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The sun was just starting to come up when Sam’s eyes shot open. Although his heart was beating a million miles per second, his body language didn’t show it. Sam squinted, bringing his right hand up to his temple before leaning his elbow against the passenger window, keeping steady pressure against his head.
“Mornin’,” Dean said, quietly. Sometimes Dean woke Sam with the radio blaring through the speakers. Other times it was Dean’s skilled yet reckless driving that did it, with his sharp turns and sudden stops. But then there were mornings like this one, where Dean kept things quiet, almost like he was being polite. Lately, there had been more of the latter. If it was the years piling on, or just Dean learning common courtesy, Sam wasn’t sure.
A soft Bob Seger song was coming through the Impala speakers, nothing like the hard rock music they usually defaulted to on long drives to keep them from falling asleep at the wheel. There was a time Dean wouldn’t listen to anything that wasn’t loud, fast, and angry. It could have been Dean’s expanding palate, or just consideration, keeping it low because Sam had been asleep, but Sam also wondered if it had something to do with Dean finally being free of the Mark of Cain, like he was tired of being angry. Either way, Sam was thankful, because it was easier on his head than anything else would have been.
With a yawn, Sam looked out the window for any sign of life, or even a road sign, but there was nothing but the long scenic stretch of highway the Winchesters were more than familiar with.
“Where are we?” Sam asked, voice low and groggy.
“About 60 miles outside Monterey,” Dean replied.
“Wow, I really slept straight through the night,” Sam rubbed his eyes.
“Yeah, a whole six hours. That might be a new record for us."
“You want me to take over the wheel? Get some rest before we meet Gwendolyn?”
“Nah, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep.”
Sam nodded, understanding how Dean felt.
The brothers had spent the last thirteen hours driving to Tennessee to meet a witch named Gwendolyn, who claimed to have a remedy for the aftermath of the spell Rowena had put on Castiel. Although they had already forced Rowena to reverse the spell, Cas was still recovering, and Sam and Dean were eager to do whatever they could to help him heal.
The plan had been to sleep at a motel halfway through the drive, but they’d pushed it aside, deciding the quicker they got the medication, the quicker they could help Cas. Sam had already driven the first seven hours or so, leaving Dean with the night shift. Although Sam wanted to help Cas, he also wanted his brother to get some rest, but Dean insisted he wasn’t tired. Sam reluctantly agreed, but made his brother promise to pull over, or even wake him up, if he felt himself drifting off at the wheel.
“You mind pulling over at the next gas station we pass?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, gotta refuel anyway,” Dean said, patting Baby’s steering wheel. “Why, what do you need? Bathroom break? ‘Cause I can pull over, s’not exactly a busy road.”
“Toothbrush and toothpaste. Forgot to pack mine,” Sam replied.
A few miles later, they pulled into a gas station sitting alone off the highway. Sam went inside and bought a bottle of over-the-counter pills, along with a toothbrush and toothpaste to avoid suspicion. He paid the tired cashier, glancing out through the glass windows every few seconds to make sure Dean couldn’t see what he was buying. Thankfully, Dean was too distracted squeegeeing the Impala to notice his brother hurry off to the bathroom. Sam locked the door behind him and quickly swallowed the pills dry, hoping they would ease the pounding in his head.
Within the hour they made it to Monterey, stopping at a small diner for breakfast before heading into the backroads to locate Gwendolyn’s house. About twenty minutes from downtown, the Impala pulled up to a small, cozy-looking cabin, where an older woman sat in a rocking chair on the porch. The look of the place had a soft, almost grandmotherly charm to it rather than anything witchy or sinister, though Sam and Dean tucked their guns into their pockets anyway.
“Are you Gwendolyn?” Sam asked politely as he and Dean approached the house.
“Why yes I am. You must be Sam,” Gwendolyn said, getting up. Despite being a shorter woman, she came to about eye level with them from the top step of the porch. She shook Sam’s hand with both of hers, her small hands cradling his larger one with unexpected gentleness. “And this is…?” Gwendolyn asked, her gaze shifting to Dean.
Dean forced a small smile as he said his name, shaking her hand. He was wary, but something about the woman kept his manners in place, especially because she was supposedly helping them, even if she was a witch.
“Ah, yes, the brother,” the witch said, as if she had heard all about him. She was warm and welcoming, which only made Sam and Dean more uneasy, unsure whether it was all a trap.
Gwendolyn invited the brothers inside and offered them food and drinks, which they declined. The inside of her home was small but lived-in, cluttered with books and strange little objects that reminded the boys of Bobby’s house.
“I’m nearly done crafting the medicine for your angel, but it’s still missing the final ingredient,” she said. Her work station was set up on the kitchen counter, less stereotypical than a cauldron but still unmistakably witchy. Bundles of dried herbs and jars of God knows what were laid out, with some mixed in a large wooden bowl at the center.
“Which is?” Dean asked.
“You,” Gwendolyn replied, looking straight into Dean’s eyes with a deep stare. “That is, of course, if you love the one you wish to cure.”
Sam noticed Dean swallow and look away, her words clearly making him uncomfortable.
Gwendolyn must have noticed too, because she softened her tone, as if trying to ease the tension. “You see, in order to activate the healing properties, it needs the blood of someone who loves the target. And I’m assuming, since you both came on such short notice all the way from Kansas, that you do.” Now her eyes moved between both Sam and Dean, not lingering on either of them.
Dean glanced at Sam, whatever discomfort had been there gone now, replaced with that familiar frustration Sam knew too well. Sam swallowed, jaw tightening slightly. He was the one who had found Gwendolyn after days of chasing down every lead for Cas.
“You never said anything about blood,” Sam said, suspicion creeping into his voice.
For obvious reasons, anything involving blood, especially his own, put Sam on edge. Not to mention the last time he'd been persuaded to spill his own blood for magic, it had worn the face of someone he'd found harder to resist than he cared to admit, and it had nearly cost him his life. The thought that he might’ve trusted the wrong witch again twisted in his stomach.
“Oh boys, I’m sorry. This world seems to have done a number on you. Don’t worry, I only need a drop. If it makes you feel safer, you can extract it yourselves," the witch explained gently. “I would use my own, but it must come from someone who loves the angel.” Her eyes flickered between them again, lingering on Sam for a moment too long. Then she turned to Dean. “I recommend it be your blood, Dean.”
“And why’s that?” Dean asked, defensive, clearly bothered by the implication.
Sam felt bothered by the witch's recommendation too. Although he had no desire to offer his blood for magic again, hearing Gwendolyn suggest Dean left him feeling strangely overlooked. He understood that his brother and the angel shared a "profound bond" or whatever they called it, but Cas was Sam's friend too. He had been the one chasing leads, staying up all night researching, refusing to give up on finding something that could help Cas. So why had she suggested Dean as though Sam wasn’t even an option?
The witch hesitated at Dean's question, offering only a small smile before telling them the choice was theirs. Dean didn't give either of them the chance to discuss it. He took the syringe from Gwendolyn's hand, slid the needle into his arm, drew a small amount of blood, and handed it back.
"There," he handed it back. "Happy?"
Sam and Dean waited on the porch while Gwendolyn finished crafting the medicine. After what must have been only ten minutes, she stepped back outside and asked Sam if he could help her reach something from a high shelf. She laughed that he had a good foot on her, so Sam thought nothing of it and followed her back inside.
“What did you need me to reach?” Sam asked, glancing around the small kitchen.
“Oh, nothing, dear,” Gwendolyn replied, making Sam tense up and hope he didn't just walk into the most obvious trap imaginable. “I just wanted to talk to you privately. Does your brother know about your condition?”
“My condition?” Sam repeated.
“You’re psychic, aren’t you?”
“I- um- yeah-” he said, surprised, stumbling over the answer. “Well- no. Not anymore. How did you…?”
“I’m not just a witch, Sam. I have some psychic ability too. It’s not strong, but it helps me read people. A sort of sixth sense.” She held her hands out, and without really thinking, Sam placed his hand in hers. Her fingers traced lightly along his wrist. “And I can sense you,” she said softly. “Your blood… it’s impure.”
Sam looked gutted.
“Look,” Gwendolyn continued, “I’m sure you want to help your friend, but if your blood carries that kind of... residue, I can’t be sure how it would react with angelic healing.”
“Right,” Sam muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. Shame crept in before he could stop it. He pulled his hand away. “Um,” he said after a moment, “do you… sense anything else?”
“Like what, dear?” she asked.
Sam hesitated. “Like I said, I don’t have my abilities anymore. But when I did, it started with these really intense headaches. I’ve been getting them again, and I’m just worried that…” he trailed off.
“Does your brother know?” she asked softly.
“No,” Sam replied, then corrected himself. “I mean, he did the first time, once things escalated. But not now.”
“Maybe you should start there,” she suggested gently.
Sam nodded once, then turned to leave.
“Wait,” Gwendolyn called. She reached into a drawer and pulled something out, then placed it into Sam’s hand. Sam frowned slightly, opening his palm to see a small vial. “Take this, if you’d like. It should help with the headaches.”
“Do you trust her?” Dean asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. Sam had insisted on driving as Dean had barely slept earlier, and Sam wasn’t about to let him push through another seven hour stretch behind the wheel.
“I’m not sure,” Sam said as he backed out of Gwendolyn’s property, already wary of where this was going. “I don’t want to work with witches any more than you do. I just don't see another option right now. It’s for Cas. And I mean, it’s Cas. Whatever it takes to get him back on his feet.” He knew Dean couldn’t really argue with that. Still, Sam worried it would turn into a conversation about the last witch he’d trusted, and what it had cost them.
What Sam wasn’t going to mention was that he had already contacted Rowena to ask if Gwendolyn could be trusted. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had gone to her, given how things had ended between them, and the fact she had put Castiel in this situation to begin with. But it wasn’t as if he knew any other witches who could even remotely be considered allies. Still, Rowena had been unhelpful, only saying it was rude of Sam to assume all witches knew each other. So he decided it was best not to mention it to Dean, knowing it would only result in a fight.
Sam was tired of the fights. Tired of their endless cycle of lies and betrayals and secrets. He thought, briefly, of how it used to be just the two of them against everything else. It felt so simple. Things hadn’t been simple in a long time.
After what had happened with Gadreel, Sam didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive Dean. And for a long time, he didn’t. But sometime between then and now, he did. Not because Dean deserved to be forgiven, but because Sam wanted to forgive him. He wanted to move on. He missed Dean, and he wanted to be brothers again. Somehow, forgiving Dean for something unforgivable was easier than treating him like a stranger.
Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m just… worried about him, you know? What if this crap Glinda gave us is actually some angel kryptonite?” He held the vial up to the sunlight, as if it might reveal something hidden in the liquid, then opened the glove compartment to put it away.
“I think if that existed, Cas would know to avoid it,” Sam regarded.
Before Dean could put the vial away, something caught his eye. He paused, then reached inside and pulled out a stack of cassette tapes buried under a pile of clutter.
"He-hey, I thought I lost these!" Dean smiled.
Sam glanced over as Dean flicked through his old cassette tapes, the same way he used to a decade ago.
Sam sighed, making Dean look at him. Then back at the tapes. Then back at Sam. “Wait. Did you hide these on me?”
Sam scoffed and shook his head, not exactly denying it.
“You did! Oh, you’re so lucky I’m tired. I could kill you! I thought these were long gone,” Dean half-joked, already sliding one into the tape player.
Sam rolled his eyes so hard his head tilted with them, letting out another exhausted sigh as Dean’s excitement completely swallowed whatever anger he felt a moment ago.
“Hey, I thought driver picks the music,” Sam mocked.
“Yeah, well, driver gets what he deserves for hiding my stuff,” Dean laughed, turning the volume up as a song Sam absolutely hated came on.
“Put that vial away before you break it,” Sam said, noticing Dean still had the glass vial pinched between his fingers.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean replied, carefully setting it into the glove compartment.
Sam instinctively slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, making sure his own vial hadn’t cracked. His fingers found the glass first, then something else—cold metal he knew too well.
The amulet.
His grip tightened around it, thumb brushing over the familiar shape. He glanced over at Dean, who was singing out of tune with the biggest smile on his face. When Dean caught his eye, he just grinned wider and sang louder. Sam turned his gaze back to the road before he could smile in return.
They were never going to be the most well-adjusted people in the world, but ever since Dean was free of the mark, he seemed lighter. Sam hadn’t seen him this happy, this full of life, in a long time. It felt like they'd finally turned a new page. Sam squeezed the necklace. He wouldn’t let their relationship fall apart again.
Sam let Dean have his moment, but when the next song came on, he reached over and turned the radio down.
“Dude, come on, it’s not that bad,” Dean said, reaching to turn it back up. Sam stopped him before he could.
“Dean– I’ve got to tell you something. Something important,” Sam began, his tone far more serious than it had been just moments ago. Dean picked up on it and focused. “I mean– it could just be nothing– but maybe it’s something, and if it does turn into something… well I just don’t want you to think I was keeping it from you. And the reason I’m only telling you now is because I didn’t want to add anything to your plate, you know, with Cas and the Darkness and–”
“Sammy, if you keep rambling on like this you will freak me out. So just spit it out already,” Dean said, a hint of concern already in his voice.
“I’ve been getting really bad headaches the last few days,” Sam admits. “At first I just thought it was from stress, but after those weird dreams and visions I’ve been getting… I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it’s connected.”
“I’m getting some serious deja vu.”
“Yeah, tell me about it."
“Didn’t you say you thought the visions were from God?” Dean asked, dragging out the word God with obvious skepticism.
“That’s what it felt like.”
“Well, I ain’t buyin’ it. God suddenly reappears to send you headaches and nightmares? Makes no sense.”
“I don’t know. I just think– well, maybe he wants to set things right.”
“Sam, no. We already discussed this, you are not going back to the cage. I don’t care if God and the whole heavenly choir want you to go back. It’s not gonna happen.”
“I don’t know if I have a choice,” Sam mumbled, sounding defeated. He looked like a kicked puppy.
“As long as I’m around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you,” Dean promised, and not for the first time.
Sam laughed at the irony of that.
“So… these headaches and visions. They come with a side of premonitions I should know about?” Dean questioned.
“No. It’s just visions of the cage. And that dream I had about Dad. But I don’t know… I mean, the first time this happened it started with just headaches too. So maybe it’s going to escalate again. If it’s not God… who’s powerful enough to send me visions?"
“You think it might have something to do with the Yellow-Eyed Demon?” Dean said, finally saying out loud the topic they’d been dancing around.
“It can’t be, right? I mean, we killed him.” Sam asked, with a hint of naivety in his voice. There was something small and uncertain about it that dragged Dean straight back to when they were younger, dealing with this the first time around.
“It’s not him, Sammy. He’s dead. We killed him.” Dean stated, like he was trying to convince himself. “I don’t know what it is, but it ain’t Yellow Eyes. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay?”
“Okay,” Sam said quietly, exhaling as his hands relaxed on the wheel. “Okay.”
Dean glanced over at him. “You alright?”
Sam hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. I’m alright.”
Things were far from perfect, but Sam had his brother by his side. And for the first time in a long while, they were on the same page.