Chapter Text
It was cold. November wind blew snow flurries through the air, and as Dean Winchester drove in silence on his way back to the bunker beaten, broken, and angered, it was those flurries he focused on in a vain attempt to keep his calm. To keep the angry tears of defeat from falling. He felt like screaming. He wanted to hit something. Not for the first time, he felt trapped in the car he used to call home. He looked over at Sam, who slept in silence in the passenger seat, nursing a pretty severe concussion. Castiel sat awake in the back, staring vacantly out the window and into the dark, snowy night. On his face he bore a deep cut Dean knew needed stitches. Seeing his family hurt, well it just made those feelings of anger and defeat even worse. Dean breathed heavily as he fought the urge to run his car off the road. The mark that lay burning on his arm wasn't helping matters either.
"Dean."
Castiel was looking to the driver's seat now, waiting on a response from the older Winchester. When he didn't get one. He tried again, louder, more urgent.
"Dean. Listen to me."
Dean sighed and kept his eyes on the road ahead as he answered firmly.
"Not now Cas."
"Dean, you can't blame yourself for what went on tonight. That demon was powerful, more so than we had anticipated. He didn't know anything about the mark."
The angel was persistent. Dean knew he was only trying to help, but he wasn't in the mood. He was damn tired, and with a couple more hours still on the road, Dean knew he wasn't in the right state of mind to be speaking about what had gone on earlier.
×Four Hours Before×
"Dean Winchester, did you really think you could come in here half ass and demand answers from me? Hah."
The demon laughed harshly. "Your pathetic."
Dean's heart sank at her words, but he kept his poker face. "How do I get rid of this mark?" He asked evenly, drawing the first blade from the inside of his worn jacket as he took a slow step in the demon's direction.
The demon's eyes flashed an angry black, and for a moment Dean noticed fear flit across it's pointed face. Or rather, it's vessel's pointed face. It gained it's composure soon enough though, and it gave a sly smirk.
"You could very well kill me tonight Winchester, but you won't be leaving with anything that you didn't already come with. I have nothing to tell you."
"Your lying. How do I get rid of the mark?" Dean asked, louder this time. He advanced even further, the blade held before him in a defensive manner.
"Down boy." The demon sneered, losing it's mocking tone and gaining an angry one. "I wouldn't get too close. You won't like the consequences if I'm forced to defend myself."
Dean scoffed and threw his hands over his head in mock defeat, though he held the blade tightly still.
"Hit me with your best shot, baby."
All hell broke loose after that.
×End of flashback×
"Cas, you and Sam were hurt, could've been killed, and for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The demon was a false lead and it was me that wanted to track her down. What happened tonight was my fault, enough said."
"Dean, please..the mark..I know it's been acting up. Sam and I both knew that you weren't.."
"That I wasn't what Cas? Sane? In my right head?"
Castiel went quiet for a moment.
"You know that's not what I meant Dean."
Dean nodded. "Yeah yeah. I get it. Just please shut up about it. I know your only trying to help Cas, but for God's sake, just don't. I'm not a kid, and I know how to handle my crap on my own."
"Dean.." Castiel persisted, wanting the older Winchester to stop being so goddamn stubborn and just let him in.
"Cas please. Not now."
"Fine Dean. I apologize for angering you." Castiel finally said, lifting his arms in surrender.
Dean didn't respond, just continued to drive with a white knuckled grip on the impala's steering wheel.
××××
When the silver outline of the Men of Letters bunker came into view, Dean could not have felt more relieved to finally be home. He could finally patch everyone up and take the edge off with a bottle of whiskey to himself. Or maybe two bottles. Or three.
When the impala was packed safe inside the bunker's small parking lot, Dean immediately pulled himself out of the vehicle, and, ignoring the sharp stab of pain his broken ribs caused and the wave of dizziness that followed, he grabbed and supported a semiconscious Sammy and made his way to the bunker's hidden entrance. Behind them, Castiel followed, deep in thought.
The angel had noticed the evident pain on Dean's face, and the struggle he underwent to stay on his feet for a few moments after getting up. It was with an aching concern for the man's well being that he followed the two Winchesters into the building.
××××
The lights throughout the bunker came on immediately when Dean all but dragged his brother inside. Every part of his body burned in protest but he made it down to the infirmary none the less.
The lights inside the small area flickered on, illuminating the three fully equipped hospital beds and the cabinets and shelves that held a seemingly endless amount medical supplies and medications.
Dean hadn't been down here much yet, but he found himself thankful for it's presence.
"Cas, help me get him onto a bed." Dean ordered, knowing he wouldn't be able to left his brothers body on his own at this point. His breathing was becoming downright painful and he felt ready to vomit from the agony he was in.
Castiel nodded silently and went to support Sam's other half. The younger Winchester was barely conscious, and the angel wondered for a moment if they should take him to the hospital. As if on cue, Sam gave a low, pained groan as he was laid onto the bed.
Dean only shook his head and sighed. Sitting on the edge of the bed for just a moment he sat staring at his younger brother. The worry and concern the man was feeling could be seen from miles away.
"It's OK Sammy, your gonna be just fine. Just hold on for a little longer. "
Castiel watched as Dean took one lingering look at his brother before getting up to grab the medical supplies he would need to patch everyone up.
Once again, the angel had not failed to notice the pain in the older Winchester's face as he walked off, the guilt and years of exhaustion in his eyes. His worry only grew at that point.
Dean came back quickly with what he needed, and immediately began to clean up his brother's bruised and bloodied face and arms with a damp cloth. Dean was glad to find that the source of the blood was not serious, just a few small scrapes here and there. It looked as if the concussion was the worst of Sam's injuries. With a small sigh of content, the older Winchester turned to Castiel.
"Your turn. "
Castiel shook his head and waved the man off. "It's fine Dean, I can take care of it myself."
Dean raised his eyebrows and regarded the angel with skeptical eyes. "You need stitches Cas. Last I checked, you're running low on angel mojo. So you can't heal yourself."
Castiel shook his head. "The cut isn't that deep. It will heal on it's own eventually.. "
"I'm doing the stitches Cas. We don't need you getting an infection on top of everything else." Dean stated, effectively cutting the angel off.
Castiel sighed, knowing there was no negotiating at this point. "Fine. Do the stitches. But after you have to let me fix you as well. "
Dean scoffed as he began to gently wipe up the dried blood around the large cut on Castiel's face. The laceration was looking particularly messy, and it looked as though it was still bleeding steadily. "I don't need fixing Cas. I'm not bleeding this time around."
"Dean, it's obvious you're in pain, and judging by the shallow sound of your breath, you have several broken ribs in need of medical attention. "
Castiel was still as he spoke, patiently letting Dean finish the much needed stitches on his forehead.
Dean didn't respond. He didn't really have a decent argument to come back with. He finished his work quietly and precisely, and when he was done he sat down on the adjacent bed in the room and wordlessly pulled his shirt off.
Castiel stood up from where Sam lay and made his way over to Dean. The angel was taken aback at just how much bruising the man had on his torso, and it was then he realized just how much pain Dean had to currently be in, both physically and mentally. Taking a breath, he rummaged through the pile of supplies Dean had gotten and pulled out only what he knew the man would need.
Dean lowered himself gently onto the soft mattress underneath him as Castiel prepared to patch him up. He hissed in pain at the slight movement, and he found himself pausing just for a moment to catch his breath. The demon really had done a number on his torso, and even though he didn't want to admit it, he knew he needed the angel's help tonight.
"Are you ready Dean? " Castiel asked quietly when he returned to Dean's bedside.
Dean nodded ever so slightly, and closed his eyes as the angel began to gently palpitate his swollen and bruised abdomen.
"On a scale of 1-10, how bad would you say the pain is in this area?" Cas asked, noting the slight rigidness he felt under his fingertips.
"4." Dean grunted, clearly downgrading the extent of his discomfort.
"Try again Dean, and the truth this time. This could be serious. It feels like your bleeding internally. "
Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance, his face still tight with pain as Cas continued to press gently on his belly.
"Fine. It's, more like a -argh...seven or- ahh- an eight. " Dean breathed, clearly struggling through the level of heightened pain the angel's prodding was causing.
Castiel was silent a moment as he thought about what needed to be done. If Dean did have internal bleeding, which at this point the angel was convinced he did, he knew the man would not be able to heal on his own . The bunker just didn't hold that kind of medical equipment.
Dean watched as Castiel's pinched, thoughtful features fell into a look of resignation.
"I need to heal you. " The angel stated, lifting his hand and again placing it gently over the older Winchester's abdomen, ready to make use of his angel mojo, as Dean liked to call it. He was stopped however, when a strong , calloused hand latched hard onto his outstretched wrist.
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up there angel. You ain't strong enough yet. I'll be fine on my own."
Castiel huffed in annoyance and pulled his arm out of Dean's strong hold. It was true that he had just gotten his grace restored, but that did not mean he was an invalid like before.
"Dean, you need my help. It's more than likely your bleeding into your stomach right now and you won't last a day if that is the case. If you do not let me do this I will transport your ass to the nearest emergency room where, likely, you'll have to stay a week at least. Now, which do you prefer I do? "
Dean looked completely pissed by the end of the angel's rant, but he gave a jerky nod of consent none the less. There was no way in hell he was spending a pointless amount of time locked up in some damn hospital over a bit of bleeding in his stomach.
"Alright then. " Cas said, and he brought his hand back to it's previous position over Dean's rib cage. "This won't hurt. " He stated quietly as a familiar blue light began to emanate from his outstretched palm.
Dean closed his eyes and gave a low sigh of relief as the immense pain he was feeling began to lessen to a point in which it was hardly noticeable. For just a moment, his body felt quite peaceful and heavy. By the time the blue light faded away, he found himself exhausted and wanting to sleep for days.
Castiel was out of breath when he pulled his hand away, but other than looking as spent as Dean felt, he seemed to be doing alright after using his power for the first time in ages.
"You should be able to heal fully on your own now. " Castiel breathed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He sat rather quietly with his shoulders hunched and his hands resting squarely on his thighs.
Dean sat up gingerly against the pillows behind him. He glanced over at his brother for a moment, debating whether or not it would be beneficial to move him to his room for the night. As if on cue Sam groaned quietly in his sleep, seemingly making up the older Winchester's mind.
"I think I'm going to stay down here for the night, keep an eye on Mr. Comatose over there. You gonna be OK on your own upstairs?"
Castiel nodded. "I should be just fine yes. You'll call if you need anything?"
"Sure thing Cas."
"Alright. I'll be going then." Castiel stood up and, after taking a moment to gather himself, he walked upstairs to the bedroom Dean had given him just a few weeks prior.
Left alone in the dimly lit infirmary, with only a dead to the world brother to distract him from his thoughts, Dean found himself thinking once more on the awful events that had gone down over the last twelve hours. Not for the first time, he couldn't help but feel sick with guilt. It was his on fault the mark of the damned lay on his forearm. It was his own fault that Sam and Cas we're being forced to put their lives in danger to figure out a way to stop the seemingly inevitable destruction the thing would soon surely cause.
He felt a surge of rage at that last thought, and he felt the mark flare with a burning desperation.
Desperation to hunt.
Desperation to kill.
The older Winchester drew in a deep breath and did his best to push the painful thoughts to the back of his mind. He was entirely wiped out. His energy level was nonexistent, and knew he would be no good to anyone if he didn't soon get some sleep.
Being mindful of the few minor injuries that lingered still on his body, Dean slowly laid back against the pillows in his bed and closed his eyes. Slowly he allowed himself fell into a restless sleep.
XXX
The hallway was dark, with only a few fiery torches here and there to light the way. The air he breathed was damp and oddly chilled.
Though it had been years, Dean could still recognize the place with his eyes closed.
Hell. He was walking through a hallway in Hell.
Suddenly, as if someone had flicked on a light switch, the hall became bright. Dean stopped in his tracks, for he couldn't process what he was seeing all around him.
Cages. So many cages. Inside each one lay one of his loved ones. They all just stated at him, each with a desperate, fearful gaze. Sam, who lay in the cage directly to the left of him, looked him squarely in the eye. The younger man then said something that would make Dean's skin crawl for years to come.
"Please, just.. Please don't hurt us any more.. "
"No.." Dean mumbled, and he stumbled blindly to the iron bars of his brothers prison. He quickly looked the cage over for a way to get him out, but it was no use. Inside, Sam began to sob, his whole body shuttering on the ground. As he did, blood spilled from the corners of his lips and ran down his chin in thick droplets.
"Sammy.." Dean whispered brokenly as he watched his brothers pain.
" Please Dean...don't.. Don't hurt us.."
Dean grasped the bars and tried desperately to break them so that he could get in to help his brother, but before he could, Sam went entirely still before him. Dean dropped to his knees then. He knew it was too late. He'd been too late.
Sam was dead. He looked around to all of the faces in the cages, and every last one of them, they were dead too.
Cas. Bobby. Benny. Sherriff Mills. Mom. Dad.
Dead. All dead.
Dean buried his head in his hands and cried out in total utter grief. It was then he noticed the red liquid dripping from his limbs. It covered every inch of him.
Blood. And it wasn't his own. Dean began to hyperventilate. They're wasn't enough air in the musty corridor. The smell of death around him was too much. The grief and guilt were crushing. Around him, he could hear a sinister voice laughing.
Alastair.
"What a good student you've become Dean.."
XXX
Dean awoke with a startled gasp. He bolted upright and glanced about anxiously, trying to ground himself.
"It was just a dream. Just a dream. " He mumbled to himself, his voice cracking audibly. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest. His head pounded and he felt as though he might be sick for a moment. Dean forced himself to concentrate on his breathing, and eventually, he pulled himself together enough to truly become aware of his surroundings.
His hand flew to the knife under his pillow when he did, for at the end of the bed, standing in worn jeans and a leather jacket, was someone who wasn't supposed to be alive.
Someone who'd been dead for many years now.
"Dad?"