For Your Only Company 1/1
Spoilers for 3x12
Title: For Your Only Company
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Word Count: 3586
Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to the respective owners.
A/N: A semi-spin off... AU type thing because if I was the head demon I would have kept my happy ass right where it was and let the humans do their thing. I’d make a lazy demon. Spoilers for 3x12 Jus in bello
Summary: The Demons thought it ironic to allow the humans to deal with their problems. They found it ironic that the pathetic creatures would sign their own death warrants with the incarceration of the brothers.
Bobby's eyes darkened as he watched as four heavily armed guards lead a frail man into the court room. He knew he was in the right court, knew for a fact that he wasn't suffering from old age. He'd checked, double checked and then checked a few more times that he had the right room and the right passes to get in.
Meaning he'd called in more than his share of favors and was sitting in the favored Jury box. Since it was a closed trial.
Ellen had Dean's trial whose was due to start tomorrow morning, the day after poor Sammy's.
For a moment, he thought the feds were trying to put some imposter in Sam's face. For a moment he really believed that. Then he saw Sam's eyes, under the dull, thready hair that hung around his face like a dripping halo. He had to force his head from shaking in disbelieving shock.
The man before him, sitting down gingerly in the chair that was provided for him, arms shaking with strain, couldn't be farther from the man he knew as Sammy. The Sammy he had seen grow up.
There were barely any muscles left on the skinny frame, nothing left but a thin, burnt out body. He didn't even look up to calculate exactly where he was at; his eyes remained locked on his fingers, thin and dangerous.
Demons didn't even do this to their hosts.
He didn't even look up to see that he had support, that Bobby had come to save the day.
---
Ellen could barely contain the glare that fell upon her features. She had thought she was prepared for the sight that would greet her when Dean was lead in. From the explanation that Bobby had given her on Sam's state, she thought she was ready to see the strong Dean, weak and nearly broken.
She would never have been prepared to see the broken man that was lead in, limping and coughing. Eyes looking forward but empty of the very essence that made Dean.
An empty shell being lead to his slaughter.
His hair was long now, dull and thin. He looked taller now, thin bones sticking through the thick prison uniform.
Her own fingers dug into the thick flesh of her leg to keep the gasp held tightly inside of her. The other women in the jury box did gasp; though the reasoning was unclear, whether it be for his current state or from seeing someone who was claimed to be pure evil before them.
The mother in her wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, take care of him and comfort him until he was the Dean she knew and had to hold back the slap every time he was near her daughter. The hunter in her wanted to go to the prison and hurt everyone who had done this to the once brilliant soul.
Maybe both were the mother in her.
She didn't manage to hold back the glare when the guards didn't even give him time to sit down, preferring to slam him into place instead.
She heard the thud. They all heard the thud. Everyone watched as the chair fell over. Not a soul missed the crack that resounded through out the room as his arm got caught under the arm of the chair. No one spoke a word or moved to help. The poor person before her didn't even cry out, just allowed himself to be yanked up and put in place.
She wasn't sure she'd last the two more days she needed; she was almost certain Dean wouldn't.
---
The first word Sam spoke was when a psychologist took the stand on the third day of his trial. It was so quiet that Bobby almost missed it and everyone else did. His eyes instantly locked on the hunched over form. He watched as Sam cleared his throat, never raising his eyes from his fingers, the long nails digging into the otherwise perfect wood before him. When he spoke again, it was only one word, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Liar."
With his hand squeezing his own knee tightly, Bobby thought back, tried to recall what the psychologist had said. He wasn't particularly paying attention to the man since he wasn't really here to judge Sam.
"His father and older brother molested him."
That was what the psychologist said. He had dared to claim such an outrageous motion.
The judge went off on Sam, pulling the usual bull and then Sam's lawyer jumped all over that statement and the entire psychologist's testimony.
Had Bobby been planning to allow the trial to complete its self, he was pretty sure Sam had a fighting chance with the lack of evidence and bullshit testimonies. Sam's lawyer was tearing into everyone pulled to the stand and using everybody that Sam and Dean had saved to paint a pretty picture about the frail kid.
Of course, the names and witnesses for both Sam and Dean were forwarded to the lawyers due to Bobby.
---
Ellen relaxed slightly when Dean finally entered the courtroom with a cast covering his injured arm. Though, she could feel the tears in her eyes when she saw the sneaking glances of bruises on his neck, probably leading down to deeper, darker ones on his back.
Both Bobby and Ellen had had to modify their plans due to the condition of the boys. She refused to use the word frail, even in her mind. The word brought bile to her mouth when connected to her boys.
Bobby had told her Sam had finally spoken yesterday but Dean had yet to mutter a single word. Sometimes, she would stare at him, waiting for him to blink or to see his chest rise, fearing that he would pass away in the chair, right before her eyes. He didn't even comment when the same psychologist accused him of molesting Sammy. Claiming that the over protective brother would actually hurt his younger brother, his charge.
A few more hours and they would be out of here.
---
The guards always made sure that the brothers didn't even get a glance of one another.
It was hard. It was risky. Both Bobby and Ellen risked being arrested themselves to get the two boys. The others who were involved in the intricate rescue were at less risk, but there was still the slight chance that everyone would be arrested.
But for those two. For the two who had saved so many and changed everyone's lives, people were risking to risk everything for them.
---
The first few weeks had been fine for Dean. He was use to being alone. He could deal with it for a decent amount of time. He'd done it before. Never to this extreme, he'd never been completely cut off from human contact but he could last. He could make it. He always did.
He was good at coming out on top. He was real good at that.
So, the first few weeks were a breeze. He passed the time working out. Doing whatever he could possibly think of in the impossibly tiny cell.
He kept track of the days by the food being slid through the slot in the door. Two meals a day. Fourteen meals a week. Twenty eight meals in two weeks.
Then the handcuffs came. Holding his arms still, in place with no hope of escaping them. They barred him from most of the physical activities he had grown use to but there were still a few and he was pretty damn sure his abs would look awesome by the time he got out.
Two more weeks passed by. Twenty eight meals passed by. Twenty eight times until he managed to eat with his hands behind his back.
They came again.
A blind fold was placed across his face as if he could see in the windowless room that had become his new hell.
He started to lose track of meals, then of the days.
He started to lose track of his thoughts, of himself.
And he was starting to collapse under the silence that filled the room, heating the air up to the point where it was hard to breathe.
Before, he never enjoyed being alone but he could fill the space with pretty faces and empty smiles and soft groans in the night.
Before, he could make it.
Now, the sound of the door sliding open, yelling in protest as heavy metal slid across metal floors, brought feelings of apprehension gently mixed with hope.
He yearned to hear even one word. For someone to say something so he could reply, speak back to people instead of the empty darkness that fell around him, like a gentle sheet to cover him.
He lost everything.
He'd wake to the smell of food and find trays littering the floor, filled with food but causing his stomach to turn.
The cold began to sink into his already shivering body, slipping in through the cracks in his thin skin, digging until it found a home in his bones.
He found himself sleeping until the end.
---
Sam was never use to the quiet. Childhood had been filled with Dean and Dad's voices filling every nook and cranny so that no silence survived. Dad's snores managed to keep it at bay even in their sleep. Then college, loud parties and laughter had surrounded him. There was always music playing through thin walls, whispered voices and moans.
Jess had been the first person to grant him the silence he had searched for. But it wasn't true silence because she'd hum, she'd cook, she'd type. Everything was with noise but he enjoyed it.
He adjusted to the silence of his cell, though. He grew accustomed to it using his voice as a weapon against it; he'd sing Dean's songs, hum Jess' and belt out Dad's in a loud voice.
His mind moved miles a minute. Racing through ideas, lyrics and then disproving theories that were given to him at school and possibilities given to him by Dad.
By the time a guard came to taunt him, he was sure he had memorized every song he'd ever heard from the three very different people he knew. He also believed he had remembered hundreds of forgotten memories, buried by the passing of time.
Once or twice a week the same guard would pull open the only window to his cell, the one that resided on the grimy door that held him in. Once or twice a week, he would taunt Sam, try and pull a reaction that would stop his incessant singing.
At first, the guard had thought to attack his confidence. Attacking his singing.
As if he cared if the guard enjoyed the noise while he suffered the silence.
Then, once, sometime past the time when he found it pointless to keep up with the days, the guard had decided to allow him the small piece of information that Dean was in the infirmary.
Sick and dying.
He had no way to know if it was true or not, but, still, he found himself worrying over Dean's health. Over Dean's state.
He knew Dean never enjoyed being alone. Knew he needed company.
Knew that Dean was no where near him.
It took the guard forever to come back. It felt like forever at least but he had no way to know. There was no news of his brother's condition this time which either meant Dean was better or that it had been a lie.
Both ideas only brought a small amount of relief to his heavy heart.
Only the sight of Dean could ever fully remove it. And they'd been promised to never see each other again.
---
Ellen wasn't sure what to do as they drove a bland van down the empty highway, two states away and still running.
Sam's arms had wrapped around Dean the moment he had seen him and he had yet to let go, even while Dean coughed and wheezed, weakly gripping the cotton that covered Sam's legs.
Dean's only response to any of them had been to grab a hold of Sam’s wrist with his long, thin fingers as if he feared Sam was merely a delusion that would float away once more.
With each loud, body shaking cough that escaped Dean, Ellen's heart clenched and Bobby's hands tightened around the cracking steering wheel. The boy was sick and it scared her.
This was the boy who had managed to escape unscathed when Sam had come down with the flu, bringing John down for the count as well. John had been proud of the boy, amazed that he'd been able to deal with two very sick grumps.
Bobby, who could apparently read her thoughts, pointed out that he had never seen Dean sick a day in his life. His old, wrinkled eyes spent more time glancing at the rearview mirror than watching the road and Ellen didn't have the heart or strength to tell him what he was suppose to be doing.
If they crashed, well, they'd work that out later.
She couldn’t chastise the man over the same thing she had done while she was driving.
They had only stopped for gas. Nothing else. And then, it was Jo who climbed out of the ragged van, pumping the gas and paying quickly as Ellen and Bobby hid their faces from any prying camera's and kept Sam and Dean hidden under thick, warm blankets against wondering eyes.
Life would never be the same for the two, once confident, men.
But Ellen could, at the very least, get them looking like themselves once more.
---
The first night they spent in the cabin, hidden deep in the woods and surrounded by protection from wandering humans and monsters alike, lent to them by a mutual friend who had no connection to any of them, Dean woke up screaming. Ellen had only opened the door to check on the two, just to get a glance to make sure they were really there and she hadn't dreamt up the whole rescue and her boys were still in that nightmare that she was still living the same nightmare.
Dean had jerked awake. His eyes staring into the deep darkness brought by the empty woods around them and he had screamed.
She thought she would never hear the boy scream like that.
She never wanted to hear it again.
It was the sound of demons leaving a church.
Sam woke up just as instantly and sang to Dean. Sang. And she wasn't sure why or what that meant but she left the door open and walked away. Unwilling to close the boys in again.
When she entered the kitchen she was greeted by the sight of Bobby and Jack Daniels. Spread across the table was various news articles, all printed out.
He pointed at one before taking a swig, looking so much older than he was.
One of the guards sold their story to a newspaper. In exchange for countless money, they had reported to the people of America, and perhaps the world, the conditions the brothers were kept in.
The article ended with a single line written by a liberal.
No wonder they tried to escape.
"Joseph's gonna bring videos of the interview." Bobby mumbled before stumbling towards his room, going to slam the door before thinking better of it and leaving it open.
Later that night, after reading everything that had laid scattered on the table, after organizing them into neat little piles, she went in and pulled off Bobby's shoes and threw a blanket over the sprawled man.
She looked in on her boys once more, noting that both boys were wrapped in their own blankets before moving on to her own room, where she wrapped her arms around Jo, holding her close and cried, praying that her daughter stayed asleep.
---
When Sam finally woke up, he took pleasure in being able to walk around the cabin.
He didn't stop and no one could muster up the annoyance to tell him to sit down.
Dean had found himself a comfortable spot on the couch, wrapped up in a thick blanket and shivering as he tried to hold back his coughs, and watched Sam walk.
His eyes never left the taller boy but he did not speak.
Neither did Sam.
No one spoke a word.
---
On the third night there, Sam finally spoke. It wasn't to start a conversation, though. He gasped out Dean's name. Bobby figured it was suppose to be a yell but it didn't quite reach that level. A moment later, Dean fell over, his legs collapsing from under him. The cast that covered his arm slammed against the floor and everyone froze.
And then he tried to sit up but coughed instead and an arm went around his stomach as Sam helped him up.
As soon as Dean was placed on the couch, back in the spot he preferred, where the sun fell down onto his pale skin and heated it through the clear glass, Ellen was up, rummaging through the cabinets and grabbing every piece of medicine out of them.
Bobby was up, grabbing different nameless items, more than likely ingredients to some of the various at-home herbal cures he knew.
Jo stood frozen for a moment, shocked and scared at what she had just witnessed before suddenly, somehow, she had a wet washcloth in her hand and was placing it gently on Dean's forehead.
He still only acknowledged Sam.
---
The next day, Ellen woke to the sound of Jo's tears. She held the wounded girl, her naive daughter who had lost her final belief in the world.
When dawn broke the gloomy sky, she handed the blonde her passport that said she'd been in Mexico for the past two weeks and handed over her credit card. The beloved one that held her married name, and told her it was time to go.
She promised to call Jo back when the boys were back to who they all knew.
She kept the doubts to herself and forced the same smile she had worn to her husband’s funeral.
---
A week after they had entered the cabin, Dean managed to finish off a whole meal and Sam somehow smiled.
He was talking now, but not to Ellen or Bobby. He'd only whisper things to Dean. Things both Bobby and Ellen decided not to try to hear.
Through out the day, they'd hear Sam singing to Dean. Bobby heard songs that John had played on repeat and Ellen heard the songs that she would hear blaring from Dean's car whenever he use to pull up to her bar.
That night, as they watched an old action movie, Sam turned to whisper to Dean and everyone couldn't help but hear. "I sung to keep sane."
Dean turned away from the window, away from the clouded moonlight and gave a small smile to Sam.
A silent thank you for his efforts.
Ellen's heart cracked and she had to excuse herself to hide in the bathroom, where she hugged a towel to herself and cried in joy and sadness.
Bobby pinched himself to hold in the shout that almost left him, leaving it until the good guy in the movie punched the bad guy.
It hadn't really counted as a smile, not in the real world. But here, in this cabin. It was almost everything.
---
Weeks after they had all shut themselves away from civilization, Bobby overheard Dean ask Sam to leave the door open, in a quiet and broken voice, cracking without use.
He heard Sam laugh as he fell into bed.
He was sure the feeling that he felt inside would have matched the feeling of having a child.
He woke Ellen up without a second though, relaying the information to her and watched as she smiled and laughed before collapsing into his arms. He didn't say a word, knowing she was never as strong as she portrayed.
Not when it concerned her children.
The next day Dean didn't cough or shake with fever, instead he began to follow the path's Sam had followed. Flexing his legs, and counting his steps, trying to figure out how big the cabin was compared with his cell.
He would still stop in front of the windows though, allowing the sun to soak him. Getting lost in the tingles of heat that ran up his skin, tanning him slightly but not burning him like the silenced air had.
After watching him for hours, Sam moved to stand beside Dean, his eyes slipping close as he too enjoyed the feeling of what had been denied to him for so long.
The first time Sam spoke to either Ellen or Bobby was to ask if they could stop watching the same old movie.
The first time Dean spoke to anyone other than Sam, was to figure out where his car was and in what shape.
Each time, Bobby and Ellen broke into laughter and smiles.
-3586
A/N:
Okay, I was completely inspired by one single line in last nights episode and went into a frenzy of writing.
And it completely took care of my need to write something for Death note as well.
So, I am a very happy camper at the moment.
I hope you enoyed this!
Title: For Your Only Company
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Word Count: 3586
Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to the respective owners.
A/N: A semi-spin off... AU type thing because if I was the head demon I would have kept my happy ass right where it was and let the humans do their thing. I’d make a lazy demon. Spoilers for 3x12 Jus in bello
Summary: The Demons thought it ironic to allow the humans to deal with their problems. They found it ironic that the pathetic creatures would sign their own death warrants with the incarceration of the brothers.
Bobby's eyes darkened as he watched as four heavily armed guards lead a frail man into the court room. He knew he was in the right court, knew for a fact that he wasn't suffering from old age. He'd checked, double checked and then checked a few more times that he had the right room and the right passes to get in.
Meaning he'd called in more than his share of favors and was sitting in the favored Jury box. Since it was a closed trial.
Ellen had Dean's trial whose was due to start tomorrow morning, the day after poor Sammy's.
For a moment, he thought the feds were trying to put some imposter in Sam's face. For a moment he really believed that. Then he saw Sam's eyes, under the dull, thready hair that hung around his face like a dripping halo. He had to force his head from shaking in disbelieving shock.
The man before him, sitting down gingerly in the chair that was provided for him, arms shaking with strain, couldn't be farther from the man he knew as Sammy. The Sammy he had seen grow up.
There were barely any muscles left on the skinny frame, nothing left but a thin, burnt out body. He didn't even look up to calculate exactly where he was at; his eyes remained locked on his fingers, thin and dangerous.
Demons didn't even do this to their hosts.
He didn't even look up to see that he had support, that Bobby had come to save the day.
---
Ellen could barely contain the glare that fell upon her features. She had thought she was prepared for the sight that would greet her when Dean was lead in. From the explanation that Bobby had given her on Sam's state, she thought she was ready to see the strong Dean, weak and nearly broken.
She would never have been prepared to see the broken man that was lead in, limping and coughing. Eyes looking forward but empty of the very essence that made Dean.
An empty shell being lead to his slaughter.
His hair was long now, dull and thin. He looked taller now, thin bones sticking through the thick prison uniform.
Her own fingers dug into the thick flesh of her leg to keep the gasp held tightly inside of her. The other women in the jury box did gasp; though the reasoning was unclear, whether it be for his current state or from seeing someone who was claimed to be pure evil before them.
The mother in her wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, take care of him and comfort him until he was the Dean she knew and had to hold back the slap every time he was near her daughter. The hunter in her wanted to go to the prison and hurt everyone who had done this to the once brilliant soul.
Maybe both were the mother in her.
She didn't manage to hold back the glare when the guards didn't even give him time to sit down, preferring to slam him into place instead.
She heard the thud. They all heard the thud. Everyone watched as the chair fell over. Not a soul missed the crack that resounded through out the room as his arm got caught under the arm of the chair. No one spoke a word or moved to help. The poor person before her didn't even cry out, just allowed himself to be yanked up and put in place.
She wasn't sure she'd last the two more days she needed; she was almost certain Dean wouldn't.
---
The first word Sam spoke was when a psychologist took the stand on the third day of his trial. It was so quiet that Bobby almost missed it and everyone else did. His eyes instantly locked on the hunched over form. He watched as Sam cleared his throat, never raising his eyes from his fingers, the long nails digging into the otherwise perfect wood before him. When he spoke again, it was only one word, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Liar."
With his hand squeezing his own knee tightly, Bobby thought back, tried to recall what the psychologist had said. He wasn't particularly paying attention to the man since he wasn't really here to judge Sam.
"His father and older brother molested him."
That was what the psychologist said. He had dared to claim such an outrageous motion.
The judge went off on Sam, pulling the usual bull and then Sam's lawyer jumped all over that statement and the entire psychologist's testimony.
Had Bobby been planning to allow the trial to complete its self, he was pretty sure Sam had a fighting chance with the lack of evidence and bullshit testimonies. Sam's lawyer was tearing into everyone pulled to the stand and using everybody that Sam and Dean had saved to paint a pretty picture about the frail kid.
Of course, the names and witnesses for both Sam and Dean were forwarded to the lawyers due to Bobby.
---
Ellen relaxed slightly when Dean finally entered the courtroom with a cast covering his injured arm. Though, she could feel the tears in her eyes when she saw the sneaking glances of bruises on his neck, probably leading down to deeper, darker ones on his back.
Both Bobby and Ellen had had to modify their plans due to the condition of the boys. She refused to use the word frail, even in her mind. The word brought bile to her mouth when connected to her boys.
Bobby had told her Sam had finally spoken yesterday but Dean had yet to mutter a single word. Sometimes, she would stare at him, waiting for him to blink or to see his chest rise, fearing that he would pass away in the chair, right before her eyes. He didn't even comment when the same psychologist accused him of molesting Sammy. Claiming that the over protective brother would actually hurt his younger brother, his charge.
A few more hours and they would be out of here.
---
The guards always made sure that the brothers didn't even get a glance of one another.
It was hard. It was risky. Both Bobby and Ellen risked being arrested themselves to get the two boys. The others who were involved in the intricate rescue were at less risk, but there was still the slight chance that everyone would be arrested.
But for those two. For the two who had saved so many and changed everyone's lives, people were risking to risk everything for them.
---
The first few weeks had been fine for Dean. He was use to being alone. He could deal with it for a decent amount of time. He'd done it before. Never to this extreme, he'd never been completely cut off from human contact but he could last. He could make it. He always did.
He was good at coming out on top. He was real good at that.
So, the first few weeks were a breeze. He passed the time working out. Doing whatever he could possibly think of in the impossibly tiny cell.
He kept track of the days by the food being slid through the slot in the door. Two meals a day. Fourteen meals a week. Twenty eight meals in two weeks.
Then the handcuffs came. Holding his arms still, in place with no hope of escaping them. They barred him from most of the physical activities he had grown use to but there were still a few and he was pretty damn sure his abs would look awesome by the time he got out.
Two more weeks passed by. Twenty eight meals passed by. Twenty eight times until he managed to eat with his hands behind his back.
They came again.
A blind fold was placed across his face as if he could see in the windowless room that had become his new hell.
He started to lose track of meals, then of the days.
He started to lose track of his thoughts, of himself.
And he was starting to collapse under the silence that filled the room, heating the air up to the point where it was hard to breathe.
Before, he never enjoyed being alone but he could fill the space with pretty faces and empty smiles and soft groans in the night.
Before, he could make it.
Now, the sound of the door sliding open, yelling in protest as heavy metal slid across metal floors, brought feelings of apprehension gently mixed with hope.
He yearned to hear even one word. For someone to say something so he could reply, speak back to people instead of the empty darkness that fell around him, like a gentle sheet to cover him.
He lost everything.
He'd wake to the smell of food and find trays littering the floor, filled with food but causing his stomach to turn.
The cold began to sink into his already shivering body, slipping in through the cracks in his thin skin, digging until it found a home in his bones.
He found himself sleeping until the end.
---
Sam was never use to the quiet. Childhood had been filled with Dean and Dad's voices filling every nook and cranny so that no silence survived. Dad's snores managed to keep it at bay even in their sleep. Then college, loud parties and laughter had surrounded him. There was always music playing through thin walls, whispered voices and moans.
Jess had been the first person to grant him the silence he had searched for. But it wasn't true silence because she'd hum, she'd cook, she'd type. Everything was with noise but he enjoyed it.
He adjusted to the silence of his cell, though. He grew accustomed to it using his voice as a weapon against it; he'd sing Dean's songs, hum Jess' and belt out Dad's in a loud voice.
His mind moved miles a minute. Racing through ideas, lyrics and then disproving theories that were given to him at school and possibilities given to him by Dad.
By the time a guard came to taunt him, he was sure he had memorized every song he'd ever heard from the three very different people he knew. He also believed he had remembered hundreds of forgotten memories, buried by the passing of time.
Once or twice a week the same guard would pull open the only window to his cell, the one that resided on the grimy door that held him in. Once or twice a week, he would taunt Sam, try and pull a reaction that would stop his incessant singing.
At first, the guard had thought to attack his confidence. Attacking his singing.
As if he cared if the guard enjoyed the noise while he suffered the silence.
Then, once, sometime past the time when he found it pointless to keep up with the days, the guard had decided to allow him the small piece of information that Dean was in the infirmary.
Sick and dying.
He had no way to know if it was true or not, but, still, he found himself worrying over Dean's health. Over Dean's state.
He knew Dean never enjoyed being alone. Knew he needed company.
Knew that Dean was no where near him.
It took the guard forever to come back. It felt like forever at least but he had no way to know. There was no news of his brother's condition this time which either meant Dean was better or that it had been a lie.
Both ideas only brought a small amount of relief to his heavy heart.
Only the sight of Dean could ever fully remove it. And they'd been promised to never see each other again.
---
Ellen wasn't sure what to do as they drove a bland van down the empty highway, two states away and still running.
Sam's arms had wrapped around Dean the moment he had seen him and he had yet to let go, even while Dean coughed and wheezed, weakly gripping the cotton that covered Sam's legs.
Dean's only response to any of them had been to grab a hold of Sam’s wrist with his long, thin fingers as if he feared Sam was merely a delusion that would float away once more.
With each loud, body shaking cough that escaped Dean, Ellen's heart clenched and Bobby's hands tightened around the cracking steering wheel. The boy was sick and it scared her.
This was the boy who had managed to escape unscathed when Sam had come down with the flu, bringing John down for the count as well. John had been proud of the boy, amazed that he'd been able to deal with two very sick grumps.
Bobby, who could apparently read her thoughts, pointed out that he had never seen Dean sick a day in his life. His old, wrinkled eyes spent more time glancing at the rearview mirror than watching the road and Ellen didn't have the heart or strength to tell him what he was suppose to be doing.
If they crashed, well, they'd work that out later.
She couldn’t chastise the man over the same thing she had done while she was driving.
They had only stopped for gas. Nothing else. And then, it was Jo who climbed out of the ragged van, pumping the gas and paying quickly as Ellen and Bobby hid their faces from any prying camera's and kept Sam and Dean hidden under thick, warm blankets against wondering eyes.
Life would never be the same for the two, once confident, men.
But Ellen could, at the very least, get them looking like themselves once more.
---
The first night they spent in the cabin, hidden deep in the woods and surrounded by protection from wandering humans and monsters alike, lent to them by a mutual friend who had no connection to any of them, Dean woke up screaming. Ellen had only opened the door to check on the two, just to get a glance to make sure they were really there and she hadn't dreamt up the whole rescue and her boys were still in that nightmare that she was still living the same nightmare.
Dean had jerked awake. His eyes staring into the deep darkness brought by the empty woods around them and he had screamed.
She thought she would never hear the boy scream like that.
She never wanted to hear it again.
It was the sound of demons leaving a church.
Sam woke up just as instantly and sang to Dean. Sang. And she wasn't sure why or what that meant but she left the door open and walked away. Unwilling to close the boys in again.
When she entered the kitchen she was greeted by the sight of Bobby and Jack Daniels. Spread across the table was various news articles, all printed out.
He pointed at one before taking a swig, looking so much older than he was.
One of the guards sold their story to a newspaper. In exchange for countless money, they had reported to the people of America, and perhaps the world, the conditions the brothers were kept in.
The article ended with a single line written by a liberal.
No wonder they tried to escape.
"Joseph's gonna bring videos of the interview." Bobby mumbled before stumbling towards his room, going to slam the door before thinking better of it and leaving it open.
Later that night, after reading everything that had laid scattered on the table, after organizing them into neat little piles, she went in and pulled off Bobby's shoes and threw a blanket over the sprawled man.
She looked in on her boys once more, noting that both boys were wrapped in their own blankets before moving on to her own room, where she wrapped her arms around Jo, holding her close and cried, praying that her daughter stayed asleep.
---
When Sam finally woke up, he took pleasure in being able to walk around the cabin.
He didn't stop and no one could muster up the annoyance to tell him to sit down.
Dean had found himself a comfortable spot on the couch, wrapped up in a thick blanket and shivering as he tried to hold back his coughs, and watched Sam walk.
His eyes never left the taller boy but he did not speak.
Neither did Sam.
No one spoke a word.
---
On the third night there, Sam finally spoke. It wasn't to start a conversation, though. He gasped out Dean's name. Bobby figured it was suppose to be a yell but it didn't quite reach that level. A moment later, Dean fell over, his legs collapsing from under him. The cast that covered his arm slammed against the floor and everyone froze.
And then he tried to sit up but coughed instead and an arm went around his stomach as Sam helped him up.
As soon as Dean was placed on the couch, back in the spot he preferred, where the sun fell down onto his pale skin and heated it through the clear glass, Ellen was up, rummaging through the cabinets and grabbing every piece of medicine out of them.
Bobby was up, grabbing different nameless items, more than likely ingredients to some of the various at-home herbal cures he knew.
Jo stood frozen for a moment, shocked and scared at what she had just witnessed before suddenly, somehow, she had a wet washcloth in her hand and was placing it gently on Dean's forehead.
He still only acknowledged Sam.
---
The next day, Ellen woke to the sound of Jo's tears. She held the wounded girl, her naive daughter who had lost her final belief in the world.
When dawn broke the gloomy sky, she handed the blonde her passport that said she'd been in Mexico for the past two weeks and handed over her credit card. The beloved one that held her married name, and told her it was time to go.
She promised to call Jo back when the boys were back to who they all knew.
She kept the doubts to herself and forced the same smile she had worn to her husband’s funeral.
---
A week after they had entered the cabin, Dean managed to finish off a whole meal and Sam somehow smiled.
He was talking now, but not to Ellen or Bobby. He'd only whisper things to Dean. Things both Bobby and Ellen decided not to try to hear.
Through out the day, they'd hear Sam singing to Dean. Bobby heard songs that John had played on repeat and Ellen heard the songs that she would hear blaring from Dean's car whenever he use to pull up to her bar.
That night, as they watched an old action movie, Sam turned to whisper to Dean and everyone couldn't help but hear. "I sung to keep sane."
Dean turned away from the window, away from the clouded moonlight and gave a small smile to Sam.
A silent thank you for his efforts.
Ellen's heart cracked and she had to excuse herself to hide in the bathroom, where she hugged a towel to herself and cried in joy and sadness.
Bobby pinched himself to hold in the shout that almost left him, leaving it until the good guy in the movie punched the bad guy.
It hadn't really counted as a smile, not in the real world. But here, in this cabin. It was almost everything.
---
Weeks after they had all shut themselves away from civilization, Bobby overheard Dean ask Sam to leave the door open, in a quiet and broken voice, cracking without use.
He heard Sam laugh as he fell into bed.
He was sure the feeling that he felt inside would have matched the feeling of having a child.
He woke Ellen up without a second though, relaying the information to her and watched as she smiled and laughed before collapsing into his arms. He didn't say a word, knowing she was never as strong as she portrayed.
Not when it concerned her children.
The next day Dean didn't cough or shake with fever, instead he began to follow the path's Sam had followed. Flexing his legs, and counting his steps, trying to figure out how big the cabin was compared with his cell.
He would still stop in front of the windows though, allowing the sun to soak him. Getting lost in the tingles of heat that ran up his skin, tanning him slightly but not burning him like the silenced air had.
After watching him for hours, Sam moved to stand beside Dean, his eyes slipping close as he too enjoyed the feeling of what had been denied to him for so long.
The first time Sam spoke to either Ellen or Bobby was to ask if they could stop watching the same old movie.
The first time Dean spoke to anyone other than Sam, was to figure out where his car was and in what shape.
Each time, Bobby and Ellen broke into laughter and smiles.
-3586
A/N:
Okay, I was completely inspired by one single line in last nights episode and went into a frenzy of writing.
And it completely took care of my need to write something for Death note as well.
So, I am a very happy camper at the moment.
I hope you enoyed this!