them. His back aches from the wooden table he’s laid out on. Blood and dirt coat the inside of his mouth. His hair sticks uncomfortably to his face, a mix of sweat and rainwater plastering it down. 

Then, she returns.The ropes binding his arms and legs retighten as if the progress he’d made loosening them in her absence never happened. 

It’s dark, Sam can no longer make out the details of her face, the candles illuminating the room flicker. Dancing light paints her near translucent pale skin sun-tanned and turns her white-blonde hair ember orange.

For the briefest moment, she almost looks human.

The candle lights flicker again as warm wind snakes its way through the window of the cabin, a glinting light catches Sam’s eyes and his heart drops when he looks down at her hand. 

“Don’t-“ he tries,

“please- don’t-“ His eyes trained on the blade.

His voice is hoarse, dry and scratchy. His head aches, pounding against the oak wood table making his ears feel filled with cotton. 

“I have to.” She responds in a voice made of silk and river water the way it cuts through the pain coursing through Sam’s veins,

“You aren’t strong enough to resist it, not forever.”

Sincerity riddles her voice, not hate or disgust that’s typically associated with this topic. It’s almost soothing, there’s sorrow in her tone. Like she knows this isn’t his fault. 

He’d been chosen, against his will, too young to fight against it, to deny it. 

He’s begged for forgiveness for the sins he’d been destined to commit and she knows.

But his lack of autonomy on the path that’s led him here doesn’t seem to deter her as she stands beside him. 

Delicately, she rolls up the dirt-caked sleeves of his flannel. Her other hand holds a rag, she presses it against his skin and warm water washes away the blood and dirt dried on his arms. 

“I am sorry, but this is necessary.”

And Sam hates that he believes her, she truly is sorry, hell, maybe it really is necessary too. Her eyes are heavy, as if the task she’s about to complete is a heavy burden she’s mentally preparing to bear. 

“You don’t have to do this-“ Sam tries but his words somehow sound less honest than hers. 

His arms are clean now. A stark contrast to the rest of his body and clothes. She looks up at him, her entrancing dark brown eyes meeting his hazel ones, 

“Sam, you know that’s not true.”

 Still, no disgust in her tone. She knows who he is, what he’s done, what he’s destined to do, but she doesn’t hate him.
Her eyes fill with so much understanding and empathy Sam feels suffocated. He almost considers begging for the anger instead, the familiarity of that look had to be better than the feeling of his walls crumbling to pieces as he realizes she doesn’t blame him.

That there’s someone out there who doesn’t despise him. 

She turns away from him, holding the silver knife that somehow looks so pure, as if only made for this purpose, over one of the candles, admiring her own reflection in the metal,

“I’ve done a lot of wrong in my long life, as you know. But this- this will be my one good act-“

She turns back to him, “It won’t cleanse me, I know. But you have to understand Sam, when I saw you- this wasn’t an opportunity I could pass up.” 

She returned to his side, moving the knife so it was just above his wrist, the heat emanating off it so strongly Sam could feel it on his skin,

“I’m the only one who can do this and you know it Sam. I am sorry, truly. I know this isn’t fair.” 

“Please…” It was all Sam could muster out now.

He didn’t understand exactly what she was going to do, but some deep part of his mind told him this was the answer.

The answer he’d been searching for ever since waking up in his motel room weeks ago, covered in his own blood with no wounds to trace it back to, discovering Lucifer wasn’t bluffing when he said he’d just bring him back to life. 

Somehow he knew, she was the loophole, the work around. 

Still, the selfish, human part of him couldn’t get Dean’s face out of his head. The last time they spoke, they’d fought. He didn’t want to leave his brother before he’d made it right with him. 

“He’ll be okay Sam.” She spoke as if she could read his mind. Maybe she could, she’d been able to see through him, understand him in ways almost no one else has, it wouldn’t surprise him if she could see his most desperate, childish thoughts too,

“This will ensure everyone will be okay.” 

“Dean…” he mumbled. The next thing he knew, white-hot pain rushed through his arm, coursing up the rest of his body.

Another stab of sharp pain shot through his other arm, flooding his vision, clouding out all other thoughts-

And then- nothing. 

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

When Dean had told Sam to ‘find his own damn hunt’ this is not what he’d meant. 

Well, actually this was technically exactly what he meant but- well he thought it was obvious he wasn’t being serious.

They’d gotten into another fight. Not uncommon since deciding to team back up. But this one was rough, they were wrapping up a hunt and Sam had clearly been pissed off with Dean. 

He wasn’t saying anything, just moping and bitching like always and somehow that had pissed Dean off even more.

They’d argued. Sam hated how Dean was treating him like a child on hunts. Dean had said it was warranted.

They argued some more, he told Dean he was acting like Dad and Dean told him to go find another demon bitch to start the apocalypse with.

Dean regretting that the moment it left his mouth, he could see the hurt and Sam’s own guilt cross his face but Dean didn’t apologize, instead, he told Sam that if he didn’t like it, he could go find his own damn case and hunt solo. 

He’d stormed out, deciding to drown himself at the nearest bar. When he’d returned to the motel the next morning, he found a note from Sam saying he was leaving to clear his head for a few days. That he’d meet Dean back at Bobby’s. 

Dean had figured Sam had just gone off somewhere to cool down. A part of him actually kind of appreciated it. He missed Sam when they’d separated but even when meeting back up, the lingering hurt and distrust didn’t completely go away.

Maybe they just needed a little more time, knowing he’d see Sam again soon at Bobby’s definitely eased some of the anxiety, allowing him to relax for a moment.

However, that moment was short lived when he got a call from Bobby, 

“He what?!” Dean nearly shouted into the phone. 

“You heard me boy, he was askin me questions about a case, you mean to tell me you’re not with him?” Came Bobby’s reply. 

Dean cursed under his breath, “No. He left five days ago. We-“ he hesitated, feeling a bit childish now, “We got in a fight.” 

He could hear Bobby groan in annoyance over the phone, “Damn you two idjits. When are you two gonna stop acting so goddamn childish all the time?” 

Dean chuckled humorlessly, “Maybe when hell freezes over.” 

Dean could’ve sworn he heard Bobby mutter ‘damn stubborn Winchesters’ before his voice grew louder over the phone, “Well you’re gonna have to get over it because I think there’s somethin wrong.” 

A pang of fear flashed through Dean's chest, “What do you mean?” 

“Sam called, askin for information about somethin he was hunting. He called over a payphone, said the service was shotty and his phone wasn’t working. Gave me some info to look into and said he’d call me back in about three hours, but he never did.” 

Dean swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “When did he call?” 

“Almost two days ago now I-“ now Bobby started to sound a little worried too,

“I woulda called you sooner but I thought you were with him and he said only the landlines were working…” 

Dean stood up, packing up his duffle bag, “It’s alright Bobby, where did Sam say he was?” 

“He said a little town called Beespring, Missouri.”

Missouri, only a couple hours away from him, “He say anything else about what he was hunting?”

Dean heard some papers shuffling in the background, “Yeah, he asked me to look into this symbol, didn’t really say why though.” 

“What symbol?” 

“I’ll send ya the picture he sent me.”

A moment later, Dean felt his phone buzz, he looked at the screen. It looked like a picture of a drawing on a piece of loose-leaf paper. 

The symbol was a spiral with what Dean recognized as a Celtic knot hastily drawn over it, “The hell-?”

Bobby sighed, “I’ve been hitting the books but I haven’t been able to find anything like it yet.” 

Dean grimaced, “Alright, well you keep looking, I’ll call when I get to Beespring.” 

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

He arrived later the next day.

Dean would best describe Beespring as wet. Humid and mucky and cloudy. It seemed like there was a permanent thick grey cloud above the town that shed raindrops every couple hours. Everything around Dean had a little layer of morning dew on it, despite it being late afternoon. 

The town itself was quaint, forests and mountains surrounded the run down little houses. As Dean drove he could spot every town's essentials all on the same road, gas station, supermarket, church, bar. A sad excuse for a police station sat near the church, Dean parked and after getting off the phone with Bobby, he made his way inside. 

“Can I help you?” A man sitting behind a desk asked, he was wearing jeans and button up flannel, the only indication of who he was being the police badge strapped to his old leather belt.

He didn’t spare Dean much of a glance when he entered, seemingly far more interested in the damp newspaper in his hands, even inside, the humidity seemed to follow. 

“Good afternoon officer, I’m looking for someone, figured you might have seen him.” 

“Yeah?” The officer asked not sounding all that interested, “Who’s askin?”

Dean pulled out his fake FBI badge, “Special Agent Page, FBI sir.” He responded tightly. 

The officer looked back up from his paper, staring at the badge before finally looking at Dean for longer than a second, “You with the other Agent?” 

Dean kept his face neutral, “Yes, he’s actually the one I’m lookin for, he got here earlier than me, was hoping you could tell me where he’s staying?” 

The officer gave him a look before chuckling, “The only place visitors can stay, small town like this only got one motel, Agent.” 

Dean grit his teeth, frustration increasing at the officer’s dismissive attitude, “And where might that be?”

“Melody’s” He jerked his thumb to the side, “Edge of town, can’t miss it.” 

Dean scoffed, turning on his heels, “Thanks.” He responded sarcastically before heading back to the impala. 

It only took Dean another minute before a sign reading ‘Melody’s Inn’ caught his attention. 

He walked into the main office. Inside behind the front desk a young lady was sitting, reading. Her light blonde hair pulled into a bun that looked both effortless and elegant. Her face was concealed by the book but the light peaking through the windows of the cloudy sky made her pale skin practically glow. 

“Excuse me Miss?” 

Dark brown eyes peaked over the book. She looked slightly startled, like she hadn’t heard him come in. But her smile was warm, friendly,

“Oh hello, sorry,” she said sheepishly, motioning to the book that now sat at the desk, “Are you checking in?” 

Dean returned her smile, “Actually I’m looking for my partner, he probably checked in just a few days ago,” he pulled out his badge, showing it to her, “Another FBI agent?” 

She looked at the badge a little surprised, “Oh, you mean Agent Ford? Yes I believe he check in about four days ago now,” 

She pulled out a log book from one of the desk drawers, flipping through to the most recent page,

“Yes, he’s in room 110,”

She looked up at him, “Would you like a key too? I haven’t seen him in a bit, so I don’t think he’s there at the moment.” 

Dean nodded, “That’d be great thanks,”

He leaned on the counter, flashing her a polite smile, “Hey did he happen to mention where he was headed?” 

She had her back turned to him now, digging through another drawer, “No, but he was wearing casual clothes last I saw him, had a bag with him. I’m assuming he was headed for the forest, that’s where all those people disappeared.” 

Right. Sam came here cause there’s a case, Dean tried his best to keep looking calm, realizing his brother was probably alone in the woods with some kind of monster right now,

“And when was that?” 

The girl turned back around, a small silver key in hand, she thought for a moment,

“Hmm, now that I think about it, that was probably two-ish days ago since I last saw him,” 

Dean must not have done a good job hiding the worry that flashed his features because the girl tried to smile reassuringly, 

“I wouldn’t worry too much, the forests are large, lots of ground to cover, it’d take anyone a couple days to get through it all. Plus, there’s always a chance I just didn’t see him come back.”

Though that last part sounded more like she was just trying to make Dean feel better. 

Dean forced a smile, taking the key from her, “Thank you for your help Miss…”

She smiled warmly again, “Oh please, just Melody is fine.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow in surprise, the inn looked a lot older than her. She seemed to understand his confusion immediately and laughed a bit,

“Melody is a family name. The Inn is named after my great grandmother.” 

Dean laughed too, something about Melody was easing the tension that hadn’t left his shoulder since Bobby told him something was wrong, “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude.” 

She leaned back in her seat, picking up the book she had been reading and smiling again with that warm smile that was such a stark contrast to the gloomy weather outside,

“If you have any more questions, you know where to find me.”

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

For once, Dean was grateful for Sam’s OCD when it came to taking notes for a case.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to go off of. 

Sam hadn’t been lying to Bobby about the cell service, he’d barely been able to understand him when he’d first arrived and now it seems his phone has given up completely.

To make matters worse, that seemed to apply to Sam’s computer, which Dean had found on the small table in the motel room, too. Which meant no internet. Great. 

Thankfully, it seemed like Sam had already done most of the legwork, interviewing some people in town, talking with the police, and looking into the victims. 

From what Dean found in Sam’s notes, it was seven victims going back years. One of Sam’s little side notes hypothesized there were more even before these seven. All of them solo campers. Not too much details on the first six, the first victim being almost twenty years ago. 

What stuck out the most however, was the most recent victim, a man named Carson Oren. The name rang a bell immediately and luckily Dean didn’t have to rack his brain too hard about it because Sam must’ve recognized it too. 

‘Carson Oren, one of dad’s old hunting buddies.’ 

His notes read. He’d disappeared a little over a month ago now, according to Sam, fitting the same timeframe and pattern as the other victims. 

Dean kept reading through his notes, 

‘Each victim disappears around the same month, one victim roughly every three years- they head into the forest and disappear. No bodies, no clothing or belongings ever discovered. Wendigo possibly? Not 100% yet though. Found this strange symbol carved on one of the trees just before the forest starts, gonna call Bobby and see what he can find on it. Could be something ritualistic.’ 

His notes suddenly stop there. Dean didn’t like what that implied. 

He tried to call Bobby again but it didn’t go through. A part of him was pissed off at Sam for doing this alone. Even if he’d thought it was a Wendigo, he should’ve called Dean. 

Another part of him was filled with worry and guilt. He’s the one who told Sam to go hunt on his own.

Sure, he didn’t actually mean it but Winchesters are stubborn and Sam’s been desperate to prove himself for a while now.

Dean just wished he would’ve stopped being so stubborn himself and talked to Sam sooner. He’d been so focused on his own damn feelings he’d been point-blank ignoring what his brother must have been going through. 

Instead, he’d just kept pushing him. Pushing and pushing until he pushed him right out the door and into a dangerous hunt all alone. 

Dean shook his head, as if he could knock the bad thoughts out of his brain.

He needed to focus. Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to help his brother. He’d have time to feel all the regret and guilt later when he got his brother back, alive and safe.

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

Dean was up and ready early the next morning.

He had his boots, jeans and a jacket on, bag slung over his shoulder and about a dozen weapons on him at the ready. 

He didn’t bother stopping at the front desk before heading off towards the woods.

There was a little parking lot with an info-board hikers near one of the main entrances. Dean parked the impala across from it.

Just before he started on the path a shape caught his eye. He turned, on one of the trees at the entrance of the forest there was a little carving in the bark. The same symbol Bobby had sent him. The same one Sam had been looking into. Adrenaline and dread filled Dean's stomach but he pushed them away, heading into the forest. 

Melody hadn’t been kidding. There was a lot of ground to cover. Hours and miles went by as Dean walked, highly alert and feeling as though he’s being watched. The cloudy sky and fog definitely wasn’t helping his unease. 

It wasn’t until early in the afternoon when he heard something.

A whooshing sound that his gut told him was more than just the wind.

Carefully, Dean pulled out his gun, looking around and silencing his footsteps and he eased his way to the side of the trail so he wasn’t so exposed. 

More rustling and now Dean could see a figure moving.

He squinted and his heart nearly dropped with relief,

“Sam??” He called out. 

The figure turned at the sound of Dean's voice, stepping closer and closer until, 

“Dean??” And Sam sounded just as relieved as his older brother did, 

“What the hell are you- how did you find me?” He asked. 

Dean stepped closer, looking over his brother. He was a mess. Dirt and blood coated his clothes and his hair was wet with sweat and dew. Dean didn’t see any visible wounds, though his clothes covered most of his skin, and the small amount of blood looked to be old and dry.

“Well when you disappeared Bobby called. A heads up you found a case woulda been nice. Would’ve saved me the worrying.”

He looked back down at Sam, “What the hell happened to you? You look like you got in a fight with a mudslide…and lost.”

Sam huffed, “Turns out the disappearances are being caused by a witch. She takes a soul every couple years to keep herself youthful.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, “And you know this how?” 

Sam smiled sheepishly, looking like he knew Dean wasn’t going to like his answer, “I was hiking through the woods, it started raining and it was getting late and well, she got the jump on me.”

Dean felt his heart skip a beat, “She what?! How’d you escape??” 

Sam shrugged, looking just as confused as Dean, “I don’t know, I uh-“

There was something in Sam’s expression, a look that Dean couldn’t decipher, he could’ve sworn it was disappointment, “Honestly I thought I was as good as dead, I was in some cabin and I must’ve blacked out at some point,” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, not at all liking how close he’d been to almost losing his little brother, “And?” He prompted.

Sam shifted, motioning to the woods behind him, “And then I woke up in the woods, cabin gone, my stuff gone. I don’t really know what happened, after that I started trying to make my way out but it felt like I was walking in circles.” 

Dean sighed, now that he knew his brother was here and okay, frustration was beginning to take over, “Seriously Sam, what the hell were you thinking? Going off alone like this? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” 

Annoyance replaced Sam’s features, “Well you’re the one who said I should find my own case, I’m just doing what you asked.” He responded sarcastically, crossing his arms. 

Dean scoffed, as much as he wanted to continue this fight, he knew this wasn’t the place, “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here, this place is giving me the creeps.” 

He began to walk back but Sam didn’t follow, he turned back around, “What?” 

Sam glanced behind him, “We can’t yet Dean,” 

Dean turned fully back around now, “Why the hell not?” 

“I still don’t fully know what’s going on but I keep-“ he hesitated, like he knew what he was going to say sounded strange,

“I keep seeing the victims Dean,” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, “The victims? What do you mean?” 

Sam turned back towards the woods, “They’re all still here, ghosts. I think they’re trapped here in the forest.” 

Dean thought for a moment, “So whatever the witch did to keep herself young, it’s keeping her victims' souls here too?”

Sam nodded, “I think she’s feeding off of them. You remember Carson Oren?” 

Dean nodded, “The hunter, found your notes.” He explained.

Sam nodded too, “His ghost said his body is still here somewhere in the woods. I think the other victim’s bodies are too.” 

Dean looked around, the forest was dense and felt like it went on forever, “So if we find the bodies, do a little salt n’ burn, you think their souls will be set free?” 

Sam shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt to try, I’ve been looking for a bit now but I haven’t had any luck yet,”

He glanced down at himself, “Doesn’t help that all my stuff is missing.” 

Dean snorted, “Sorry, I’d offer you a change of clothes but I hadn’t been planning on camping out here so I didn’t bring any.” 

Sam huffed, “No it’s fine. Let’s just find these bodies before the witch comes back.”

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

Bobby was sitting at his desk, doing his best to focus on the book about ancient sigils in his hands.

Dean's last call to him was almost two days ago now and it’d been barely understandable.
Static kept cutting through the line making whatever Dean was saying almost unintelligible. He knew worrying wasn’t going to help. The boys were tough, they’d be okay.

But that didn’t get rid of the unease growing in the pit of his stomach, something about this case was just…off.

“Bobby.” 

He nearly had a heart attack at the sound of a low, gravely voice beside him. He’d never get used to the way the angel appeared. 

“Jesus Christ Castiel. Gonna kill me early if you keep that up.” 

Castiel cocked his head to the side, “My apologies.”

He looked around the living room before turning back to Bobby, “Where are Sam and Dean?” 

Bobby sighed, “On a case, not too sure what exactly they’re huntin yet though.” 

Castiel turned, looking at the papers scattered across Bobby’s desk, “What are you researching?” 

Bobby set the book he was reading down, picking up the printed picture Sam had sent him of the symbol,

“Here,” He handed the picture to Castiel,

“This mean anything to you?” 

To Bobby’s surprise, Castiel’s expression shifted upon seeing the symbol, the angel rarely reacted to anything. Something told Bobby that wasn’t a good thing,

 “Where did you get this?” He asked slowly. 

“You recognize it? Sam found it, asked me to look into it.” 

“And where are they now?” There was a sense of urgency in Castiel’s tone that Bobby hadn’t heard before.

“Beespring Missouri, why? Castiel what does that symbol mea-“

He stopped as the flap of wings interrupted him, the angel disappearing the moment he heard the location. 

“Balls.” He muttered, turning back to his book.

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

It was dark outside now and Dean was exhausted.

They’d been searching for the victims' bodies for hours. He glanced to his side at Sam who somehow didn’t seem nearly as tired as someone who’d been walking around for days in the woods should be.

Dean had only packed one flashlight which he now cast out at the darkness ahead of them.

They slowed near a creak, taking a second to rest. 

“We should call it for tonight, I’m beat.” Dean muttered, setting down the bag.

He really hadn’t been planning on camping out, though the basics that he brought would be fine. 

Sam nodded, not really paying attention. His focus was on the forest, he looked antsy, like he wanted to go back to searching,

“You get some rest, I’ll take first watch.” He said. 

Dean looked surprised, “What? No, you rest. You’ve been out here for days and you look like you could use it.”

Although that wasn’t really true, his brother looked like shit sure, but he didn’t look tired. 

Sam leaned forward, away from the tree he was sitting by, “Nah I’m okay, you sleep.” 

Dean wanted to argue but, truth be told, he really was exhausted and Sam didn’t look like he was lying.

Unease made its way through Dean’s chest. He still had that paranoid, somethings-watching-me, feeling but this was more than that. He felt like he was missing something important but he couldn’t place what. 

Sam turned back to his brother when he got no response. He smiled reassuringly but it came out emptier than his little brother’s smile usually did,

“Seriously Dean, between the two of us, you’re the one who looks like shit. Sleep. I’ll wake you up if I hear anything.” 

Dean scoffed, repositioning himself to be sitting upright against the roots he’d been leaning against.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the odd feeling he had in his gut that something wasn’t right.

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

Water flowing.

Twigs snapping.

Wind blowing.

Despite the typically humid temperature, the air was now freezing. 

“Dean-“ 

Dean opened his eyes, or- maybe they were already open. He wasn’t sure. 

“Dean.” 

Dean turned, he wasn’t where he’d fallen asleep.

The creak was beside him but now he could see it opening up into a small pond, beside it was an old cabin, overgrown with vines and moss.

An eerie feeling settled in his chest the longer he looked at that cabin. 

“Dean!”

Dean looked over and to his surprise, Castiel was standing beside him. 

He paused, “I’m dreaming?” He asked. 

Castiel nodded, his image flickered and the angel grimaced as he fought to stay in focus. 

Dean's brow furrowed, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m having trouble reaching you, something in these woods is blocking me. I cannot enter.” 

Dean looked at him in surprise, “There’s something blocking you? What the hell does that mean?”

Cass is an angel. What the hell is capable of blocking an angel??

Castiel ignored his questions, “I don’t have much time Dean you need to listen to me,” 

The air seemed to shift in the dream, the already grey clouds in the sky darkened and the wind whistled loudly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see something near the cabin. 

“Cass what’s going on?” 

Piercing blue eyes faded in and out as he fought to stay in Dean’s dream,

“Dean, listen to me carefully, you need to find him.” 

Dean tilted his head to the side.

He wanted to keep looking at Cass but his eyes were drawn to the cabin.

The figure he couldn’t quite make out. 

“Find who?” He asked the angel, gaze flicking between him and the figure. 

“You need to find Sam, Dean.” 

Castiel’s words only confused him even more,

“What are you talking about? I did Cas, Sam’s with me.” 

But Castiel’s gaze didn’t change,

“Find Sam. You need to find him.” 

Dean didn’t understand, he did find Sam?

What could the angel possibly be talking about?

He looked back at the figure and something cold settled in his chest.

It felt strangely like grief and he couldn’t for the life of him place why.

He shivered, he’d been cold ever since entering the forest and now it seemed that chill was following him into his dreams. 

“Cas I don’t understand-“ 

But just as quickly as the dream began, Dean woke up with a start.

He gasped quietly, cringing as he sat forward, back and neck aching at the painful position he’d fallen asleep in.

It was still dark, but not nearly as much. Dean could see the dark blue of the sky slowly beginning to shift back to its typical greyish-blue color. 

“Morning sleepy head.” Sam teased. Dean jumped, looking over at his brother who was walking back from the creak.

He shifted again, easing his body into the idea of standing up,

“Did you sleep at all?” He asked, noting that the dried blood and dirt still caked itself onto Sam’s clothes with a bit of surprise, Sam had always been the clean freak, he’d thought his brother would at least try to clean himself up a bit.

Sam shrugged, “Wasn’t tired. Now c’mon, we gotta find the bodies.” 

Sam was already heading towards the creak, “I remembered last night that the cabin was near a pond, maybe if we follow the creak we’ll find it.”

Dean paused, thinking about his dream. The cabin in the distance, the sound of rushing water beside it. 

“Come on Dean!” Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts and he grumbled, forcing his aching body up and grabbing his duffle bag that Sam hadn’t bothered taking.

As they walked, Dean thought more about his dream. Castiel’s words. 

‘You need to find Sam, Dean’

Dean turned to his brother, apart from the messy clothes he looked fine. Alert. Ready for a fight if necessary.

What could Castiel have meant? The figure from the dream that Dean couldn’t decipher was also still stuck in his head.

Who was that? The witch? Or maybe Carson, trying to talk to him like he did with Sam. 

Dean shivered, despite the weather initially being warm and humid, he’d begun feeling chilly at some point upon entering the forest.

They spent most of the day following the stream. As hours passed, Dean began to wonder if maybe they’d chosen the wrong direction to follow. 

“Maybe we should try the other way, we might just be wasting time here,” He said to Sam but his brother only shook his head, 

“No, we gotta keep going this way.” 

Dean furrowed his brow, confused, “How do you know?” 

Sam shrugged, “I don’t really know, just a gut feeling I guess.” 

More silence fell between them, finally, Sam spoke up again, his words catching Dean by surprise,

“Hey Dean?”

Dean glanced at Sam before looking forward again, making sure he wouldn’t trip and fall on a root or rock, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I ran off on this hunt without telling you, I was being stubborn it- it’s not your fault.” 

Dean spared another glance at his brother, surprised by the sudden apology, usually it took a lot more fighting and mean words before either of them got to that point and even then, the words ‘I’m sorry’ coming out of either of their mouths was a rarity. 

When Dean didn’t say anything right away, Sam continued, “I just wanted you to trust me again, I know I broke that trust so I get that I gotta build it back up but-“

Sam sighed, “I just wished you’d actually give me a chance to do that.” 

Dean felt his own guilt from earlier come back. He knew what happened wasn’t all on Sam. They had heaven and hell working together, rooting against him.

How was Sam supposed to resist that? 

The hurt was still there, but that wasn’t all on Sam either, even if he’d spent plenty of time making it out to seem like that,

“Hey it’s alright Sam. I’ve been hard on you, I know.” 

He sighed, they weren’t looking at each other, this was already chick-flick-y enough for the both of them,

“I know you’ve been walking on eggshells around me trying to fix things. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to do that.” 

Finally, he cast a quick glance at his brother.

For the briefest moment, Dean could’ve sworn the little sunlight that had managed to peak through the gloomy clouds was shining almost through Sam, but the moment was quick, he blinked and his brother was back to normal.

He brushed off the odd feeling that gave him as Sam turned to meet his eye, smiling,

“Thanks Dean, I just- wanted you to know that this wasn’t your fault.” 

Dean's brow furrowed at Sam’s words, the way he’d said it was odd, “I-“ 

The sound of a branch snapping behind them immediately cut Dean off- taking both of their attention. Dean turned, gun in hand, looking around for the source of the sound. 

Eerie silence seems to suffocate the forest, wind, animals even the water ceased, as if holding its breath. Then-

Sharp pain exploded on the back of Dean's head.

He fell to the ground and a sharp kick to his hand sent his gun flying away. 

Whatever hit him caused his vision to dance and blur. He couldn’t get up, his body suddenly felt like it was frozen, 

“S-Sam!” He tried to yell but his words were slurring and unconsciousness was fighting to take control. 

He could see a shape, his brother somewhere in front of him.

Another figure appeared, smaller than him but the presence left a suffocating feeling in his chest.

That last thing Dean saw before he passed out was the smaller shape simply moved its hand, and the shape of his brother, disappeared. 

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

Dean woke up with a start, the smell of candles and incense burning his nose.

He tried to move and felt his wrists ache, looking down he realized he was tied to a chair, arms bound together behind him and ankles tied to the wooden legs.

He looked around, shelves of herbs and other mysterious jars and boxes lined the walls, a half open window with silky curtains on one side, an old red door on the other, he was in a cabin. 

“Sa-“ he coughed, throat dry and burning,

“Sam??” He looked around, memories flooding back of the shape, the witch, showing up. Of her knocking him out but not before making Sam disappear. 

“Sammy??” He tried again. 

“He’s not here.” A calm voice replied. 

He whirled his head to the side, shocked to see a familiar face in the far corner of the cabin, “Melody?” 

Melody smiled softly, her blonde hair was down now and even in the poor lighting, she still looked ethereal,

“Dean Winchester.” Her voice was smooth, flowy. Like her words were a part of the wind. 

“You’re the witch.” He responded coldly, cutting through that wind like a jagged knife. 

She nodded, “After I recognized your brother, I figured you’d show eventually.”

There was no triumph in her tone. No cruelty or psychotic-glee that usually came with the supernatural getting one over on a hunter. She spoke matter-of-factly, like she was indifferent to who she had bound to a chair. 

“Where is he? What did you do to him?”

She had this sad look in her eyes, like pity. Dean didn’t understand why. What confused him more was how genuine the look seemed, like she was actually sorry for him. 

She turned away, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a bowl,

“I wouldn’t worry about your brother too much Dean.” As she spoke she pulled different herbs off of the shelves, 

“What did you do to him?” He shifted his weight quietly, allowing the small knife he had tucked in his sleeve to fall into his hands. 

“I simply did what I had to,” she responded easily. Still no malice in her voice, if anything, she sounded a bit guilty,

“Your brother is a looming danger to humanity.” Dean scoffed, but she continued,

“I know Dean.” Melody turned to him, her eyes locking with his, 

“I know about the apocalypse and the coming angelic war.” 

Dean glared at her, “It wasn’t his fault.” Despite how he’d been treating Sam.

“He didn’t know.” 

She turned back away from him, “Oh I know. I don’t blame him for that.”

Her movements were oddly graceful as she mixed and stirred the ingredients together, Dean could feel the ropes slowly breaking, he was close, 

“I’m referring to him being the Morningstar’s true vessel.” 

Dean paused, “Lucifer?” 

She nodded, glancing back at him, “If Lucifer gets his hands on his true vessel, humanity is as good as gone.” 

Dean scoffed, eyebrows furrowing, “Since when do witches care about humanity?” 

She turned fully now, bowl of whatever she’d been making in hand, “Since I’ve utilized them to stay alive.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, “You mean since you’ve fed off the souls of innocent people to keep yourself young?”

She smiled sheepishly, “I’ll admit, not exactly making my case here but, I’ve limited my feedings to one soul every few years. A sacrifice to be made to keep my immortality. A sacrifice that is futile if the world ends because of some angelic war.” 

The ropes continued to rip, almost there, “Where. Is. Sam.” He repeated. 

She sat down at a chair across from him, that sad look returning, like she knew something he didn’t, “Oh, honey-“

The ropes snapped and Dean didn’t waste any time standing up and smacking the bowl out of Melody’s hands, it went flying, its content scattering all over the floor.

Without wasting another second, he shoved Melody backwards in the chair. Getting on top of her quickly with the knife at her throat.

“I asked you a question bitch.” 

Despite the position she was in, she didn’t look scared, nor did she try and fight back. Instead, she simply pointed to the door. 

As if on cue, Dean could hear someone outside, muffled but he’d recognize that voice anywhere. 

Without hesitating, he raced to the door, leaving Melody behind.

Some strange part of him needed to get to Sam, some part of him didn’t care if Melody was still very much alive and could kill him if he left her that way.

He needed to get to Sam, he needed to see Sam up, walking, talking, alive- 

“Sammy??” He called out as he shoved open the cabin door

Suddenly his brother’s voice sounded even farther away, deeper into the woods. He followed it. “Sam!” He called. 

“Dean!” Still far away, but clearer now. 

It was dark out and without a flashlight, Dean was doing his best to not trip and fall.

As he neared Sam's voice, he began to make out his brothers amongst the trees.

“Sammy? You okay??” He asked finally, heart still racing, Sam nodded, looking equally relieved to see Dean okay. 

Alright. Fuck this. They needed back up.

“C’mon, we’re getting the hell out of here.” Dean took charge, marching forward, following the creak in the opposite direction of the cabin. 

Sam hesitated, “What? Dean we can’t! We haven’t found the victims bodies yet- we’re so close!” 

Dean shook his head, “Dammit Sam no, we’ll come back. We need to regroup first, call Bobby, or Cass-“

“Dean-“

“-We’ll find some way to stop Melody then we can come back for the bodies-“

“Dean!” Sam yelled, stopping his brother,

“Dean please,” his voice was much softer now, pleading even,

 “We need to find the bodies.”

There was something else in the way he said that.

Deep down Dean knew what but he couldn’t- wouldn’t- think consider that. 

“We’ll come back.” Dean responded, almost just as desperately but Sam shook his head, giving him that sad, puppy-dog look that he knew would melt away Dean’s resolve every time. 

“Come on Dean.” He said softly.

With that, he turned around, back towards the cabin. Walking with a confidence that felt so strange since Sam had no idea where the cabin was, or at least, he wasn’t supposed to know. 

Dean followed silently, an overwhelming sense of doom washing over him, like he wasn’t walking to his own execution. 

They made it back to the cabin, finding Dean’s bag thrown to the side by the door.

As silently as possible they ducked down, out of the window's view and made their way to the back of the cabin by the pond.

Near the pond was a small cave made of stone, like the cabin, it was covered in vines and moss. Its entrance just barely being touched by the water and inside Dean could see several pairs of shoes, bodies, all in different stages of decay. 

Quietly, Dean set down his duffle bag, using his flashlight to find and pull out the salt and extending it towards Sam,

“Alright you salt, I’ll burn.” 

A moment passed and Sam didn’t take the salt. Dean wasn’t paying attention, ruffling through his bag for the lighter, then-

“I can’t Dean.” 

Dean paused, looking up at Sam, “The hell you mean you can’t? C’mon Sam we gotta move before Melody finds us.” 

He turned back to the bag but Sam’s soft, sad voice interrupted him again,

“Dean. You know I can’t take the salt.” 

Dean let out an exasperated sigh, he turned the flashlight away from the bag, flashing it towards his little brother,

“Why not Sam?” 

He looked up at him and paused, breath hitching.

For the first time since finding Sam in the forest, Dean really looked at Sam. Really looked at him.

Now, he could see the dark crimson, almost black, stains practically drenching the sleeves of Sam’s flannel. 

Blood. Way, way too much blood.

Carefully, Sam pulled up his sleeve, rolling them up and then letting his arms drop back down.

Revealing the deep, painful looking gashes across both of his baby brother’s wrists.

“No-“ his voice was a mere whisper, even to his ears. 

“Dean,”

And now the light of the flashlight wasn’t hitting Sam, it was going through him, just like the sunlight from earlier. 

“No, no this- this isn’t real, this isn’t happening-“

“Dean please-“

And suddenly Dean realized he hadn’t been cold since entering the forest, he’d been cold ever since finding Sam. 

“You’re not-” He couldn’t say it, not even to deny it. He was begging. “You can’t be.” Pleading. 

Sam moved to kneel besides his big brother, his feet not making a sound on the rocks,

“Dean, it’s okay,” 

Dean’s vision was blurring because it had been so obvious from the jump and he had simply refused to see it.

Refused to acknowledge what he would’ve figured out immediately if Sam was literally anyone else. 

“Like hell it is-“ his words were cut off by a choked sob escaping him and he stumbled to his feet, backing away.

But Sam wasn’t anyone else. Sam was his brother. His baby brother who he’s failed to save so many times and now he’s failed again. 

His baby brother who he raised, who’s his kid.

Who he’d been so mean to last time they’d seen each other, last time they’d seen each other and Sam was still ali- No.

“Dean. You need to salt and burn the bodies.”

Sam’s gentle encouragement broke Dean out of his thoughts but still, he didn’t move back to his bag.

Realizing Sam couldn’t fish out the objects for him, realizing why Sam hadn’t touched a damn thing since Dean found him.

Why he hadn’t seemed tired, or slept, why his appearance hadn’t changed.

Cass came back to mind. His words in the dream. 

Find Sam. 

Find the real Sam. Find his body. 

Because right now he’s talking to his little brother’s ghost. 

“Are you down there? With them?” He asked quietly, because he couldn’t say it.

He wasn’t strong enough to say it. 

Sam shook his head, “No, my body isn’t down there Dean.”

And Dean knew he should feel guilty for the relief he felt at that. The relief that he could hold off on seeing his dead baby brother just for a little bit longer. 

He moved robotically now. Setting the salt down and finding his lighter and gasoline. Taking all three objects down to the little cave and hating the way he couldn’t hear his brother’s feet behind him but knew he was there. 

He let his muscle memory take over, salting each body, pouring the gasoline, and finally letting his lit lighter drop, engulfing the bodies in flames. 

He turned towards Sam. Watching in both horror and odd fascination as the flickering light of the flames danced through him. 

“You know you gotta find me next right?” 

Dean felt his heart clench, “Sam…”

Sam turned towards him, “Dean you have to. Don’t you see what the witch did? The chance she’s given us?” 

Dean’s brow furrowed, “Melody? What do you mean? A chance to what?”

“The angels. Lucifer, Dean,”  

There was desperation in Sam’s eyes now,

“They can’t get into the forest.”

Dean blinked, “The symbol…” he realized, thinking back to Cass, how he said he couldn’t reach them.

Sam nodded, “It’s a Wiccan warding symbol, meant to trap souls, but also prevent angelic intervention.” 

Dean began to understand now. Understand what Melody had been talking about. Understand why Castiel had tried to warn him,

“Which means-“ 

“Which means Lucifer can’t bring me back to life. Neither can the angels. Not while I’m here.” 

Dean paused, “He could do that? Bring you back?” 

Sam hesitated, “Yes.” 

“How do you know?” 

“He told me he would.” Sam responded quietly.

“The night he told you you’re his vessel?” Dean asked. 

Sam nodded again. Dean hesitated, thinking about what that meant,

“He could’ve been lying.” 

Sam paused and Dean had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what Sam said next,

“He wasn’t, Dean.” 

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, “How do you know.” 

“Dean…” 

“Say it.” He interrupted because despite everything that’s happened, despite how much they’ve changed, Dean still knows his little brother, still knows exactly what his little brother would’ve done if Lucifer told him he couldn’t die to escape his destiny.

Sam looked away, “Because I tested it out and I woke up alive,” 

Dean felt his heart shatter, “When?”

He knew. Deep down he knew but his chest still ached, like oxygen wasn’t enough anymore.

His brother had tried to kill himself and now he had fucking Lucifer to thank for saving him.

“Dean this isn’t-“ 

“When?!”

Sam grimaced, “After I called you.” 

After I told him to pick a hemisphere. 

Dean turned away, not wanting Sam to see the tears forming in his eyes.

He covered his hand with his mouth, ignoring the grime on his skin. He couldn’t decide whether or not he was angry or frustrated or heartbroken, maybe all three. 

“It’s not your fault Dean.”

Because just like Dean knew his brother better than anyone, Sam knew Dean better than anyone too. Because he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. 

‘…I just- wanted you to know that this wasn’t your fault.’ 

Dean remembered Sam’s words from earlier and suddenly felt sick.

He knew.

Sam had known from the jump that he wasn’t- that Melody had- 

Sam knew and he’d been preparing Dean this whole time. 

“But- you’re not seeing the point,” 

Dean whirled back around, “The point?” He repeated. 

Sam nodded, “Lucifer can’t bring me back here. So if you find my body, you can end it. The apocalypse, the war- none of it can happen if Lucifer’s true vessel is gone”

He took a silent step closer to Dean, practically floating to him and that just made Dean feel infinitely worse,

“Melody can’t. It’s a part of the magic she used, that’s why the souls of the victims are still trapped here. She doesn’t need them anymore but she can’t destroy the bodies of the people she takes.”

Sam was looking at Dean with so much sorrow, like he hated having to ask this of his brother, hated having to put this burden on him, 

“It has to be you Dean.” 

And suddenly the air was too thick. The cave was too suffocating and he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stand there and listen to his brother beg him to do this. He couldn’t- 

“Dean!” Sam called after him as he stumbled away but he couldn’t. 

He doesn’t remember when he started running. Or how long he did. But suddenly the sky was growing brighter, back to its usual grey, it was raining now but he didn’t care, finally he could see a clearing, the edge of the forest. 

He ran out, his feet now no longer familiar with the sureness of the concrete parking lot beneath him in comparison to the wet dirt, it made him feel unsteady. He was panting, ribs aching, hands on his knees gasping for air, unsure if the water running down his face was the rain or tears or both.

This was too much-

“Dean?” Not Sam’s voice, too gravely.

Dean looked up, Castiel was there, moving from where he must’ve been standing at the impala and rushing to his side, his clothes were soaked through by the rain,

“Are you alright?” 

And now anger surged through him.

Much needed anger because anything was better than the disgustingly familiar feeling of emptiness and guilt that came with failing his family.

He surged forward, grabbing Cas by the collar of his trench coat,

“You knew! You son of a bitch you knew!” 

He pushed him backwards, aware that the only reason he could was because the angel was letting him and somehow that made him angrier, 

“You knew my brother was dead! You knew Sam died!”

And that was the first time he’d said it aloud, the first time he even let himself think it.

The words felt like blades to his heart.

Sam is dead. Again. 

His brother, his kid, is dead.

He’s dead because a witch sliced his baby brother’s wrists and he probably died slowly, alone, bleeding out and in pain and scared.

And Dean wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to protect him, he left Sam all alone yet again and failed his one job. Again. 

Castiel’s back hit the impala, still he didn’t fight Dean off, simply nodding instead, his dark hair wet from the rain,

“Yes. I knew.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me? In the dream, why didn’t you say anything?!” He asked, anger depleting despite how desperately he was holding on to it. No. He needed that anger because if that was going he was going to break-

Cass cocked his head to the side, “Would you have believed me?” 

Dean's silence was answer enough, Cass continued,

“We can bring him back Dean. You just have to do what I told you.” 

Hope fluttered in his chest, “What?”

He ground it away with the anger that remained, hope was a dangerous thing.

Castiel stared at him, his blue eyes sharp and bright compared the dark grey world Dean was now living in without his brother,

“I cannot get to him while he’s in the forest. No angel can. But if you get his body out, if you bring him out of the woods,” 

“The angels will bring him back.” Dean finished, purposefully not acknowledging which angel would be bringing his brother back.

That didn’t matter to him. He just needed to get Sam back.

He froze for a moment, hands still gripping the wet fabric of Cass’s coat. He realized suddenly he wasn’t cold anymore, despite the rain. 

He looked around, “Where is he?” He asked, knowing Cass would know who he was referring to.

Cass motioned towards the woods, “He can’t leave because of the symbol. It’s keeping his soul tethered to his body.” 

The image of his brother waking up alone in the woods, discovering he was a ghost and that he was trapped- it made him feel sick.

Dean turned, releasing his hold on Castiel, “What if I destroyed the symbol? Can you get in then?” 

But Castiel shook his head, “There are dozens of those symbols protecting this forest, you’d have to destroy them all and with how large the land is, it’d be nearly impossible to find every one.” 

Dean hesitated, Cass knew why, “You have to face him again Dean. Convince him this is the right decision.” 

Dean looked away, “He seems pretty set on this one Cass,”

And another, cruel voice in his head muttered the one thing he had straight up refused to even consider, 

What if Sam’s right?  

No. He’s not going to let his brother stay dead and he sure as hell isn’t letting him spend the rest of eternity as a ghost alone in the woods.

“It doesn’t matter. You need to bring him back Dean.” 

He nodded, turning to the impala and grabbing some supplies since he’d left his bag by the pond.

He was getting his brother back. He didn’t care what it took. He wasn’t going to fail him again.

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

“Dean, I know you’re there.”

Dean cursed under his breath and he moved out from behind the tree. Sam was standing a few feet away. 

Now that Dean…knew, he actually began to notice the little things about Sam that would’ve caught his eye immediately if he hadn’t been so dead set on not facing the truth. 

Sam was pale, very pale, and despite the rain having stopped almost two hours ago, his hair was still sleek and wet.

The dirt and grim on his clothes never changed or moved or crumbled away.

And the most obvious thing now, was the blood coating his arms.

Still fresh, because that’s how it must’ve been when he’d died.

The flannels sleeves were pulled back down, probably for Dean's benefit. But the red stained the fabric all the way up to his elbows and there was still slick, fresh blood on his hands from where it had pooled over. 

“Dean. You know you have to do this.” 

Dean shifted on his feet, “Yeah well, can’t exactly do that if I don’t know where you are.” 

Sam sighed, “I don’t know exactly where Melody put my body. She said once I convince you, she’d tell you where she put me.” 

Dean felt his heart clench a bit, “You’ve been working with Melody this whole time? She killed you and you’re helping her Sam? Seriously?” 

Sam looked away, crossing his bloodied arms over his chest, “It’s not like I asked her to kill me but- but after she did we talked and- She’s trying to stop the apocalypse Dean. Kinda hard to disagree with her.” 

“This is not the way to do that Sam come on-!” Dean felt his frustration boiling over again, how could Sam not see what was happening?

“Sam, ghost’s judgments are clouded the longer they stay dead. That’s how vengeful spirits are made. They cling on to an emotion- a feeling, for too long and it consumes them.” 

Sam scoffed, “Dean that’s not what’s happening here. I just agree with what she’s-“

“Did you let her kill you Sam?” Dean interrupted.

Sam looked surprised by his question, “What-? No I didn’t- I mean I was tied up so I couldn’t really do much but-“ 

“So you tried to reason with her? You didn’t just give up and let her slice your wrists?”

Sam shifted, looking uncomfortable, subconsciously pulling down his flannel sleeves, he huffed,

“Dean that isn’t the point-“ 

“Yes it is Sam.”

Dean stepped forward, “At least some part of you didn’t want to die, even after she told you why she was doing what she was doing. A part of you knew this wasn’t the right choice.” 

Sam threw his hands up in the air, “Well what does that matter now Dean? I’m dead! The hard part is done, all I’m asking you to do is finish the job!”

Dean looked away, unable to look at this broken ghost of his brother. Sam sighed,

“Dean please. I don’t wanna spend the rest of eternity like this, becoming some wandering mindless spirit.” 

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, “You won’t Sammy,”

He looked back at his brother, 

“I promise.” 

With that he pulled his shotgun from behind his back, shooting one of the salt rounds at his brother’s chest. 

The moment Sam’s ghost disappeared, Dean took off. He wasn’t far from the cabin and he knew Melody was waiting for him. 

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

Sure enough, the cabin door was already open by the time he arrived. 

“Hello Dean.” Melody had her back to him,

“I’m making tea, would you like some?”

She didn’t seem worried at all. Not that she could see the gun in Dean’s hand. Or the demon blade in the other. 

“Where is he?” Cold. Making it clear this was her only warning. Her only chance to make this easy. 

“Sit with me Dean, let’s talk.” She motioned to a large oak table that had been pushed to the side last time he was here.

She sat down, placing a tray in the middle of the table with two cups, a kettle, sugar and honey. 

She glanced up at him, “Let’s not fight. Please, sit.” 

Dean hesitated, looking around, he didn’t see any traps but then again, just about anything could be a trap when it came to witches.

Despite his gut telling him to shoot her and go find Sam himself, he sat at the chair across from her. 

“Sugar, honey?” She asked, pouring two cups of a flowery smelling liquid. 

“Tell me where Sam is.” 

She glanced up at him, smiled, as if they were casual friends talking about the weather,

“Well if we’re being technical, Sam is outside, I asked him to hold back, let us talk.” 

“You know what I mean.” He ground out. 

Her face softened and Dean hated that look, like she could possibly understand what he was feeling right now, 

“Yes, I do. And I’ll tell you where his body is,”

She leaned forward, setting one of the cups in front of him,

“If you promise to destroy it.” 

“Not gonna happen.” Dean didn’t bother acknowledging the cup. He kept the hand holding the gun firmly under the table, pointed right at her. She didn’t seem to mind. 

Melody nodded, “Yes I know. I had initially thought this would be a problem, though he seems sure that we could convince you.” 

Dean felt another pang of hurt, “I would never do that.” 

She tilted her head, “Never what? Never kill him? Or never let him stay dead?” 

“Neither.”

Something changed in her expression, she looked down at her own tea, mixing in a spoon full of honey before moving to the sugar,

“You know, Sam and I, his ghost I mean, had some time to talk, before I felt your presence in Beespring,” 

She mixed slowly, Dean watched the light liquid turn gold, “Sam and I were both under the impression this wouldn’t be much of an issue for you.” 

Dean scoffed, “Why the hell do you think I’d go along with the plan to kill my brother?” 

She looked up at him, a small sliver of confusion lacing her features, “I’m sure it was said in anger but, you didn’t seem heartbroken at the idea of killing your brother before.” 

Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach, what? 

“What are you talking about?” He tried to keep his tone stern but even he could hear it wavering. 

She blinked at him, “Dean, I am very old, with that, what I can do has evolved. He didn’t even need to show me, I could practically hear what you’d said to him. It’s on the forefront of his mind constantly, and I could feel how your words have affected him.” 

The more Melody spoke, the less he understood.

She must see the confusion on his face because she stood up, walking towards a large chest in the far corner of the room.

Dean tensed as she opened the chest, rummaging through it, but relaxed when she turned back around, handing him a small object. 

“Is that-?” 

“Sam’s phone.” She finished, motioning for him to take it. He did, unsure what she wanted him to do with it.

She sat back down across from him, “Go to the voicemail box.” 

He did, there were a few, none of them stood out until Dean saw one from a few weeks ago, from him. 

He knew immediately which voicemail this was, a part of him was a little hurt.

For weeks afterwards Dean had just assumed Sam hadn’t heard his heartfelt message, that maybe he’d deleted it without listening or that maybe it didn’t go through or maybe Sam had lost his phone or something- 

But it was here. It was here the whole time and clearly Sam had listened to it and simply didn’t care-

But what did that have to do with now?

Melody was still staring at him intensely, as if waiting to see understanding dawn on his expression.

When it didn’t, she rolled her eyes, for the first time since meeting her, actually looking a bit disgusted at him,

“Listen to it if you really can’t remember Dean.”

He knew what he’d said, why would listening to it change that? Why would hearing himself apologize make any of this make sense?

He put the phone on speaker and pressed play. 

His voice filled the room but there was something wrong. Hate filled his tone, his words were like venom, 

“Listen to me you blood-sucking freak,” 

Immediately Dean felt his heart drop, feeling sicker and sicker as his own cruel voice continued, 

“Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam - a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.”

The voicemail ended with a sharp click, filling the room with a deafening silence. 

Finally, Melody leaned back, “See why Sam and I are confused? We figured this was what you wanted?” 

What he- 

What he wanted? 

His heart was beating so loudly he could feel it in his skull,

“I didn’t-“ he didn’t know what to say.

That’s what Sam had heard? All this time, that’s what Sam thought he thought of him?

Why didn’t he say anything?

Melody must’ve mistaken his silence for embarrassment,

“Like I said, I’m sure your…brutal honesty was mostly out of anger but, I mean it had to have some truth behind it.” 

Dean's gaze shot from the phone back up to her, “What- I- No, no I never said that-“

He picked Sam’s phone back up and oh god Sam had kept that voicemail this whole time.

 “I tried to call him that night I- I did send him a voicemail but…” 

A cruel part of his brain pointed out to him that Sam died thinking Dean said those things to him…

“But I apologized.” He looked back up, not really understanding why it felt so important suddenly to make sure she believed him, that she understood, 

“I said I was sorry for what I’d said when we argued. I said I wanted to fix things I-“ 

Melody’s face was softening slowly as she realized Dean wasn’t lying.

Dean thought back to something Zachariah had said to him that night, something that at the time, he didn’t understand. 

‘Sam…has a part to play. A very important part. He may need a little nudging in the right direction…but I’ll make sure he plays it.’ 

Dean felt sick. 

“I never said any of that…”

More silence, aside from the warm wind whistling quietly outside the still open window. 

Finally, Melody set her cup down, now mostly empty, “Hmm.” 

She pushed the mug closer to the tray, “You know Dean, I’ve been around for an awfully long time and that isn’t just from luck, my immortality took time to master, to practice, to perfect.” 

She folded her hands together, her gaze digging into Dean's eyes, “I’ve had some rather close calls and because of that, well, I guess you could say Death and I have become- acquaintances, of sorts.” 

Dean paused, “Wait Death- like-? The Death?” 

He thought back to the other horsemen, War. Of course if there was a War, there’d also be a Death.

She nodded with a small smile, “Yes, scythe and all,” 

Dean couldn’t tell if she was kidding, “Anyways, he knows many many things, futures, fates, possible endings.” 

“And he’s told me about yours, and Sam’s,” She leaned forward,

“And Dean, this is not how Sam’s story ends.” 

Dean wants to ask, wants to speak but he feels like if he does he’ll shatter the illusion. She’ll stop and Dean will never know- 

“He’s told me about the different ways this apocalypse can go and well, when I sensed how broken Sam was, I was sure it was headed in the wrong direction.” 

She stood, taking the tray and their cups, hers almost empty, his still full and now cold,

“That’s why I killed him Dean,”

Her back was turned again, setting the tray on the counter,

“If you don't work together, if you two don’t build each other up, you will fail. The apocalypse will happen…but,” 

Slowly, she turned around, “Clearly, there was just a bit of miscommunication…” 

Her warm smile returned and for the first time since meeting her, Dean felt comforted by it,

“So, I’ll make you a deal Dean.” 

She moves back to her chair across from him, “You need to fix this. Your brother is still convinced that voicemail was from you. I will tell you where his body is, and allow you to bring him out of my forest, but in return, you fix this. Understand?” 

Dean swallowed, nodding slowly, then picking up the pace,

“Yes I-“ he cleared his throat to stop his words from breaking,

“I will. I swear to you I will just-“ 

He fought to keep his eyes from watering, he was getting Sam back- 

“Where is he?” Spoken so much softer than when he’d first entered the cabin. 

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

Dean didn’t think he’d feel so heartbroken when he saw Sam’s body.

He was going to get him back, Sam will be okay. He knew this, so…

So why was his heart beating faster and faster the closer he got to the shape he knew was his brother? 

Sam hadn’t been far from the cabin. Dean followed the creak until a smaller stream broke off in another direction and instead he followed that. 

It…wasn’t what he was expecting.

Sam’s body wasn’t hidden, or buried, or protected, at least, not in the traditional sense.

There were a mix of herbs surrounding his body like a barrier, absently Dean recognized some of the herbs as the ingredients Melody had been mixing together when they’d first spoken at the cabin. 

Regardless, Sam was just lying there. Beside the water, Dean would’ve thought his brother was just resting if he wasn’t so pale. 

And if it wasn’t for the blood. 

And God, it looked so much worse on his actual body than it did on his ghost.

His arms were resting on his stomach, not folded together, which Dean was a little grateful for, that would’ve reminded him a little too much of a funeral and his brother is in fact, not gone.

Maybe he’s dead but he is not gone for good. 

Funerals are for goodbyes and he is not saying goodbye. Not today. 

Decomposition was setting in, slower than it should have for a corpse that’s been exposed entirely to the elements for days now.

His face was sunken in, skin grey, hair brittle. The blood was dried up, blackish brown now and hardened around where the blood clots had spilled out. 

But there were no bugs. No animals eating away flesh, not even a smell oddly enough. But even then-

Dean was kneeling beside him, procrastinating.

He needed to get Sam out of here but, getting him out meant picking him up, touching his ice cold skin. Not feeling a heartbeat, or breathing- 

He remembered carrying Sammy’s body back to the impala in Cold Oak.

The night Jake had taken his life for the first time. 

Sam was still warm when he’d placed him in the back seat.

He remembered nearly crumbling to pieces when they’d gotten back to Bobby’s and Sam’s skin was so cold. Dead. 

“You could just leave me, you know.” Sam’s voice, soft, hopeful but not unrealistic.

He knew his brother would never leave him here,

“Keep me away from the angels and wait out the apocalypse.” 

Dean didn’t turn around, he stayed looking at Sam's body, his corpse. His eyes burned with unshed tears- No. He had to toughen up, get his brother out of here. Protect his brother, keep him safe, that’s his job. 

“It’s gonna be okay Sammy, I promise.” 

He heard Sam sigh softly, not bothering to put up a fight.

The salt-round filled shotgun resting in Dean’s hands made it clear that it’d be pointless.

A gust of wind cast through the trees and when Dean glanced behind him, Sam’s ghost was gone. 

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

Castiel waited beside the impala.

Exactly where he was when Dean had first come back from the forest. Exactly where he was when Dean left. 

He stood there, waiting. Watching the trees dance with the wind, listening to the different birds and bugs and other little critters skitter about.

He felt the temperature change as the day progressed. And finally, he watched Dean walk out of the forest, a body slung over his shoulders. 

Castiel stepped forward to help but Dean waved him off, motioning instead for him to get the back door of the impala.

He did and stood aside as Dean placed Sam’s body down gently. Positioning him so it almost looked like he was just sleeping. 

Once Dean backed away, he turned towards the angel, “So? Now what happens?” 

Castiel turned back to Sam, tilting his head, “Now we wait. Shouldn’t take long for the angels to sense his presence aga-“

Sam’s eyes shooting open, gasping for air, interrupted him.

He began to sit up and immediately Dean was back down at his level, grabbing him by the shoulders to help. 

“Hey hey it’s alright Sammy it’s okay, take a breath you’re alright.” 

Castiel didn’t miss the way Dean checked both of Sam’s wrists as he soothed. Aside from some dried blood, there were no wounds.

Castiel did his own scan immediately when Sam’s heart started up again, he was okay, healthy and uninjured, color had already started to come back to his sickly grey skin, though he was sure Dean needed to check for himself to be sure. 

One of Dean’s hands was on Sam’s back, the other was checking his pulse, tilting his head side to side looking for any more injuries, all the while muttering softly to him, little ‘it’s okay’s and ‘you’re alright Sammy, I got you’s as Sam continued to try and even out his breathing. 

Castiel gave them another moment before speaking up, “Sam is fully healed, I have detected no signs of any lasting damage.” 

Dean glanced up at him, his bright green eyes that complimented the forest so nicely finally having that light that was lost back,

“He’ll be okay.” Castiel added assuringly. 

Dean nodded, he didn’t need to say it for the angel to know how thankful he was. 

With that, Castiel flew off, giving the brothers time to talk.

↟⛥𖠰⛥𖠰⛥↟ 

The first hour of the drive back to Bobby’s was silent.

Dean didn’t mind. Both of them needed it, the silence to sit and breathe (and Sammy’s breathing again thank god) and let everything that happened soak in. 

They needed to talk about it.

‘It’ was a very broad term for everything it embodied. Dean knew this wasn’t something they could just brush off and cover up with another case or another hunt. No. He made Melody a promise and even if he hadn’t, chick-flicks be damned because he couldn’t let his brother go on feeling so much pain. 

Pain that he’d so effortlessly managed to keep from Dean and god, when did they grow so far apart? 

Of course he knew when, but that didn’t make the distance any less hurtful. 

Another hour passed before Dean pulled the impala over at a small rest stop.

He could see Sam tense out of the corner of his eye, he knew. 

They got out and after grabbing some food, they sat down at an old wooden picnic table. It was nice out, the weather was warm, it was still cloudy but there was blue peaking out now. 

Sam was very pointedly, not making eye contact, looking anywhere but at Dean. The sky, the impala, his nearly untouched food, it was actually a little comical, reminding Dean of when Sam was a kid, when he knew he messed up and was hoping Dean wouldn’t notice.

“Eat Sammy, you haven’t had anything in days.”

Dean was being hypocritical, he was also having trouble looking his brother in the eye.

Instead, his mind kept focusing on his arms, the blood was gone but Dean could still see where it had been, he could still picture it perfectly in his head.

He could still see exactly where the gashes were and he couldn’t get the image out of his mind-

Sam kept picking at his salad, moving the soggy lettuce around the take-out box. Dean blinked, forcing himself to look at his brother, his living and very much alive brother. 

Alright, let’s do this. 

Silently, he pulled Sam’s phone out of his pocket, setting it between them at the table, the voicemail already pulled up.

Sam looked up at it and instantly froze. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Sam-“

But his brother cut him off, “Dean I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have kept it I-“

Instantly Sam was stumbling over his words, apologizing to Dean. 

“Sam. Stop.” Dean was using his ‘big brother don’t fuck with me’ voice. The effect was immediate and Sam stopped as if Dean had hit the pause button. 

He leaned forward, folding his hands together, when Sam didn’t look up at him, he dipped his head down, trying to see under Sam’s fallen hair so that their eyes met.

He needed Sam to understand how serious he is right now, “Sam. Look at me.” 

Slowly, Sam raised his eyes up, he looked nervous, Dean kept his expression serious so Sam knew he wasn’t kidding,

“I know what you heard on that voicemail Sam and I wanna make something clear and I need you to know I ain’t lying about this.” 

He paused, making sure Sam was still looking at him, “I never said any of that. That night I- I did send you a voicemail Sam but that wasn’t it. I apologized. I said I was pissed but I still wanted to try and fix things.”

Sam’s eyes widened, a shred of doubt that he clearly tried to hide by looking away appeared. But Dean saw it. 

“Sam I-“ he cleared his throat, not wanting Sam to see how much that doubt hurt, he spoke quietly now,

“Do you really think I’d say something like that?” 

Sam was still looking away from him. His fists rested folded together on the table, squeezing together tightly like they were single handedly fighting to keep himself together. 

“Sam?” 

And Sam let out a small, airy laugh that was completely void of humor, he sounded so tired- 

“How could I not?” He looked back up at Dean and it was like he’d let down a wall, finally letting his big brother see the pain hiding in his eyes, 

“You’d already told me I was a monster I- I just figured you’d called to make your opinion of me clear and I thought-“

He cleared his throat, “I was debating going in- with Ruby, I was considering backing out but then I heard your message and I just- I thought-“ 

He stopped himself, tearing his hands off the table and resting them in his lap, leg bouncing, he looked like he was fighting off tears. So was Dean.

“Thought what Sammy?” He prompted gently.
Because he didn’t want to know. He really didn’t because he knew how much it was going to hurt but- he had to know. If he was gonna fix this, he needed to know. 

Sam hesitated, when he spoke, his words were so quiet, so little-

“I thought… I’d rather be killed by Lilith than you.” 

And Dean felt his heart shatter. Part of him was grateful Zachariah was already dead.

Another part wished he wasn’t so Dean could make his death slow and painful, like he deserved. 

“I figured, if I won, then Lilith would be dead and I could run off before you found me but if I lost, well- then her killing me had to hurt less than if you did. She’d save you the burden of having to do that yourself at least.”

Sam was looking at his hands. Dean was grateful. It meant he couldn’t see the silent tears he let escape before wiping them away roughly. 

This was- this was so much worse than he’d realized.

Sam thought he would’ve killed him- he thought Dean hated him that much- that he’d hunt him down and kill him like he was any other monster in any other case and Dean wanted so badly to blame how his brother felt solely on the angels. On Ruby. On Zachariah and that stupid voicemail but- 

This was on him too. 

Dean stood up, walking around the table to Sam’s side, he didn’t miss the way Sam tensed. 

He sat down beside Sam, dipping again so he could meet Sam’s eyes,

“Sam, I know I’ve said some messed up stuff in the past and I- I can’t ever truly make up for that but, I need you to know, there is nothing, and I mean nothing that will ever make me give up on you, okay?” 

Sam didn’t answer with words. The tears falling into his hands said enough. Dean leaned forward, pulling Sam into a hug.

He gently rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder, holding his brother like he was still a little kid. Sam melted into his touch, shrinking to be as small as possible in Dean’s arms. 

And quietly, so so quietly, Deans whispered,

“Sammy I’m so sorry.”

Letting his voice crack a bit, letting another tear escape him. 

He felt Sam give a small nod in return, holding onto Dean even tighter. 

They weren’t better yet. Far from it.

But Dean vowed then and there he’d never let his brother ever feel so alone again.

He’d never let him feel so expendable, or worthless- 

Because his brother, his Sam, his kid, was anything but. 

Dean knew, some way, somehow, they were gonna win, as long as they were together.