The Spark That Guides You Home (1/4)
The Spark That Guides You Home
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; too bad, so sad.
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Spoilers: Through S7
Word Count: ~23,700
Summary: Getting out of Purgatory is only the beginning. (Dean’s time in Purgatory changes him in ways Sam can’t understand, and leaves Castiel with only a shadow of his power. Dean and Cas need each other if they aren’t going to fall apart, and Sam somehow has to hold them all together.)
A/N: Written for the 2012 deancasbigbang. Title from the First Aid Kit song, “Josefin.”
Dean knows he’s shaking, his hands trembling, as he touches Cas’ face. “I don’t know how much longer I can last.”
“Don’t say that,” Cas replies fiercely. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“You can’t make that promise,” Dean replies. “We go together or not at all.”
“I can get you through, and you can figure out how to get me out later,” Cas argues, and it’s a lie.
It’s a lie, because Dean will never risk opening a gateway into Purgatory, no matter how much he might want to, not even for Cas.
And it’s a lie because as far as Dean knows, he can’t die here, no matter what seems to happen to him.
But not being able to die doesn’t preclude going crazy, and Dean thinks he might be getting close to losing it, to just giving up.
He now has some inkling of why Cas had gone completely bonkers.
“Let me try,” Cas begs.
“Give it a little longer.” Dean grasps Cas’ shoulder. “Just a little longer.”
They’ve found a cave, just big enough for the two of them if they press together chest to chest. Dean would have preferred to face the entrance, but there’s not enough room to turn around, so they’ll have to rely on kicking anything that tries to enter.
It’s better than some of the places they’ve stayed during their interminable time here.
Cas presses his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, and he says, “I’m sorry,” just as he has every night.
At least, it might be every night if the light ever changed here. Cas says it a lot, though.
“It’s okay,” Dean insists, even though it’s not, not remotely, but he’s long since forgiven Cas, his anger purged away in this barren place.
Cas is all Dean has here. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to hold on to his anger, too.
He shifts slightly, putting an arm around Cas’ shoulders, holding on as best he can. “We’re going to be okay,” Dean insists.
If he keeps saying it, he might just believe it.
~~~~~
Sam goes down the list of assignments slowly, one by one. The reports about the Leviathans are tapering off-finally. He’s lost track of how many they’ve killed at this point, and maybe it’s been too many to count.
And that’s in between demons-Crowley has been busy, trying to consolidate his position-and other monsters.
He fields a call from someone checking up on Lee’s credentials, staring at the cracked blue paint on the walls of his current residence, following the lines of the molding that might once have been white. When he gets another call from Jerry, out of Indiana, wanting to know the best way to deal with a Djinn, Sam passes along what information he has and tells Jerry to be careful, grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge.
Sam reiterates his instructions to be careful before he hangs up, because he can’t afford to lose any of his hunters, not if he wants to keep searching for a way to get Dean out of Purgatory without freeing anything else.
Jody calls after that, and Sam smiles and puts his feet up on the dilapidated table when she asks, “How’s it going, cowboy?”
“Fine,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Just thought I’d check in on you,” she replies. “Make sure you’re eating, sleeping-you know, the kinds of things that humans need to do.”
Sam shakes his head. “You’re not my mother. You realize that, right?”
“Hey, someone needs to remind you that you’re a real person with real needs,” Jody jokes. “Say it with me, Sam.”
“I need to eat a real meal and sleep a full eight hours every once in a while,” he says in unison with her. “And if I don’t, I won’t be any good to anybody.”
Sam adds that last bit himself, since Jody has said it often enough.
Jody laughs. “I see you have been listening.”
“I try. I just don’t always follow your advice,” Sam teases, and then there’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and he says, “I have to call you back.”
He ends the call and pulls out his 9 mil, pointing it at the portal that’s opening in the corner of the room. Sam thinks he’s prepared for anything, but he’s not ready for the lean form that comes tumbling into the room-dirt-encrusted and battered, but obviously human.
Later, Sam will tell himself that it’s only because he hasn’t seen Dean for years-almost three, at that point-that he doesn’t recognize his brother immediately. He’ll tell himself that it’s not that he’s given up on ever seeing Dean again.
He’ll remind himself that opening up a door to Purgatory had released the Leviathans, and he hadn’t found a way to keep them from coming through.
Sam will tell himself that it’s not a failure for Cas to have figured it out first.
But that’s later. Right now, his heart is in his throat as he stares at Dean’s tattered, bloodstained clothing, at his familiar, sprawled form. He blinks up at the ceiling, apparently stunned, unmoving, other than his chest expanding as he breathed. Other than the clothes, though, Dean looks the same as he had the night they took on Dick Roman.
Exactly the same.
“Dean?” Sam asks softly.
Dean pushes himself up on one elbow and looks around. “That son of a bitch.”
“Dean?” Sam says more insistently, keeping his gun trained on him.
“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him since-since the last time I saw you.”
“That jerk,” Dean fumes, getting to his feet. “He promised he wasn’t going to try to get me through without coming with me.”
Sam is still struggling to catch up. “Wait, what?”
Dean grins, his teeth very white against his dirty skin. “Man, I’m starving.” His eyes go to Sam’s weapon, but his grin doesn’t falter. “Better get the holy water,” he says easily. “Let’s get this over with so I can eat.”
Dean splashes holy water on his face, and pours more over his arm before he draws a silver blade across his skin without flinching. He bleeds red, but there’s no sign he feels any pain, and Sam is looking for it.
He’s looking for some sign that this is still his brother.
“Hey, look at that,” Dean says, watching the blood drip onto the table, with apparent fascination.
“Dean?” Sam prods, a little disturbed, although he can’t quite put his finger on why.
Dean glances up. “Hey, you got something I can wrap this with?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sam rummages for gauze. “Was Cas with you this whole time?”
“For the most part,” Dean replies. “How long has it been?”
Sam hands him the bandages and medical tape. “Two years, ten months, one week, and three days.”
Dean looks at the scarred, hardwood floor at that, his face softening. “I’m sorry. I came back as soon as I could.”
“How long was it for you?” Sam asks, his throat dry. He still hasn’t touched Dean yet, because he’s not entirely sure this is real.
Dean shrugs, wrapping the cut clumsily, as though out of practice. “Time doesn’t mean much in Purgatory,” he explains. “I have no idea how much time passed.” He pauses, and says, “I think it was longer.”
Sam takes the medical tape from Dean’s hand and tapes the gauze in place, ignoring the fact that Dean’s going to have to get cleaned up soon, and then it all has to come off. “How much longer?”
Dean shakes his head, watching Sam’s hands. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Dean,” Sam says helplessly. “I tried.”
Dean meets his eyes for the first time, and he smiles, his expression gentle. “I know you did, Sammy. It’s okay.”
He hasn’t aged a day, Sam thinks. Under the layers of dirt, he’s just the same, if Sam can look past Dean’s eyes, which are clear and calm, almost serene-not an expression he would have guessed Dean could ever wear comfortably.
“What happened to Cas?” Sam asks.
Dean’s eyes darken. “I don’t know,” he says. “He promised to wait until both of us could get clear.”
“I’ll have my people keep an ear out for him, just in case,” Sam promises.
Dean raises his eyebrows. “Your people?”
Sam smiles. “I have a lot to catch you up on.”
And then he does what he’s wanted to do since Dean tumbled into the room, and pulls him into a hug.
~~~~~
Dean has almost forgotten what hot water feels like against his skin; he’s almost forgotten the sensation of soap-slick skin, and sudsy hair, steamy air in his face.
He keeps his shower shorter than he’d like because his stomach is growling, and Sam has promised him a bacon cheeseburger and fries and a beer.
He’s pretty sure he’s going to embarrass both of them when he eats real food again, for the first time in-
Well, almost three years, by Earth’s reckoning; a lifetime or two by Purgatory’s.
Dean dries off, reveling in the feel of the thin, threadbare towel against his skin, and pauses to look at himself in the mirror.
Nothing has changed.
Dean touches his cheek-just as smooth as it had been when he’d been sucked into Purgatory, touches his stomach-no sign of where that creature had gutted him the first time he’d been killed.
He touches his tattoo, his neck, and it’s all smooth skin, no sign of wear and tear.
Dean half-expects Cas to pop up out of nowhere, the way he had before they’d killed Dick, back when Cas had been crazy.
Cas had shown up on the hood of Dean’s car, naked and covered in bees; he hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but he thinks he would now.
A couple of lifetimes spent with someone saving your life over and over bred a certain familiarity.
Dean rubs his eyes, worrying for Cas. Since he hasn’t popped in, even if just to be sure that Dean is in one piece, Dean has to assume that he’s still stuck in Purgatory, and he wonders if Cas stayed on purpose, to purge away the last of his guilt.
“Dean?” Sam calls. “You okay?”
“Fine!” he shouts, and hastily pulls on his clothing-his own, he thinks, stuff that Sam has apparently held onto all these years. He meets Sam in the same room he’d appeared. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I was clean.”
It’s true, both literally and metaphorically, although Dean’s guilt doesn’t weigh on him quite so heavily these days.
The common wisdom is that Purgatory is the place where souls go to be purged. Dean has no idea if it actually works like that, but after getting ripped to pieces a few dozen times, only to be in one piece again, Dean had begun to feel as though he’d done his penance.
Sam nods. “No problem. There’s a good burger joint close.”
Dean looks around at the faded wallpaper, the cracked ceiling, the scarred floors, and sees a place that looks lived-in. “How long have you been here?”
“About nine months,” Sam replies. “I finally gave in and got a few extra phone lines when I got this place.”
Dean smiles. “Like Bobby.”
Sam takes a deep, audible breath. “Yeah, someone had to fill that void.”
Dean wonders if he might have filled that role if he’d been around. “It’s good that you are,” he replies. “Bobby would be proud.”
“I hope so,” Sam says quietly.
Dean decides to change the subject. “So, food?”
Sam laughs. “I guess some things haven’t changed.
“Hey, man, I haven’t had anything to eat since before we went up against Dick,” Dean protests.
Sam frowns. “You didn’t eat in all that time?”
“Nothing to eat,” Dean says easily. “And technically, I didn’t need to,” he says, pulling on his boots.
“What do you mean, you didn’t need to?” Sam asks with his familiar curiosity.
Dean shrugs. “Nothing changes in Purgatory. Doesn’t matter what happens to you, or how long you go without food or drink.”
Horror slowly dawns on Sam’s face. “What happened?”
Dean shakes his head. “Not now, Sam. I-” Emotion chokes him for a minute. “Can we get something to eat?”
“Come on,” Sam replies. “There’s someone else who missed you.”
Dean grins when he sees his baby again, running his hand over the hood. “She looks just the same.”
“She is just the same,” Sam says, tossing Dean the keys. “I had to get her repaired, but Jody recommended a reputable body shop.”
Dean winces. “Where’s Meg?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Sam replies. “Crowley grabbed her, and I haven’t seen her since.”
Dean cares about as much as Sam does, although Cas will probably be upset; he’d somehow formed an attachment to the demon.
Although maybe he’d be over it by now. Assuming, of course, that Cas isn’t stuck in Purgatory.
The burger joint is upscale, with track lighting and nice upholstery and a gleaming wooden bar. They’ve got excellent burgers, though, and really good microbrews on tap, and the fries are just the right mixture of crispy outside and starchy inside.
Dean groans as he takes the first bite of his bacon cheeseburger. “Oh, God.”
Sam grins around a bite of his chicken sandwich. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Some things don’t change,” Dean says with his mouth full. “You were right. This place is awesome.”
“I thought you might like it.” Sam’s expression turns a little wistful. “You know, I think I’ve had a burger at just about every restaurant in town. I thought-I thought when you got back, I could tell you where the best place to go was.”
“Your sacrifice is appreciated,” Dean replies, touched at the demonstration of faith.
Sam grimaces. “You should be. It’s harder to find a good bacon cheeseburger than you might think.”
“Why do you think I keep ordering them?” Dean asks, and takes another bite.
He wishes Cas were here, though. That would make it just about perfect.
~~~~~
He wakes slowly, painfully, his head pounding. Slowly, his headache subsides enough to take in his surroundings-lumpy mattress under him, thin blanket over him, bright sunlight streaming in from the window just behind his right shoulder.
He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and sees a woman in pink scrubs standing next to his bed, beaming down at him. “Hi!” she says cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”
He has no idea where he is, or even who he is, but he tries cataloging his physical problems. “My head hurts,” he finally says. “And my leg hurts.”
“You were hit by a car,” she says helpfully.
He doesn’t remember that. “What?”
“You showed up in the middle of the street,” she replies. He reads her nametag, which says ‘Holly.’ “You were lucky the car only clipped you.”
“Lucky,” he echoes, having no idea what that actually means.
“Can you tell us your name?” she asks gently.
He realizes that he has no idea what his name is. “No,” he says, sounding faintly surprised even to his own ears. “I don’t remember my name.”
“What do you remember?” Her voice is pitched low and sympathetic, as though she understands. He knows instinctively that she doesn’t.
He searches for something, some memory, and comes up with a name. “Dean Winchester.”
“Is that your name?” Holly asks.
He shakes his head, certain of that much at least. “No. I need to call Dean Winchester. That’s the only thing I remember.”
“Do you remember his number?” Holly asks.
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Let me see if there was a phone in your belongings when they brought you in,” Holly replies.
He leans back in the bed, and turns his head enough to watch the dust motes float through the sunbeams coming through the window. He feels as though he ought to remember who he is, why he’s here, but his past is a blank. The only thing in his mind is a name, Dean Winchester, but he’s not sure why Dean Winchester is important to him.
Holly comes back into the room a few minutes later with a cell phone. “It looks like Dean is one of the entries,” she says. “Do you want to try?”
He’s suddenly certain that he doesn’t want to, but he knows he’ll never forgive himself if he refuses to try. “Yes,” he says. “I’ll try.”
He selects the number from his speed dial and punches the “call” button. “Hello?”
“Cas?” The voice on the other end is achingly familiar, and yet not, all at the same time. He’s not sure he could have recognized Dean Winchester’s voice before he heard it-he knows he couldn’t have picked Dean Winchester’s face out of a line-up-but right now, he feels as though he’s come home. “Where are you?”
“I’m not sure,” he says. “I’ll let you talk to the nurse.”
He hands the phone to Holly before Dean Winchester can object and hopes for the best.
“This is Holly,” she says. “To whom am I speaking?”
Listening desultorily to her end of the conversation, he doesn’t know how he should feel. Numb is the word that comes immediately to mind, but even that doesn’t completely suffice. Incomplete is better, because he feels like a huge chunk of himself is missing-not surprising, considering that he can’t remember anything other than “Dean Winchester.”
He hears her say, “He was admitted for observation after being struck by a car,” as he stares at the pale gray wall. “But he’ll recover. You know him?”
Focusing on a crack in the textured ceiling, he waits until Holly says, “Just a moment,” and hands the phone back to Cas.
“Cas? Hello?”
He has no idea what to say in response, so he settles on, “Hello.”
“What do you remember?” the man asks.
“Just your name,” he admits. “Dean Winchester. Your name was in my phone.”
“You did exactly the right thing, calling me,” the man says. “Just sit tight for me, okay? I’m going to come get you. Put me back on with the nurse.”
He doesn’t pay much attention to Holly’s side of the conversation, mostly because it’s half of the story. When Holly hangs up, she says, “Your friend will be here in tomorrow. It’s going to be fine.”
He rather doubts that, but he’s willing to take it on faith.
What else can he do?
~~~~~
Sam doesn’t know what to think about Dean’s insistence that he has to immediately drive to Oklahoma City to pick Cas up. In one sense, he gets it; however long Dean had been in Purgatory, Cas had been with him.
And Dean had been tangled up in Cas for a long time before that, too; it only makes sense that he’d want to pick Cas up from the hospital.
Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that Cas has amnesia. After all, when they’d run across him as Emmanuel, he hadn’t remembered anything from before.
Still, Sam is a little surprised by how quickly Dean agrees to go. He doesn’t even pause; he just says, “Okay, yeah, I’m coming to get him,” and that’s the end of it.
“You don’t have to come with me,” Dean says, as he picks up the few clothes he has and shoves them into the same duffel bag they’d been in for the last three years.
“I’m not letting you go by yourself,” Sam objects. “Not when I just got you back.”
A look of surprise crosses Dean’s face. “How long has it been?”
Sam feels a flicker of uneasiness. “Three days, Dean. It’s only been three days.”
“Oh.” Dean shrugs. “Time feels different.”
“I guess it would,” Sam replies, beginning to wonder if he’s gotten his brother back after all. “Is it okay? Me coming with you?”
Dean smiles easily. “Of course.”
Sam doesn’t expect Dean to let him drive, and he’s not disappointed. He’s hardly been able to peel Dean out from behind the wheel of the Impala, even if he’s not actually driving anywhere.
Maybe the Impala feels more like home, Sam thinks. Hell, the Impala is as close to a home as they’ve ever had, so it makes sense Dean would go there to reconnect with the world. Sam has learned to join him there if he wants to have a conversation.
It’s almost like the old days, if not for the silence in the car.
Sam clears his throat. “Do you want to put some music on?”
“Huh?”
Sam swallows his sarcastic remark. “Music?”
Dean frowns, almost as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “Yeah, pick something, would you?”
Sam blinks and decides that his best option is to go with the classics. He hasn’t changed the tape deck, not in three years-not like when Dean was in Hell and he’d put in an iPod jack. He picks up Back in Black, because it seems appropriate to the situation.
Dean grins when he hears the opening chords. “Hey, I remember this.”
Sam breathes a sigh of relief. “I would hope so.”
He plays all of Dean’s favorites on the drive to Oklahoma City, wanting his brother back, more than anything else, hoping that the familiar tunes will remind Dean of who and what he had been.
Dean’s singing along by the time they hit the halfway mark on the drive, to “Eye of the Tiger,” no less, in his familiar, off-key voice.
Sam begins to relax a bit at that. Dean might have changed, but he’s still fundamentally the same guy.
“So, you and Cas,” Sam begins after the song is over.
Dean shrugs. “Yeah.”
“You’re together?”
Dean shakes his head. “Not the way you mean. It’s a bad idea to get caught with your pants down around your ankles when something could rip your balls off.”
Sam lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s not like that in Purgatory, anyway,” Dean says offhandedly.
This is the most Dean has talked about actual conditions in Purgatory since he’d shown up in Sam’s living room. Sam decides to tread carefully. “Yeah?”
“There’s no night, no day,” Dean says reflectively. “No sun.”
Sam’s fists clench on his thighs, hearing the implications of Dean’s words easily enough. He knows that time had passed differently in hell, and that Dean had broken-by his own admission.
Now, Dean can’t tell Sam how long he’d spent in Purgatory, but that it had been longer than three years. Sam keeps looking for a sign that Dean had broken there, too.
Maybe it had been different, since Cas had been with him, but Sam isn’t so sure about that.
“There’s nothing to eat, unless you like raw monster meat, but Cas seemed to think I might not stay human if I did that,” Dean continues.
“Probably best to avoid that if you can,” Sam allows.
Dean shrugs. “I got through it, didn’t I?”
Sam wants to question how well he got through it, but it’s too soon for that. Sam hasn’t completed his own evaluation yet. “I guess you did. Cas got you out.”
Dean looks disgruntled. “Yeah, but he promised he would come with me.”
“Maybe he couldn’t.”
“Obviously,” Dean shoots back. “He wound up in a hospital in OK City without his memories.”
“He remembered you,” Sam points out. “So that’s something.”
“He remembered my name,” Dean counters. “That doesn’t mean he remembers…”
Dean trails off, and Sam’s not sure if he’s lost his train of thought, or if he just doesn’t want to go into details about what Cas ought to remember.
“Dean?” Sam prompts.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dean grumbles.
Sam frowns. “Looks like it does.”
“Maybe it’s better this way,” Dean murmurs. “That he doesn’t remember.”
“Was it really so bad?” Sam asks.
“It wasn’t a bed of roses.”
“That’s about the least descriptive way of putting things I’ve ever heard,” Sam complains.
Dean laughs, and it’s a genuine laugh. “You’d have to be there to understand.”
Sam has a feeling he’s going to be hearing that a lot. “If you used more words, I might get closer.”
Dean smirks. “I may have changed, Sammy, but I haven’t changed that much.”
Sam has to laugh at that, and he can’t argue, because Dean’s never been terribly forthcoming about his feelings.
And that’s definitely an understatement.
“What are you expecting out of Cas?” Sam asks.
“He doesn’t remember anything other than my name,” Dean snaps. “I don’t expect much.”
Sore spot, Sam thinks, and resolves not to bring that subject up again. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” he manages. “He did remember your name, even if he doesn’t remember anything else.”
“I guess there’s that.”
Sam suspects that there’s more that happened in Purgatory than Dean will ever tell him. That’s nothing new, but he’d half-hoped that Dean would be a little more forthcoming, at least about Purgatory.
It’s a false hope; Sam gets that. He just can’t help it.
They stop along the highway just outside of Wichita to catch a few hours of sleep, putting them in Oklahoma City mid-morning the next day. Sam trails along in Dean’s wake, content to let Dean take the lead in this.
After all, Cas is Dean’s boyfriend, not his.
Dean doesn’t even bother stopping by reception; the nurse had given him Cas’ floor and room number when Cas had called the day before.
In all honestly, Sam’s kind of looking forward to seeing the guy, amnesia or no, because he’s the one who’s been with Dean all this time, watching his back, and he’s the one who got Dean out.
Sam owes Cas, and he pays his debts.
He stops just inside the doorway, though, wanting to give Dean some time.
Cas looks the same, mostly. The stubble on his face is thick, and his skin is pale above his hospital gown. “Hello?” he says cautiously.
“It’s me, Dean.” Dean’s tone is so hopeful that Sam’s stomach twists. “How are you feeling, Cas?”
“A little blank,” he admits. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.”
Dean glances over his shoulder at Sam, and his newfound serenity has cracked a bit-his mouth is twisted in an unhappy grimace, and his expression is a bit lost. “It’s okay,” Dean says, turning back to Cas. “We go way back. I remember enough for the both of us. Do you remember my brother, Sam?”
Cas’ eyes go to Sam, and there’s no recognition at all on his face. He gives Sam the polite smile he might have offered a stranger. “No, I’m sorry. Hello.”
“Hey, Cas,” Sam says easily. He’s faced stranger situations in the last few years. “You feeling okay?”
“A little sore,” Cas replies earnestly. “They tell me I was hit by a car.”
“Bad?” Sam asks.
Cas shakes his head. “The nurse said I was lucky nothing was broken. It’s just bruises.”
“They got you on the good drugs?” Dean asks, leaning against the hospital bed.
Cas frowns. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means you’re feeling no pain,” Dean says.
Cas’ brow furrows in confusion. “But I just said I was sore.”
Dean laughs. “Yeah, you did. Sorry. You want to get out of here?”
“Where are we going?” he asks, sounding so trusting for someone who’s putting his life in the hands of a couple of strangers.
“Sam has a place,” Dean replies. “I brought you some of my clothes. We didn’t have any of yours handy.”
“That’s okay,” Cas assures them. “I’d just really like to get out of this thing.”
Dean grins. “That’s what everybody says about hospital gowns.”
Sam knows they have a game plan; he’s going to take them back to his place, and then they’re going to continue with the business of hunting.
He suspects it’s not going to be that easy.
~~~~~
Castiel hasn’t told Dean that he could leave Purgatory at any time-not easily, and not without consequences, but he could leave Dean behind, and go back to Earth, or back to heaven.
He might have tried if Dean had needed food or drink, but it soon becomes obvious that Dean’s physical body is in something of a stasis while in Purgatory. He’s hungry, but he does not starve; Dean is thirsty, but not dehydrated.
Dean is ripped to shreds in front of Castiel.
The first time, Castiel sits next to Dean’s cooling body and wonders if he’ll be able to bear Dean back to Earth, so at least Sam will know what happened, or if he’ll have to leave Dean here, atop soil that he’s not sure he can break.
Castiel pulls Dean’s body into his lap and wishes he still believed that his father might answer his prayers.
Once, he’d believed that God had been the one to resurrect him as a sign of Castiel’s faithfulness. Now, he thinks it’s more likely a punishment, although from whom or for what, he cannot say.
Castiel had believed that Dean would be his salvation. If he could save Dean; if he could redeem himself in Dean’s eyes, that would be enough.
And now Dean is dead, torn apart by some creature in Purgatory that not even Castiel recognized, before Castiel could save him.
And he knows that if he cannot take Dean out with him, Castiel will stay. He has nothing left other than Dean.
Castiel’s father is gone, his purpose his gone, his garrison is gone.
His sanity is gone, although his mind has been clearer here, in Purgatory, with one overriding goal: to keep Dean safe.
He has failed at that.
Castiel clutches Dean close to him, uncaring about the blood that gets on his coat and on the white scrubs he still wears.
And then Dean takes a deep breath, his eyes opening, and he sits up, breaking Castiel’s grip.
“What-” Dean begins, and then collapses back onto Cas. “What the fuck?”
Castiel pushes Dean’s jacket aside and runs his hands over the Dean’s abdomen, where his mortal wounds had been. “I don’t know,” Castiel replies, although he knows better than that.
If hunger and thirst can’t kill Dean here, nothing else can either.
It looks like Dean is going to learn what it means to have multiple resurrections be a punishment.
“Fuck,” Dean says. “That sucked.” He runs a hand down his chest. “This is just going to get worse, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel confesses. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, not this time.” Dean gives him a rueful smile. “It’s going to be okay,” he promises. “We’re going to get out of here.”
Castiel wishes he could believe that.
~~~~~
Dean has no idea what to do with this version of Cas. It’s not the first time he’s had to adjust where Cas is concerned-from the dispassionate angel of the Lord, to the almost-human friend, to the pretend God, to the amnesiac, to the crazy angel who had saved his brother’s life and sanity.
To the angel who had been with him every step of the way in Purgatory, who had stood between Dean and the monsters time after time. Who had been there every time Dean had woken up after being torn to pieces.
But all of those versions had remembered Dean-at least eventually-had remembered the history they shared, what little of it, or as much of it, as there had been. This version of Cas remembers nothing but Dean’s name.
Dean doesn’t know what to do with that.
“You going to be okay?” Dean asks. “It’s going to be a long drive.”
“I’m okay,” Cas insists. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
That much is true, and Dean decides not to argue with him. “Let us know if you need anything,” Dean says.
They hadn’t always said much while they were in Purgatory. Silence had become comfortable, and Dean isn’t sure what to say to Sam now, not with Cas there in the backseat.
So, he drives, finding a sense of peace behind the wheel of the Impala with CCR blasting in the background. He knows what Sam is trying to do; he knows Sam is trying to remind Dean of who he had been.
“What is this music?” Cas asks when the album restarts.
“Creedance Clearwater Revival,” Dean replies. “It’s classic rock. Do you like it?”
There’s a long pause and Dean glances into the rearview to see Cas’ expression. Cas seems to be considering his answer, but he’s still there, which is all Dean really cares about at the moment.
Cas will get his memories back eventually; he had before. Dean just has to wait it out.
“I do like it,” Cas says after due consideration.
“I don’t know anyone who doesn’t,” Dean says, and doesn’t add that he wouldn’t want to know them. That goes without saying.
Of course, he and Cas have never talked about musical preferences, so he’s glad that Cas can at least appreciate some classic rock.
“You want to listen to something else?” Dean asks.
“I don’t care,” Cas says. “Whatever you want.”
Dean frowns and wonders whether it means something that Cas doesn’t have an opinion-other than Cas doesn’t know much about music.
He decides to view Cas as a blank slate and take the opportunity to indoctrinate him into the art of classic rock. “Sam? We got any AC/DC?”
Sam gives him a strange look but says, “Sure we do.”
The opening chords of “Hells Bells” fill the car, and Dean grins, glancing once again into the rearview mirror. Cas stares out the window, but he has a faint smile on his face, and Dean takes that as a good sign.
He wishes there’s something he can say that has nothing to do with the Purgatory or what has happened between them in the past, but the only thing they’ve got is a shared history.
Hell, Dean has no idea how to tell Cas that he is-had been-an angel of the freaking Lord.
They stop for dinner in Wichita, at a roadside diner, and Cas studies the menu a long time. When the waitress comes by a third time, Dean asks, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I have no idea what I like,” Cas replies, sounding bewildered.
Dean glances up at the waitress. “Bacon cheeseburger and fries,” he orders, and points at Cas. “He’ll have what I’m having.”
“I’ll do the club sandwich,” Sam says. “Side salad instead of fries, though.”
Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam getting a salad is so familiar, it makes him feel a little more connected.
“Why a salad?” Cas asks.
“Because I don’t want to die of a heart attack at 50,” Sam says with a look at Dean.
Dean shrugs. “I doubt I’ll live that long.”
He doesn’t miss the look of alarm that crosses Sam’s face, but Dean doesn’t know what to do with it. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just speaking the truth. Dean’s beat the odds again and again, most recently by getting out of Purgatory, and his luck is going to run out eventually.
Dean is never going to be an old hunter. He’s okay with that. He’s died often enough now, the idea doesn’t faze him anymore.
Sam checks his phone, answering emails that have come in, and Dean watches Cas, who’s staring out the window with characteristic wide-eyed wonder. Dean studies him, looking for differences, but he can’t see them.
Cas’ hair is messy, uncombed, and Dean’s old t-shirt hangs a little loosely on him. The trench coat is bundled away in the trunk again, and that feels right, too. If Cas isn’t wearing it, then it belongs in the trunk of the Impala.
“How did we meet?” Cas asks suddenly, and Dean is surprised that it’s taken him this long to ask.
Although maybe it makes sense, since Cas had probably been looking for any port in the storm, anything familiar, and hadn’t wanted to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Dean has no idea how to respond, what to tell him, but he decides to go with the most basic version of the truth. “You saved my life.”
Cas’ eyes go wide. “Me?”
“You pulled me out of a-really bad situation,” Dean says, ignoring Sam’s raised eyebrow.
Cas frowns. “What kind of a situation?”
“That’s a little harder,” Dean admits. “It’s-weird. We’ve been involved in some weird stuff.”
“Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” Cas replies wryly. “I did wake up without any other memory but your name.”
Dean grins. “But what a great memory it is.”
Cas’ answering smile turns a little shy, and he glances away, his blue eyes dark.
When the waitress brings their meals, Cas falls on his burger as though he hasn’t eaten in days, and given the quality of most hospital food, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if that weren’t the case.
“This is good,” Cas says around a mouthful of food. “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean smiles, and thinks they have a place to start.
~~~~~
Sam knows that Purgatory changed Dean, but he hadn’t realized how much until after they picked Cas up from the hospital in Oklahoma City. Dean has seemed disconnected since he got back, not entirely himself, but when he sees Cas, it’s like the rest of the world no longer exists.
If he didn’t know better, he would have said Dean was in love, but that doesn’t quite cover it either.
In a way, it’s like the way Sam and Dean were at the best of times, or worst of times, depending on the point of view. When they could communicate with a look and half a phrase, and know everything the other was thinking; when they had been in sync, bound together so closely that nothing could come between them.
And then Dean had spent three years-Earth time-in Purgatory, and Sam had built up a network of hunters by necessity, and Dean had relied on Cas, and now they’re here.
Now they’re here, in Des Moines, in Sam’s small, rented house, and Dean is sitting out on the back porch with Cas, and Sam’s in here, fielding calls and answering questions that come in from other hunters, just as he’s done for the last three years.
And Sam is beginning to think that he doesn’t know his brother at all anymore.
“Yo, Sam,” Krissy says, calling two days after their return from Oklahoma. “We need your help.”
“I thought you were in school,” Sam says.
“I graduated early, and I don’t start college for months, pay attention,” Krissy says. “We need some help with a succubus.”
“Hit me,” Sam says, grateful to have something else to focus on. “Give me the details.”
Krissy runs down their present hunt, and finally Sam asks, “Why isn’t your dad making this call?”
“He’s staking out a local strip joint,” she replies, and Sam can hear her eye roll over the phone. “He says I’m too young, or maybe too old. I’m not sure which.”
Sam chuckles. “Yeah, well, I happen to think he’s right.” He gives her the rundown on how to kill it and says, “Be careful, huh?”
“Yeah, sure,” Krissy replies. “Always. How are you?”
She’s one of the few who still asks, maybe because she’d formed some kind of nascent connection with Dean before he’d disappeared, which means she’s one of the few he’ll be honest with. “Dean’s back.”
There’s a long pause, and she says, “Seriously?”
“Our friend, Cas, got him out.”
“Is he okay?”
“Okay might be a stretch,” San admits. “But he’s in one piece, and I think he’ll be okay eventually.”
That’s probably overly optimistic. Sam’s pretty sure that he and Dean don’t fit anybody’s definition of “okay,” but maybe they’re close enough. Dean isn’t in Purgatory anymore, and that’s really the important thing.
“You need us, just call,” Krissy replies. “You know we’ll come running.”
“I appreciate it,” Sam says, and he does. He wouldn’t call his network “family,” but they’d been the closest thing to it he’d had for the last couple of years. “Call me if you need anything.”
He hangs up to find Dean standing just inside the doorway, and he asks, “Who was that?”
“Krissy,” Sam replies. “Do you remember her?”
Dean frowns, and Sam wonders once again how long it had been for him. He knows-he knows-that Dean had spent far longer in hell than the three months that had passed on Earth, but this feels different. Maybe Dean had been a little more broken, maybe he’d drunk a little more, but he hadn’t been all that different.
Right now, Sam feels as though he’s looking at a stranger, and watching Dean try to summon up the memory of Krissy, someone who had made a serious impression on him at the time, it’s just another reminder that Dean has changed drastically.
“She was a kid,” Dean says slowly. “Her dad got captured. We helped her.”
“That’s right,” Sam encourages. “You liked her.”
Dean shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water. “That was a long time ago.”
“It was three years,” Sam says, some of his impatience evident in his voice. “Not that long.”
“It was a lot longer for me,” Dean says vaguely, staring at some point just beyond Sam’s shoulder, and Sam wants to shake him.
He wants to shake Dean until Dean punches him, and Sam will take the blow willingly, because it would mean that he has his brother back.
It would mean that Dean hasn’t changed all that much.
“Dean,” Sam says insistently. “Are you okay?”
“I thought I’d get a couple more beers,” Dean replies. “If that’s okay.”
He doesn’t say it sarcastically, is the thing. He says it like he means it, like anything Sam says would make a difference in what he does. Sam has to ask, “And if I said no?”
A strange expression crosses Dean’s face. “It’s your beer, isn’t it?”
He says it like he’s not sure of the answer.
“I bought it for us-for you,” Sam corrects him, feeling helpless in the face of the changes wrought upon Dean. “So it’s our beer.”
Dean takes half a step into the room, and then glances over his shoulder, out the screen door that faces the backyard, and Sam knows Dean is looking for Cas. “Is this real?”
Sam swallows. “Yeah, Dean. It’s real. You’re okay. You’re back.”
Dean nods. “Okay, thanks.”
Sam watches as he grabs a couple of bottles from the fridge and then drifts out the backdoor, and Sam follows, just far enough to see them. As far as he can tell, Dean hasn’t told Cas much about the past, and Cas hasn’t asked much. They’ve just sat around.
He thinks it would have been easier if they’d been sleeping in the same bed; he would have understood that kind of connection. Instead…
Instead, they sit on the couch, or on the back porch, and say very little, while Sam goes about his business-the life he’s built in Dean’s absence.
“Cas?” he hears Dean say, and the tone of Dean’s voice sends an alarm through Sam. He rushes through the back door. “Cas?”
“Dean.” And there’s something about the resonance of his tone that tells Sam that Cas is Castiel again. “Dean, you got out.”
Sam stops just outside the door, watching events unfold, feeling a sense of alarm that he can’t put a name to.
“You got me out,” Dean counters. “What do you remember?”
“Everything,” Cas says simply, and puts a finger up to trace the line of Dean’s jaw, and then down his throat. “I remember everything. I think I need to study the bees again. It’s been so long.”
“No,” Dean says abruptly. “Stay. For a while.”
“I can’t,” Cas replies, and then he’s gone, the space next to Dean empty on the stairs, and Sam hovers there, with no idea how to comfort his brother.
“Dean,” Sam says quietly.
Dean turns, and in his expression is naked longing. “Sammy, I don’t-” There’s a moment where Sam can see him fighting for control, and Dean’s eyes shutter, no feeling in them at all. “He’s gone.”
“I know,” Sam says, and sits down next to him. In all honesty, he’s been afraid of this very thing since Dean got the call from the hospital. “He’ll come back.”
“What if he can’t?” Dean asks. “What if-I don’t know.”
“He remembered you once before,” Sam says. “He has his phone, doesn’t he?”
Sam’s sorry he asked, because Dean begins a methodical search of the house, and it’s only when Dean can’t find Cas’ phone that he allows that Cas probably has it with him.
Sam doesn’t say anything when Dean pulls Cas’ trench coat out of the trunk of the Impala, just like he doesn’t say anything that night, when he peeks his head into the guest room to see the coat balled up in Dean’s arms like a teddy bear.
But he files it away, and he thinks that this is only the beginning: things are about to get a lot worse.
~~~~~
Dean’s out on the back stoop with Cas when it happens. One minute, they’re each drinking a beer, and Dean’s still trying to come up with a way to explain the last few years, and the next minute, Cas is looking at him, a wealth of feeling in his eyes.
And Dean knows, he fucking knows that this is the Cas who had raised him from perdition and rebelled and searched for God, and stayed with him in Purgatory even though he probably could have gotten out on his own.
Just like he knows that Cas isn’t going to stick around now.
A few charged minutes later, and Cas disappears, and Sam sits down next to him. Dean can tell that Sam is trying to be supportive and helpful, but it’s clear that he doesn’t understand.
Dean’s not blind and he’s not stupid; Sam has been watching them the last few days with a puzzled air, as though he’s trying to get a handle on what Cas is to Dean. Dean doesn’t even bother trying to explain.
He can’t explain it to Cas, who doesn’t remember, and he can’t explain it to Sam, because Sam wasn’t there.
And yeah, the thing with the coat is stupid, and he feels like an idiot, but Cas’ trench coat is something to hang onto, something tangible, something real.
The second morning after Cas disappears, Sam says, “I’ve got a line on a job if you’re up to it.”
The fact that Sam is even asking if Dean’s up for it tells Dean that he’s pretty far gone, or maybe that Sam thinks he’s that far gone-and Sam probably isn’t wrong. But if Cas is going to continue to be crazy and watch bees or some shit like that, Dean’s just going to have to get used to it.
Purgatory taught him that he can get used to just about anything, even getting ripped to shreds. It might always hurt, but eventually you lost all fear.
“Sure,” Dean says. “What is it?”
Sam hesitates, then says, “Vampires. We’ve been having some trouble with nests lately. Every time we destroy one, another seems to pop up.”
“You keep saying ‘we,’” Dean observes. “And yet I haven’t seen anybody around here but you.”
Sam shrugs. “It’s pretty sporadic. Jody’s still sheriff, so she’s pretty busy, although she helps me with phone duty. Krissy’s starting college soon, but she helps Lee out when she can. And Garth has actually turned out to be a pretty decent hunter.”
“Are there more?” Dean asks, but more because he knows it’s expected than because he wants to know.
Sam nods, his smile holding more than a hint of relief, and Dean figures he’s made the right noises. “A few. I’m sure you’ll meet all of them eventually. Right now, though, we’re the only ones in the area who are free.”
Dean smiles. “Then I guess we kill a few vampires.”
The trip to Cedar Rapids only takes a couple of hours, and Dean cranks the music up so he doesn’t have to talk to Sam.
Sam lets him get away with it for about an hour before he turns the volume down and says, “We need to talk about this.”
“About what?”
“About this hunt,” Sam replies. “I’m assuming you didn’t do much of that in Purgatory.”
Dean frowns. “No, I was a little too busy trying to stay alive.” He turns the volume back up.
Sam turns it down. “Staying alive usually involves killing monsters.”
“And did you kill many demons while you were in hell?” Dean asks, knowing it’s a low blow even as the words leave his mouth.
Sam clenches his fists on his thighs but doesn’t respond otherwise. “I have no idea what Purgatory was like, Dean,” he replies, his tone impressively even. “Maybe if you told me about it, I’d understand.”
“It’s not a place that’s meant for humans,” Dean finally says. “At least, that’s how Cas explained it.”
He turns the volume back up, and this time Sam lets it go.
Dean wishes the silence felt comfortable between them. It had, once, before Purgatory; they’d been so in tune then that they’d done most of their communicating without words.
It’s like he’s forgotten how to talk to anybody who isn’t Cas, and the thought should cause more discomfort than it does.
Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Dean turns the volume down to manageable levels 20 miles outside of Cedar Rapids. “Look, nothing dies in Purgatory, okay? There was no point in trying to kill anything.”
“Okay,” Sam says slowly. “So, that explains why you didn’t hunt while you were there. What about now?”
“I’m out of Purgatory,” Dean replies. “I don’t mind sending a few monsters back there.”
Part II
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; too bad, so sad.
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Spoilers: Through S7
Word Count: ~23,700
Summary: Getting out of Purgatory is only the beginning. (Dean’s time in Purgatory changes him in ways Sam can’t understand, and leaves Castiel with only a shadow of his power. Dean and Cas need each other if they aren’t going to fall apart, and Sam somehow has to hold them all together.)
A/N: Written for the 2012 deancasbigbang. Title from the First Aid Kit song, “Josefin.”
Dean knows he’s shaking, his hands trembling, as he touches Cas’ face. “I don’t know how much longer I can last.”
“Don’t say that,” Cas replies fiercely. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“You can’t make that promise,” Dean replies. “We go together or not at all.”
“I can get you through, and you can figure out how to get me out later,” Cas argues, and it’s a lie.
It’s a lie, because Dean will never risk opening a gateway into Purgatory, no matter how much he might want to, not even for Cas.
And it’s a lie because as far as Dean knows, he can’t die here, no matter what seems to happen to him.
But not being able to die doesn’t preclude going crazy, and Dean thinks he might be getting close to losing it, to just giving up.
He now has some inkling of why Cas had gone completely bonkers.
“Let me try,” Cas begs.
“Give it a little longer.” Dean grasps Cas’ shoulder. “Just a little longer.”
They’ve found a cave, just big enough for the two of them if they press together chest to chest. Dean would have preferred to face the entrance, but there’s not enough room to turn around, so they’ll have to rely on kicking anything that tries to enter.
It’s better than some of the places they’ve stayed during their interminable time here.
Cas presses his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, and he says, “I’m sorry,” just as he has every night.
At least, it might be every night if the light ever changed here. Cas says it a lot, though.
“It’s okay,” Dean insists, even though it’s not, not remotely, but he’s long since forgiven Cas, his anger purged away in this barren place.
Cas is all Dean has here. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to hold on to his anger, too.
He shifts slightly, putting an arm around Cas’ shoulders, holding on as best he can. “We’re going to be okay,” Dean insists.
If he keeps saying it, he might just believe it.
~~~~~
Sam goes down the list of assignments slowly, one by one. The reports about the Leviathans are tapering off-finally. He’s lost track of how many they’ve killed at this point, and maybe it’s been too many to count.
And that’s in between demons-Crowley has been busy, trying to consolidate his position-and other monsters.
He fields a call from someone checking up on Lee’s credentials, staring at the cracked blue paint on the walls of his current residence, following the lines of the molding that might once have been white. When he gets another call from Jerry, out of Indiana, wanting to know the best way to deal with a Djinn, Sam passes along what information he has and tells Jerry to be careful, grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge.
Sam reiterates his instructions to be careful before he hangs up, because he can’t afford to lose any of his hunters, not if he wants to keep searching for a way to get Dean out of Purgatory without freeing anything else.
Jody calls after that, and Sam smiles and puts his feet up on the dilapidated table when she asks, “How’s it going, cowboy?”
“Fine,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Just thought I’d check in on you,” she replies. “Make sure you’re eating, sleeping-you know, the kinds of things that humans need to do.”
Sam shakes his head. “You’re not my mother. You realize that, right?”
“Hey, someone needs to remind you that you’re a real person with real needs,” Jody jokes. “Say it with me, Sam.”
“I need to eat a real meal and sleep a full eight hours every once in a while,” he says in unison with her. “And if I don’t, I won’t be any good to anybody.”
Sam adds that last bit himself, since Jody has said it often enough.
Jody laughs. “I see you have been listening.”
“I try. I just don’t always follow your advice,” Sam teases, and then there’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and he says, “I have to call you back.”
He ends the call and pulls out his 9 mil, pointing it at the portal that’s opening in the corner of the room. Sam thinks he’s prepared for anything, but he’s not ready for the lean form that comes tumbling into the room-dirt-encrusted and battered, but obviously human.
Later, Sam will tell himself that it’s only because he hasn’t seen Dean for years-almost three, at that point-that he doesn’t recognize his brother immediately. He’ll tell himself that it’s not that he’s given up on ever seeing Dean again.
He’ll remind himself that opening up a door to Purgatory had released the Leviathans, and he hadn’t found a way to keep them from coming through.
Sam will tell himself that it’s not a failure for Cas to have figured it out first.
But that’s later. Right now, his heart is in his throat as he stares at Dean’s tattered, bloodstained clothing, at his familiar, sprawled form. He blinks up at the ceiling, apparently stunned, unmoving, other than his chest expanding as he breathed. Other than the clothes, though, Dean looks the same as he had the night they took on Dick Roman.
Exactly the same.
“Dean?” Sam asks softly.
Dean pushes himself up on one elbow and looks around. “That son of a bitch.”
“Dean?” Sam says more insistently, keeping his gun trained on him.
“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him since-since the last time I saw you.”
“That jerk,” Dean fumes, getting to his feet. “He promised he wasn’t going to try to get me through without coming with me.”
Sam is still struggling to catch up. “Wait, what?”
Dean grins, his teeth very white against his dirty skin. “Man, I’m starving.” His eyes go to Sam’s weapon, but his grin doesn’t falter. “Better get the holy water,” he says easily. “Let’s get this over with so I can eat.”
Dean splashes holy water on his face, and pours more over his arm before he draws a silver blade across his skin without flinching. He bleeds red, but there’s no sign he feels any pain, and Sam is looking for it.
He’s looking for some sign that this is still his brother.
“Hey, look at that,” Dean says, watching the blood drip onto the table, with apparent fascination.
“Dean?” Sam prods, a little disturbed, although he can’t quite put his finger on why.
Dean glances up. “Hey, you got something I can wrap this with?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sam rummages for gauze. “Was Cas with you this whole time?”
“For the most part,” Dean replies. “How long has it been?”
Sam hands him the bandages and medical tape. “Two years, ten months, one week, and three days.”
Dean looks at the scarred, hardwood floor at that, his face softening. “I’m sorry. I came back as soon as I could.”
“How long was it for you?” Sam asks, his throat dry. He still hasn’t touched Dean yet, because he’s not entirely sure this is real.
Dean shrugs, wrapping the cut clumsily, as though out of practice. “Time doesn’t mean much in Purgatory,” he explains. “I have no idea how much time passed.” He pauses, and says, “I think it was longer.”
Sam takes the medical tape from Dean’s hand and tapes the gauze in place, ignoring the fact that Dean’s going to have to get cleaned up soon, and then it all has to come off. “How much longer?”
Dean shakes his head, watching Sam’s hands. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Dean,” Sam says helplessly. “I tried.”
Dean meets his eyes for the first time, and he smiles, his expression gentle. “I know you did, Sammy. It’s okay.”
He hasn’t aged a day, Sam thinks. Under the layers of dirt, he’s just the same, if Sam can look past Dean’s eyes, which are clear and calm, almost serene-not an expression he would have guessed Dean could ever wear comfortably.
“What happened to Cas?” Sam asks.
Dean’s eyes darken. “I don’t know,” he says. “He promised to wait until both of us could get clear.”
“I’ll have my people keep an ear out for him, just in case,” Sam promises.
Dean raises his eyebrows. “Your people?”
Sam smiles. “I have a lot to catch you up on.”
And then he does what he’s wanted to do since Dean tumbled into the room, and pulls him into a hug.
~~~~~
Dean has almost forgotten what hot water feels like against his skin; he’s almost forgotten the sensation of soap-slick skin, and sudsy hair, steamy air in his face.
He keeps his shower shorter than he’d like because his stomach is growling, and Sam has promised him a bacon cheeseburger and fries and a beer.
He’s pretty sure he’s going to embarrass both of them when he eats real food again, for the first time in-
Well, almost three years, by Earth’s reckoning; a lifetime or two by Purgatory’s.
Dean dries off, reveling in the feel of the thin, threadbare towel against his skin, and pauses to look at himself in the mirror.
Nothing has changed.
Dean touches his cheek-just as smooth as it had been when he’d been sucked into Purgatory, touches his stomach-no sign of where that creature had gutted him the first time he’d been killed.
He touches his tattoo, his neck, and it’s all smooth skin, no sign of wear and tear.
Dean half-expects Cas to pop up out of nowhere, the way he had before they’d killed Dick, back when Cas had been crazy.
Cas had shown up on the hood of Dean’s car, naked and covered in bees; he hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but he thinks he would now.
A couple of lifetimes spent with someone saving your life over and over bred a certain familiarity.
Dean rubs his eyes, worrying for Cas. Since he hasn’t popped in, even if just to be sure that Dean is in one piece, Dean has to assume that he’s still stuck in Purgatory, and he wonders if Cas stayed on purpose, to purge away the last of his guilt.
“Dean?” Sam calls. “You okay?”
“Fine!” he shouts, and hastily pulls on his clothing-his own, he thinks, stuff that Sam has apparently held onto all these years. He meets Sam in the same room he’d appeared. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I was clean.”
It’s true, both literally and metaphorically, although Dean’s guilt doesn’t weigh on him quite so heavily these days.
The common wisdom is that Purgatory is the place where souls go to be purged. Dean has no idea if it actually works like that, but after getting ripped to pieces a few dozen times, only to be in one piece again, Dean had begun to feel as though he’d done his penance.
Sam nods. “No problem. There’s a good burger joint close.”
Dean looks around at the faded wallpaper, the cracked ceiling, the scarred floors, and sees a place that looks lived-in. “How long have you been here?”
“About nine months,” Sam replies. “I finally gave in and got a few extra phone lines when I got this place.”
Dean smiles. “Like Bobby.”
Sam takes a deep, audible breath. “Yeah, someone had to fill that void.”
Dean wonders if he might have filled that role if he’d been around. “It’s good that you are,” he replies. “Bobby would be proud.”
“I hope so,” Sam says quietly.
Dean decides to change the subject. “So, food?”
Sam laughs. “I guess some things haven’t changed.
“Hey, man, I haven’t had anything to eat since before we went up against Dick,” Dean protests.
Sam frowns. “You didn’t eat in all that time?”
“Nothing to eat,” Dean says easily. “And technically, I didn’t need to,” he says, pulling on his boots.
“What do you mean, you didn’t need to?” Sam asks with his familiar curiosity.
Dean shrugs. “Nothing changes in Purgatory. Doesn’t matter what happens to you, or how long you go without food or drink.”
Horror slowly dawns on Sam’s face. “What happened?”
Dean shakes his head. “Not now, Sam. I-” Emotion chokes him for a minute. “Can we get something to eat?”
“Come on,” Sam replies. “There’s someone else who missed you.”
Dean grins when he sees his baby again, running his hand over the hood. “She looks just the same.”
“She is just the same,” Sam says, tossing Dean the keys. “I had to get her repaired, but Jody recommended a reputable body shop.”
Dean winces. “Where’s Meg?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Sam replies. “Crowley grabbed her, and I haven’t seen her since.”
Dean cares about as much as Sam does, although Cas will probably be upset; he’d somehow formed an attachment to the demon.
Although maybe he’d be over it by now. Assuming, of course, that Cas isn’t stuck in Purgatory.
The burger joint is upscale, with track lighting and nice upholstery and a gleaming wooden bar. They’ve got excellent burgers, though, and really good microbrews on tap, and the fries are just the right mixture of crispy outside and starchy inside.
Dean groans as he takes the first bite of his bacon cheeseburger. “Oh, God.”
Sam grins around a bite of his chicken sandwich. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Some things don’t change,” Dean says with his mouth full. “You were right. This place is awesome.”
“I thought you might like it.” Sam’s expression turns a little wistful. “You know, I think I’ve had a burger at just about every restaurant in town. I thought-I thought when you got back, I could tell you where the best place to go was.”
“Your sacrifice is appreciated,” Dean replies, touched at the demonstration of faith.
Sam grimaces. “You should be. It’s harder to find a good bacon cheeseburger than you might think.”
“Why do you think I keep ordering them?” Dean asks, and takes another bite.
He wishes Cas were here, though. That would make it just about perfect.
~~~~~
He wakes slowly, painfully, his head pounding. Slowly, his headache subsides enough to take in his surroundings-lumpy mattress under him, thin blanket over him, bright sunlight streaming in from the window just behind his right shoulder.
He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and sees a woman in pink scrubs standing next to his bed, beaming down at him. “Hi!” she says cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”
He has no idea where he is, or even who he is, but he tries cataloging his physical problems. “My head hurts,” he finally says. “And my leg hurts.”
“You were hit by a car,” she says helpfully.
He doesn’t remember that. “What?”
“You showed up in the middle of the street,” she replies. He reads her nametag, which says ‘Holly.’ “You were lucky the car only clipped you.”
“Lucky,” he echoes, having no idea what that actually means.
“Can you tell us your name?” she asks gently.
He realizes that he has no idea what his name is. “No,” he says, sounding faintly surprised even to his own ears. “I don’t remember my name.”
“What do you remember?” Her voice is pitched low and sympathetic, as though she understands. He knows instinctively that she doesn’t.
He searches for something, some memory, and comes up with a name. “Dean Winchester.”
“Is that your name?” Holly asks.
He shakes his head, certain of that much at least. “No. I need to call Dean Winchester. That’s the only thing I remember.”
“Do you remember his number?” Holly asks.
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Let me see if there was a phone in your belongings when they brought you in,” Holly replies.
He leans back in the bed, and turns his head enough to watch the dust motes float through the sunbeams coming through the window. He feels as though he ought to remember who he is, why he’s here, but his past is a blank. The only thing in his mind is a name, Dean Winchester, but he’s not sure why Dean Winchester is important to him.
Holly comes back into the room a few minutes later with a cell phone. “It looks like Dean is one of the entries,” she says. “Do you want to try?”
He’s suddenly certain that he doesn’t want to, but he knows he’ll never forgive himself if he refuses to try. “Yes,” he says. “I’ll try.”
He selects the number from his speed dial and punches the “call” button. “Hello?”
“Cas?” The voice on the other end is achingly familiar, and yet not, all at the same time. He’s not sure he could have recognized Dean Winchester’s voice before he heard it-he knows he couldn’t have picked Dean Winchester’s face out of a line-up-but right now, he feels as though he’s come home. “Where are you?”
“I’m not sure,” he says. “I’ll let you talk to the nurse.”
He hands the phone to Holly before Dean Winchester can object and hopes for the best.
“This is Holly,” she says. “To whom am I speaking?”
Listening desultorily to her end of the conversation, he doesn’t know how he should feel. Numb is the word that comes immediately to mind, but even that doesn’t completely suffice. Incomplete is better, because he feels like a huge chunk of himself is missing-not surprising, considering that he can’t remember anything other than “Dean Winchester.”
He hears her say, “He was admitted for observation after being struck by a car,” as he stares at the pale gray wall. “But he’ll recover. You know him?”
Focusing on a crack in the textured ceiling, he waits until Holly says, “Just a moment,” and hands the phone back to Cas.
“Cas? Hello?”
He has no idea what to say in response, so he settles on, “Hello.”
“What do you remember?” the man asks.
“Just your name,” he admits. “Dean Winchester. Your name was in my phone.”
“You did exactly the right thing, calling me,” the man says. “Just sit tight for me, okay? I’m going to come get you. Put me back on with the nurse.”
He doesn’t pay much attention to Holly’s side of the conversation, mostly because it’s half of the story. When Holly hangs up, she says, “Your friend will be here in tomorrow. It’s going to be fine.”
He rather doubts that, but he’s willing to take it on faith.
What else can he do?
~~~~~
Sam doesn’t know what to think about Dean’s insistence that he has to immediately drive to Oklahoma City to pick Cas up. In one sense, he gets it; however long Dean had been in Purgatory, Cas had been with him.
And Dean had been tangled up in Cas for a long time before that, too; it only makes sense that he’d want to pick Cas up from the hospital.
Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that Cas has amnesia. After all, when they’d run across him as Emmanuel, he hadn’t remembered anything from before.
Still, Sam is a little surprised by how quickly Dean agrees to go. He doesn’t even pause; he just says, “Okay, yeah, I’m coming to get him,” and that’s the end of it.
“You don’t have to come with me,” Dean says, as he picks up the few clothes he has and shoves them into the same duffel bag they’d been in for the last three years.
“I’m not letting you go by yourself,” Sam objects. “Not when I just got you back.”
A look of surprise crosses Dean’s face. “How long has it been?”
Sam feels a flicker of uneasiness. “Three days, Dean. It’s only been three days.”
“Oh.” Dean shrugs. “Time feels different.”
“I guess it would,” Sam replies, beginning to wonder if he’s gotten his brother back after all. “Is it okay? Me coming with you?”
Dean smiles easily. “Of course.”
Sam doesn’t expect Dean to let him drive, and he’s not disappointed. He’s hardly been able to peel Dean out from behind the wheel of the Impala, even if he’s not actually driving anywhere.
Maybe the Impala feels more like home, Sam thinks. Hell, the Impala is as close to a home as they’ve ever had, so it makes sense Dean would go there to reconnect with the world. Sam has learned to join him there if he wants to have a conversation.
It’s almost like the old days, if not for the silence in the car.
Sam clears his throat. “Do you want to put some music on?”
“Huh?”
Sam swallows his sarcastic remark. “Music?”
Dean frowns, almost as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “Yeah, pick something, would you?”
Sam blinks and decides that his best option is to go with the classics. He hasn’t changed the tape deck, not in three years-not like when Dean was in Hell and he’d put in an iPod jack. He picks up Back in Black, because it seems appropriate to the situation.
Dean grins when he hears the opening chords. “Hey, I remember this.”
Sam breathes a sigh of relief. “I would hope so.”
He plays all of Dean’s favorites on the drive to Oklahoma City, wanting his brother back, more than anything else, hoping that the familiar tunes will remind Dean of who and what he had been.
Dean’s singing along by the time they hit the halfway mark on the drive, to “Eye of the Tiger,” no less, in his familiar, off-key voice.
Sam begins to relax a bit at that. Dean might have changed, but he’s still fundamentally the same guy.
“So, you and Cas,” Sam begins after the song is over.
Dean shrugs. “Yeah.”
“You’re together?”
Dean shakes his head. “Not the way you mean. It’s a bad idea to get caught with your pants down around your ankles when something could rip your balls off.”
Sam lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s not like that in Purgatory, anyway,” Dean says offhandedly.
This is the most Dean has talked about actual conditions in Purgatory since he’d shown up in Sam’s living room. Sam decides to tread carefully. “Yeah?”
“There’s no night, no day,” Dean says reflectively. “No sun.”
Sam’s fists clench on his thighs, hearing the implications of Dean’s words easily enough. He knows that time had passed differently in hell, and that Dean had broken-by his own admission.
Now, Dean can’t tell Sam how long he’d spent in Purgatory, but that it had been longer than three years. Sam keeps looking for a sign that Dean had broken there, too.
Maybe it had been different, since Cas had been with him, but Sam isn’t so sure about that.
“There’s nothing to eat, unless you like raw monster meat, but Cas seemed to think I might not stay human if I did that,” Dean continues.
“Probably best to avoid that if you can,” Sam allows.
Dean shrugs. “I got through it, didn’t I?”
Sam wants to question how well he got through it, but it’s too soon for that. Sam hasn’t completed his own evaluation yet. “I guess you did. Cas got you out.”
Dean looks disgruntled. “Yeah, but he promised he would come with me.”
“Maybe he couldn’t.”
“Obviously,” Dean shoots back. “He wound up in a hospital in OK City without his memories.”
“He remembered you,” Sam points out. “So that’s something.”
“He remembered my name,” Dean counters. “That doesn’t mean he remembers…”
Dean trails off, and Sam’s not sure if he’s lost his train of thought, or if he just doesn’t want to go into details about what Cas ought to remember.
“Dean?” Sam prompts.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dean grumbles.
Sam frowns. “Looks like it does.”
“Maybe it’s better this way,” Dean murmurs. “That he doesn’t remember.”
“Was it really so bad?” Sam asks.
“It wasn’t a bed of roses.”
“That’s about the least descriptive way of putting things I’ve ever heard,” Sam complains.
Dean laughs, and it’s a genuine laugh. “You’d have to be there to understand.”
Sam has a feeling he’s going to be hearing that a lot. “If you used more words, I might get closer.”
Dean smirks. “I may have changed, Sammy, but I haven’t changed that much.”
Sam has to laugh at that, and he can’t argue, because Dean’s never been terribly forthcoming about his feelings.
And that’s definitely an understatement.
“What are you expecting out of Cas?” Sam asks.
“He doesn’t remember anything other than my name,” Dean snaps. “I don’t expect much.”
Sore spot, Sam thinks, and resolves not to bring that subject up again. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” he manages. “He did remember your name, even if he doesn’t remember anything else.”
“I guess there’s that.”
Sam suspects that there’s more that happened in Purgatory than Dean will ever tell him. That’s nothing new, but he’d half-hoped that Dean would be a little more forthcoming, at least about Purgatory.
It’s a false hope; Sam gets that. He just can’t help it.
They stop along the highway just outside of Wichita to catch a few hours of sleep, putting them in Oklahoma City mid-morning the next day. Sam trails along in Dean’s wake, content to let Dean take the lead in this.
After all, Cas is Dean’s boyfriend, not his.
Dean doesn’t even bother stopping by reception; the nurse had given him Cas’ floor and room number when Cas had called the day before.
In all honestly, Sam’s kind of looking forward to seeing the guy, amnesia or no, because he’s the one who’s been with Dean all this time, watching his back, and he’s the one who got Dean out.
Sam owes Cas, and he pays his debts.
He stops just inside the doorway, though, wanting to give Dean some time.
Cas looks the same, mostly. The stubble on his face is thick, and his skin is pale above his hospital gown. “Hello?” he says cautiously.
“It’s me, Dean.” Dean’s tone is so hopeful that Sam’s stomach twists. “How are you feeling, Cas?”
“A little blank,” he admits. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.”
Dean glances over his shoulder at Sam, and his newfound serenity has cracked a bit-his mouth is twisted in an unhappy grimace, and his expression is a bit lost. “It’s okay,” Dean says, turning back to Cas. “We go way back. I remember enough for the both of us. Do you remember my brother, Sam?”
Cas’ eyes go to Sam, and there’s no recognition at all on his face. He gives Sam the polite smile he might have offered a stranger. “No, I’m sorry. Hello.”
“Hey, Cas,” Sam says easily. He’s faced stranger situations in the last few years. “You feeling okay?”
“A little sore,” Cas replies earnestly. “They tell me I was hit by a car.”
“Bad?” Sam asks.
Cas shakes his head. “The nurse said I was lucky nothing was broken. It’s just bruises.”
“They got you on the good drugs?” Dean asks, leaning against the hospital bed.
Cas frowns. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means you’re feeling no pain,” Dean says.
Cas’ brow furrows in confusion. “But I just said I was sore.”
Dean laughs. “Yeah, you did. Sorry. You want to get out of here?”
“Where are we going?” he asks, sounding so trusting for someone who’s putting his life in the hands of a couple of strangers.
“Sam has a place,” Dean replies. “I brought you some of my clothes. We didn’t have any of yours handy.”
“That’s okay,” Cas assures them. “I’d just really like to get out of this thing.”
Dean grins. “That’s what everybody says about hospital gowns.”
Sam knows they have a game plan; he’s going to take them back to his place, and then they’re going to continue with the business of hunting.
He suspects it’s not going to be that easy.
~~~~~
Castiel hasn’t told Dean that he could leave Purgatory at any time-not easily, and not without consequences, but he could leave Dean behind, and go back to Earth, or back to heaven.
He might have tried if Dean had needed food or drink, but it soon becomes obvious that Dean’s physical body is in something of a stasis while in Purgatory. He’s hungry, but he does not starve; Dean is thirsty, but not dehydrated.
Dean is ripped to shreds in front of Castiel.
The first time, Castiel sits next to Dean’s cooling body and wonders if he’ll be able to bear Dean back to Earth, so at least Sam will know what happened, or if he’ll have to leave Dean here, atop soil that he’s not sure he can break.
Castiel pulls Dean’s body into his lap and wishes he still believed that his father might answer his prayers.
Once, he’d believed that God had been the one to resurrect him as a sign of Castiel’s faithfulness. Now, he thinks it’s more likely a punishment, although from whom or for what, he cannot say.
Castiel had believed that Dean would be his salvation. If he could save Dean; if he could redeem himself in Dean’s eyes, that would be enough.
And now Dean is dead, torn apart by some creature in Purgatory that not even Castiel recognized, before Castiel could save him.
And he knows that if he cannot take Dean out with him, Castiel will stay. He has nothing left other than Dean.
Castiel’s father is gone, his purpose his gone, his garrison is gone.
His sanity is gone, although his mind has been clearer here, in Purgatory, with one overriding goal: to keep Dean safe.
He has failed at that.
Castiel clutches Dean close to him, uncaring about the blood that gets on his coat and on the white scrubs he still wears.
And then Dean takes a deep breath, his eyes opening, and he sits up, breaking Castiel’s grip.
“What-” Dean begins, and then collapses back onto Cas. “What the fuck?”
Castiel pushes Dean’s jacket aside and runs his hands over the Dean’s abdomen, where his mortal wounds had been. “I don’t know,” Castiel replies, although he knows better than that.
If hunger and thirst can’t kill Dean here, nothing else can either.
It looks like Dean is going to learn what it means to have multiple resurrections be a punishment.
“Fuck,” Dean says. “That sucked.” He runs a hand down his chest. “This is just going to get worse, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel confesses. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, not this time.” Dean gives him a rueful smile. “It’s going to be okay,” he promises. “We’re going to get out of here.”
Castiel wishes he could believe that.
~~~~~
Dean has no idea what to do with this version of Cas. It’s not the first time he’s had to adjust where Cas is concerned-from the dispassionate angel of the Lord, to the almost-human friend, to the pretend God, to the amnesiac, to the crazy angel who had saved his brother’s life and sanity.
To the angel who had been with him every step of the way in Purgatory, who had stood between Dean and the monsters time after time. Who had been there every time Dean had woken up after being torn to pieces.
But all of those versions had remembered Dean-at least eventually-had remembered the history they shared, what little of it, or as much of it, as there had been. This version of Cas remembers nothing but Dean’s name.
Dean doesn’t know what to do with that.
“You going to be okay?” Dean asks. “It’s going to be a long drive.”
“I’m okay,” Cas insists. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
That much is true, and Dean decides not to argue with him. “Let us know if you need anything,” Dean says.
They hadn’t always said much while they were in Purgatory. Silence had become comfortable, and Dean isn’t sure what to say to Sam now, not with Cas there in the backseat.
So, he drives, finding a sense of peace behind the wheel of the Impala with CCR blasting in the background. He knows what Sam is trying to do; he knows Sam is trying to remind Dean of who he had been.
“What is this music?” Cas asks when the album restarts.
“Creedance Clearwater Revival,” Dean replies. “It’s classic rock. Do you like it?”
There’s a long pause and Dean glances into the rearview to see Cas’ expression. Cas seems to be considering his answer, but he’s still there, which is all Dean really cares about at the moment.
Cas will get his memories back eventually; he had before. Dean just has to wait it out.
“I do like it,” Cas says after due consideration.
“I don’t know anyone who doesn’t,” Dean says, and doesn’t add that he wouldn’t want to know them. That goes without saying.
Of course, he and Cas have never talked about musical preferences, so he’s glad that Cas can at least appreciate some classic rock.
“You want to listen to something else?” Dean asks.
“I don’t care,” Cas says. “Whatever you want.”
Dean frowns and wonders whether it means something that Cas doesn’t have an opinion-other than Cas doesn’t know much about music.
He decides to view Cas as a blank slate and take the opportunity to indoctrinate him into the art of classic rock. “Sam? We got any AC/DC?”
Sam gives him a strange look but says, “Sure we do.”
The opening chords of “Hells Bells” fill the car, and Dean grins, glancing once again into the rearview mirror. Cas stares out the window, but he has a faint smile on his face, and Dean takes that as a good sign.
He wishes there’s something he can say that has nothing to do with the Purgatory or what has happened between them in the past, but the only thing they’ve got is a shared history.
Hell, Dean has no idea how to tell Cas that he is-had been-an angel of the freaking Lord.
They stop for dinner in Wichita, at a roadside diner, and Cas studies the menu a long time. When the waitress comes by a third time, Dean asks, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I have no idea what I like,” Cas replies, sounding bewildered.
Dean glances up at the waitress. “Bacon cheeseburger and fries,” he orders, and points at Cas. “He’ll have what I’m having.”
“I’ll do the club sandwich,” Sam says. “Side salad instead of fries, though.”
Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam getting a salad is so familiar, it makes him feel a little more connected.
“Why a salad?” Cas asks.
“Because I don’t want to die of a heart attack at 50,” Sam says with a look at Dean.
Dean shrugs. “I doubt I’ll live that long.”
He doesn’t miss the look of alarm that crosses Sam’s face, but Dean doesn’t know what to do with it. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just speaking the truth. Dean’s beat the odds again and again, most recently by getting out of Purgatory, and his luck is going to run out eventually.
Dean is never going to be an old hunter. He’s okay with that. He’s died often enough now, the idea doesn’t faze him anymore.
Sam checks his phone, answering emails that have come in, and Dean watches Cas, who’s staring out the window with characteristic wide-eyed wonder. Dean studies him, looking for differences, but he can’t see them.
Cas’ hair is messy, uncombed, and Dean’s old t-shirt hangs a little loosely on him. The trench coat is bundled away in the trunk again, and that feels right, too. If Cas isn’t wearing it, then it belongs in the trunk of the Impala.
“How did we meet?” Cas asks suddenly, and Dean is surprised that it’s taken him this long to ask.
Although maybe it makes sense, since Cas had probably been looking for any port in the storm, anything familiar, and hadn’t wanted to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Dean has no idea how to respond, what to tell him, but he decides to go with the most basic version of the truth. “You saved my life.”
Cas’ eyes go wide. “Me?”
“You pulled me out of a-really bad situation,” Dean says, ignoring Sam’s raised eyebrow.
Cas frowns. “What kind of a situation?”
“That’s a little harder,” Dean admits. “It’s-weird. We’ve been involved in some weird stuff.”
“Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” Cas replies wryly. “I did wake up without any other memory but your name.”
Dean grins. “But what a great memory it is.”
Cas’ answering smile turns a little shy, and he glances away, his blue eyes dark.
When the waitress brings their meals, Cas falls on his burger as though he hasn’t eaten in days, and given the quality of most hospital food, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if that weren’t the case.
“This is good,” Cas says around a mouthful of food. “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean smiles, and thinks they have a place to start.
~~~~~
Sam knows that Purgatory changed Dean, but he hadn’t realized how much until after they picked Cas up from the hospital in Oklahoma City. Dean has seemed disconnected since he got back, not entirely himself, but when he sees Cas, it’s like the rest of the world no longer exists.
If he didn’t know better, he would have said Dean was in love, but that doesn’t quite cover it either.
In a way, it’s like the way Sam and Dean were at the best of times, or worst of times, depending on the point of view. When they could communicate with a look and half a phrase, and know everything the other was thinking; when they had been in sync, bound together so closely that nothing could come between them.
And then Dean had spent three years-Earth time-in Purgatory, and Sam had built up a network of hunters by necessity, and Dean had relied on Cas, and now they’re here.
Now they’re here, in Des Moines, in Sam’s small, rented house, and Dean is sitting out on the back porch with Cas, and Sam’s in here, fielding calls and answering questions that come in from other hunters, just as he’s done for the last three years.
And Sam is beginning to think that he doesn’t know his brother at all anymore.
“Yo, Sam,” Krissy says, calling two days after their return from Oklahoma. “We need your help.”
“I thought you were in school,” Sam says.
“I graduated early, and I don’t start college for months, pay attention,” Krissy says. “We need some help with a succubus.”
“Hit me,” Sam says, grateful to have something else to focus on. “Give me the details.”
Krissy runs down their present hunt, and finally Sam asks, “Why isn’t your dad making this call?”
“He’s staking out a local strip joint,” she replies, and Sam can hear her eye roll over the phone. “He says I’m too young, or maybe too old. I’m not sure which.”
Sam chuckles. “Yeah, well, I happen to think he’s right.” He gives her the rundown on how to kill it and says, “Be careful, huh?”
“Yeah, sure,” Krissy replies. “Always. How are you?”
She’s one of the few who still asks, maybe because she’d formed some kind of nascent connection with Dean before he’d disappeared, which means she’s one of the few he’ll be honest with. “Dean’s back.”
There’s a long pause, and she says, “Seriously?”
“Our friend, Cas, got him out.”
“Is he okay?”
“Okay might be a stretch,” San admits. “But he’s in one piece, and I think he’ll be okay eventually.”
That’s probably overly optimistic. Sam’s pretty sure that he and Dean don’t fit anybody’s definition of “okay,” but maybe they’re close enough. Dean isn’t in Purgatory anymore, and that’s really the important thing.
“You need us, just call,” Krissy replies. “You know we’ll come running.”
“I appreciate it,” Sam says, and he does. He wouldn’t call his network “family,” but they’d been the closest thing to it he’d had for the last couple of years. “Call me if you need anything.”
He hangs up to find Dean standing just inside the doorway, and he asks, “Who was that?”
“Krissy,” Sam replies. “Do you remember her?”
Dean frowns, and Sam wonders once again how long it had been for him. He knows-he knows-that Dean had spent far longer in hell than the three months that had passed on Earth, but this feels different. Maybe Dean had been a little more broken, maybe he’d drunk a little more, but he hadn’t been all that different.
Right now, Sam feels as though he’s looking at a stranger, and watching Dean try to summon up the memory of Krissy, someone who had made a serious impression on him at the time, it’s just another reminder that Dean has changed drastically.
“She was a kid,” Dean says slowly. “Her dad got captured. We helped her.”
“That’s right,” Sam encourages. “You liked her.”
Dean shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water. “That was a long time ago.”
“It was three years,” Sam says, some of his impatience evident in his voice. “Not that long.”
“It was a lot longer for me,” Dean says vaguely, staring at some point just beyond Sam’s shoulder, and Sam wants to shake him.
He wants to shake Dean until Dean punches him, and Sam will take the blow willingly, because it would mean that he has his brother back.
It would mean that Dean hasn’t changed all that much.
“Dean,” Sam says insistently. “Are you okay?”
“I thought I’d get a couple more beers,” Dean replies. “If that’s okay.”
He doesn’t say it sarcastically, is the thing. He says it like he means it, like anything Sam says would make a difference in what he does. Sam has to ask, “And if I said no?”
A strange expression crosses Dean’s face. “It’s your beer, isn’t it?”
He says it like he’s not sure of the answer.
“I bought it for us-for you,” Sam corrects him, feeling helpless in the face of the changes wrought upon Dean. “So it’s our beer.”
Dean takes half a step into the room, and then glances over his shoulder, out the screen door that faces the backyard, and Sam knows Dean is looking for Cas. “Is this real?”
Sam swallows. “Yeah, Dean. It’s real. You’re okay. You’re back.”
Dean nods. “Okay, thanks.”
Sam watches as he grabs a couple of bottles from the fridge and then drifts out the backdoor, and Sam follows, just far enough to see them. As far as he can tell, Dean hasn’t told Cas much about the past, and Cas hasn’t asked much. They’ve just sat around.
He thinks it would have been easier if they’d been sleeping in the same bed; he would have understood that kind of connection. Instead…
Instead, they sit on the couch, or on the back porch, and say very little, while Sam goes about his business-the life he’s built in Dean’s absence.
“Cas?” he hears Dean say, and the tone of Dean’s voice sends an alarm through Sam. He rushes through the back door. “Cas?”
“Dean.” And there’s something about the resonance of his tone that tells Sam that Cas is Castiel again. “Dean, you got out.”
Sam stops just outside the door, watching events unfold, feeling a sense of alarm that he can’t put a name to.
“You got me out,” Dean counters. “What do you remember?”
“Everything,” Cas says simply, and puts a finger up to trace the line of Dean’s jaw, and then down his throat. “I remember everything. I think I need to study the bees again. It’s been so long.”
“No,” Dean says abruptly. “Stay. For a while.”
“I can’t,” Cas replies, and then he’s gone, the space next to Dean empty on the stairs, and Sam hovers there, with no idea how to comfort his brother.
“Dean,” Sam says quietly.
Dean turns, and in his expression is naked longing. “Sammy, I don’t-” There’s a moment where Sam can see him fighting for control, and Dean’s eyes shutter, no feeling in them at all. “He’s gone.”
“I know,” Sam says, and sits down next to him. In all honesty, he’s been afraid of this very thing since Dean got the call from the hospital. “He’ll come back.”
“What if he can’t?” Dean asks. “What if-I don’t know.”
“He remembered you once before,” Sam says. “He has his phone, doesn’t he?”
Sam’s sorry he asked, because Dean begins a methodical search of the house, and it’s only when Dean can’t find Cas’ phone that he allows that Cas probably has it with him.
Sam doesn’t say anything when Dean pulls Cas’ trench coat out of the trunk of the Impala, just like he doesn’t say anything that night, when he peeks his head into the guest room to see the coat balled up in Dean’s arms like a teddy bear.
But he files it away, and he thinks that this is only the beginning: things are about to get a lot worse.
~~~~~
Dean’s out on the back stoop with Cas when it happens. One minute, they’re each drinking a beer, and Dean’s still trying to come up with a way to explain the last few years, and the next minute, Cas is looking at him, a wealth of feeling in his eyes.
And Dean knows, he fucking knows that this is the Cas who had raised him from perdition and rebelled and searched for God, and stayed with him in Purgatory even though he probably could have gotten out on his own.
Just like he knows that Cas isn’t going to stick around now.
A few charged minutes later, and Cas disappears, and Sam sits down next to him. Dean can tell that Sam is trying to be supportive and helpful, but it’s clear that he doesn’t understand.
Dean’s not blind and he’s not stupid; Sam has been watching them the last few days with a puzzled air, as though he’s trying to get a handle on what Cas is to Dean. Dean doesn’t even bother trying to explain.
He can’t explain it to Cas, who doesn’t remember, and he can’t explain it to Sam, because Sam wasn’t there.
And yeah, the thing with the coat is stupid, and he feels like an idiot, but Cas’ trench coat is something to hang onto, something tangible, something real.
The second morning after Cas disappears, Sam says, “I’ve got a line on a job if you’re up to it.”
The fact that Sam is even asking if Dean’s up for it tells Dean that he’s pretty far gone, or maybe that Sam thinks he’s that far gone-and Sam probably isn’t wrong. But if Cas is going to continue to be crazy and watch bees or some shit like that, Dean’s just going to have to get used to it.
Purgatory taught him that he can get used to just about anything, even getting ripped to shreds. It might always hurt, but eventually you lost all fear.
“Sure,” Dean says. “What is it?”
Sam hesitates, then says, “Vampires. We’ve been having some trouble with nests lately. Every time we destroy one, another seems to pop up.”
“You keep saying ‘we,’” Dean observes. “And yet I haven’t seen anybody around here but you.”
Sam shrugs. “It’s pretty sporadic. Jody’s still sheriff, so she’s pretty busy, although she helps me with phone duty. Krissy’s starting college soon, but she helps Lee out when she can. And Garth has actually turned out to be a pretty decent hunter.”
“Are there more?” Dean asks, but more because he knows it’s expected than because he wants to know.
Sam nods, his smile holding more than a hint of relief, and Dean figures he’s made the right noises. “A few. I’m sure you’ll meet all of them eventually. Right now, though, we’re the only ones in the area who are free.”
Dean smiles. “Then I guess we kill a few vampires.”
The trip to Cedar Rapids only takes a couple of hours, and Dean cranks the music up so he doesn’t have to talk to Sam.
Sam lets him get away with it for about an hour before he turns the volume down and says, “We need to talk about this.”
“About what?”
“About this hunt,” Sam replies. “I’m assuming you didn’t do much of that in Purgatory.”
Dean frowns. “No, I was a little too busy trying to stay alive.” He turns the volume back up.
Sam turns it down. “Staying alive usually involves killing monsters.”
“And did you kill many demons while you were in hell?” Dean asks, knowing it’s a low blow even as the words leave his mouth.
Sam clenches his fists on his thighs but doesn’t respond otherwise. “I have no idea what Purgatory was like, Dean,” he replies, his tone impressively even. “Maybe if you told me about it, I’d understand.”
“It’s not a place that’s meant for humans,” Dean finally says. “At least, that’s how Cas explained it.”
He turns the volume back up, and this time Sam lets it go.
Dean wishes the silence felt comfortable between them. It had, once, before Purgatory; they’d been so in tune then that they’d done most of their communicating without words.
It’s like he’s forgotten how to talk to anybody who isn’t Cas, and the thought should cause more discomfort than it does.
Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Dean turns the volume down to manageable levels 20 miles outside of Cedar Rapids. “Look, nothing dies in Purgatory, okay? There was no point in trying to kill anything.”
“Okay,” Sam says slowly. “So, that explains why you didn’t hunt while you were there. What about now?”
“I’m out of Purgatory,” Dean replies. “I don’t mind sending a few monsters back there.”
Part II