A Cold and Broken Hallelujah - Part 4
Dean dreams. Dean remembers. So much stuff he had buried, taken those memories and squashed them down tight, chaining them in silver and hiding them deep. His father lying in that hospital bed, skin pale behind the scruff of beard; his larger-than-life vitality drained by the pale gown, the white sheets. Then Dean had returned to himself to find his father gone, traded himself away like a baseball card.
He remembers Sam's face as he had turned to Dean and Bobby in that abandoned town, the way his eyes had widened as Jake's knife plunged into him. The sound of his voice as he had screamed his brother's name into the void. The two days that Dean had sat beside the body waiting for a miracle before finally going and buying one at the cost of his soul.
His body shivers and tries to curl tighter in on itself. He remembers the way Sam would look at him after that, fear and worry and love and despair all wrapped around each other until he couldn't tell one emotion from the other and he pulled away, shutting himself down. He remembers how Sam wouldn't give up him, the strange last Christmas they had, (complete with pagan Santa). He remembers how Sam wouldn't stop trying to find a solution, to find a loophole, even when Dean could barely bring himself to speak to his brother.
Shudders ripple through him as he remembers the sound of the hounds; the deep, echoing growls, the click and scratch of claws. He tries not to remember how it felt when they sank their teeth into not only his flesh, but his soul. He had thought nothing could be that painful, nothing could equal that ripping, tearing feeling of soul and body becoming disconnected. Shudders wrack his body as the echoes of that spiritual disconnection run through him.
But then he had gone to Hell. For the first time in his life he had been truly alone. No father figure to grouse at him, no pretty waitress to flirt with, no Sam to worry over, to watch out for. Just Dean and the demon and the pain. And he had tried so hard to be the good son, to hold on to his training, to his sense of self, but the demon had picked him apart. Flayed away his skin and his self-belief. Cut out his organs and his hard won discipline. Severed his fingers and slowly and steadily cut Dean off from the better parts of himself.
His body continues to shiver, curling in on itself in the darkness of the Impala, tears leaving their damp trails across blanched skin as they trickle their way downwards. He remembers the offer, made again and again; that this could all just stop, that Dean could get up off the table, if he would just say 'Yes'. And Dean had been about to give in, he had opened the ruins of his mouth, throat raw and bloody from screaming and had sucked in an agonising breath when the world around him had filled with light and a sound that clawed its way inside his head.
Blind and deaf, Dean had felt his soul pulled and twisted into shape. There was an immense flapping sound, like a million wings flexing at once, and he was back in his body. Except his body had been in the ground, buried deep, at the mercy of the elements and the local insects. Dean tried to scream as he felt his body remake itself around his soul but his lungs contained no air.
All was pain as arteries and muscle, flesh and skin reformed. Finally his heart pulsed, lungs filled with stale air and Dean screamed. The sound echoed through the casket, and Dean's hand shot up to cover his mouth, stifling the sound. Several panicked elbows broke him free of the wood and he clawed his way out into the light, alone and frightened.
It had taken him several days to make his way to Bobby's house. Every breath hurt and when he tried to speak it felt like he had been gargling with razor blades, so he quickly stopped trying. He had been mute for 4 days before he got to Bobby's, another one before Sam made his way to them. After a while he just stopped trying, didn't feel the need to speak. The world had changed irrevocably and this was just a symptom.
Dean jerks awake, bumping his head on the door of the Impala. He slumped back down against the rear seat, waiting for his heart to resume its normal, steady pace before he uncurls cramped limbs and slides out of the cocooning darkness. He pulls the tarp from the roof, allowing it to pool on the floor of the garage. There was only one person he wanted to see right now and his baby was going to take him there.
4.2
He finds Sam in his office, watches through the window as he consoles a young woman, sees how his brother's spirit shines bright even after all that happened. He remembers briefly the way Sam had looked when Dean had...come back. The dark, haunted look in his eyes, his body honed into a slender killing machine. But the world had changed; Sam's faith had been rewarded, or so he told Dean, and Sam looks good for it.
Dean watches the young woman leave and pushes his way through the door. Sam turns back as he hears footsteps, years of training still ingrained, eyes shuttered and arms slightly raised in preparation. When he sees Dean his arms open wide, smile broad across his face, dimples deep and hazel eyes alight with joy.
“Dean! When did you get in? What are you doing here, man? You wanna go get some lunch?”
Dean can't answer; his arms crushed against his sides as his brother folds him up in one of his hugs. Sam is about the only person in the world that is allowed to touch Dean, certainly the only one who ever folds Dean up like this, makes him feel small and protected and loved. Dean pats Sam awkwardly on the hip, about the only part of him that he can reach and Sam lets loose his strangle hold so that Dean can reach to pat his brother briefly on the back before he pulls away.
/Just got in. Came see you. Sure, I can eat./
Sam grins again and half shrugs, “That was a kinda a dumb question? Let me just put the answer machine on and I'll take you for lunch.”
Dean catches sight of himself in the mirror, sees the smile that has creased his face and sighs. Sure it was probably healthier being out of the hunting business; and knowing that Sam was thriving, that he was happy and settled was amazing; but sometimes he just missed the time they spent together. The seemingly endless drives across country, those moments when a case had been wrapped up and they sat on the hood of the Impala with a beer, somewhere out under the stars.
He looks back as Sam comes up behind him.
“So, dude, you do know that vanity is a sin right?”
/When you're this good-looking sometimes you just have to pause and admire./
“Yeah, I guess you're the pretty one. Good job that someone got all the manly genes then?” Sam flexes, an impressive show of biceps straining the seams of his pale blue button-down.
/Hey, what's with the pretty?/
“Well, if the eyelashes fit...” Sam snorts out a laugh and holds the door for Dean, waving his hand theatrically. Dean struggles for a comeback and settles for just grabbing his crotch, gangster style.
“Oh gross man, I'm your brother!”
Dean laughs, a silent toss of his head, white teeth flashing between plush lips. Sam misses the sound though, misses the rough timbre of his brother's voice, heck he even misses the whiny tone that Dean would get when he called him Sammy. But his brother is here for a visit and he isn't going to complain. He takes Dean to the diner down the road, orders him a bacon double cheeseburger just like old times, and Dean smiles again.
“So, come on, spill. What really brought you here Dean? Cos I know you didn't just come to see if I was as gorgeous as you remembered.”
Dean's gaze darkens, eyes flickering down to his plate and off to the side before he looks back up at Sam. /I had a visitor/ his hands flicker slowly and he watches Sam's face to make sure he understands. Sam nods and asks “Who?”
/Said his name was Castiel Novak./ Dean finger spells the name and watches Sam put the syllables together.
“Not exactly a common name but that's not what's got you so spooked that you came running to see me.”
/I'm betting he has brothers called Michael and Gabriel./ Sam frowns as Dean spells the second name.
“So he's an angel? What did he want, could you tell straight away that he was an angel? How did he...” Dean waves a hand to cut off the stream of questions and manages a half smile at Sam, who by this stage is leant halfway across the table, eyes wide in wonder.
Dean allows himself a small smile at his brother's eagerness and excitement. After all that happened Dean counts it a miracle that Sam is as well-adjusted as he is. He knows that Sam still deals with the supernatural but now that most things are out in the open Sam has taken to dealing with the all the new legal issues that have been cropping up. He side-tracks Sam and asks him about what he's been doing recently.
“So we've been looking mostly at an inheritance case. The paternal grandfather has come back and said that he didn't want his son to inherit, would rather that his money had gone to his sister's children after seeing what his son has done with it. So we're looking through other cases to see if you can be disinherited after the fact and what legal recourse the living would have. Man, the angels coming has changed everything, we don't need to hide now, people are actually seeking us out. So, come on Dean, you can't keep stalling me, tell me what he was like.”
Dean sighs and waves his hands pointlessly before suggesting that they go back to Sam's office, that he probably has work to do.
“Uh-uh Dean. I know how much you live for our little heart-to-hearts...” Dean rolls his eyes and Sam snickers. “And you know you're going to spill sooner or later, you didn't come all this way just for the drive. But yeah, I'd better go back, you wanna head over to the house and I'll get you there later? Pizza and beer?”
Dean gives Sam an enthusiastic thumbs up and reaches over for the key that Sam offers. /Still at same place?/
Sam nods. “Should be all done by around half five so I'll pick up the pizzas on the way if you wanna swing by a shop and pick up some beer on the way there? Feel free to use the shower too dude, getting a bit ripe there.”
Dean grins and makes a scene of scenting himself. /Ah, the smell of the road./ They head back to the car park and Sam turns to go back into his small office, Dean stops him with a soft tap to his shoulder and signs /Thank You, Sammy./ Sam smiles softly but resists the urge to hug his brother again. He's well aware of the limits of Dean's affections.
“You're welcome Dean, always.”
4.3
They spend the night catching up, idle chit-chat over the pizzas, the sports news on whilst they sip slowly at the beer. Sam watches Dean carefully, waiting for that moment when he finally begins to relax.
“So, you gonna talk to me about this? C'mon Dean, something has got you so rattled that you took days off and drove all this way. You might as well spill it so we can get the girl part out of the way and then sit and scratch our nuts and burp and talk sports.”
Sam's words surprise a silent laugh from Dean and he nods softly.
/I've been dreaming./ Dean pauses for long enough that Sam knows nothing more is forthcoming without a prompt.
“About Hell?”
Dean nods and lowers his eyes to his hands, fingers twisted together as if to hold his words in.
/And then this Cas guy shows up. I'd seen him before, in Dante's. There's something about him. He.../ Dean's hands pause again, before he waves them wordlessly. He pulls them in tight to himself and lets out a gusty sigh before making a disgusted face and continuing. /Damn girly chats. Then a couple of days later he's phoning the office, desperate to speak to me. Morgan put him off, but then he emailed and so...he came to the Library./
“So, could you tell? What was he like?” For all the news about the angels' descent very few people have ever actually seen them. They've kept to themselves and Sam is curious. And as Dean knows, a curious Sam is only going to get himself, and probably Dean, into trouble.
/He just looks like a man. Dark hair, maybe just a bit shorter than me. His eyes were really blue though. But no wings or halo or stuff like that./ Dean keeps the way Castiel's touch affects him to himself, God alone knows what Sammy would make of the fact that Dean can still feel the phantom brush of Castiel's hand on his shoulder, the firmness of his chest under his hands.
“What did he want?”
And there's the million dollar question. Dean doesn't know, he hadn't given Castiel any time to explain, still didn't know if he really wanted to find out. He flicks a glance over to Sam, sees him watching Dean, eyebrow raising as he waits for an answer. Dean gives a half-hearted shrug.
“Dean, tell me you gave him a chance to explain!” Sam throws his hands out in a gesture of exasperation as Dean gives another half shrug, staring at the floor like it holds all the important answers.
“You shouted at him didn't you?”
/Dude, I don't even talk./
/Yeah but you can still shout./ Sam uses his hands to make his point, gestures sharp and over emphasised.
/Well, you know / Dean gestures wordlessly again before continuing. /If anyone has a right to be ticked off with them it's us. I mean what did he expect?/
“I dunno, probably some manners? Tell me you didn't shout at him and then kick him out and...” Sam notices the flush colouring the back of Dean's neck. “You did, you shouted at him, kicked him out and then came running to me!”
/But...I didn't.../ Dean throws his hands up and jerks to his feet, turning his back on Sam.
“You're not deaf, Dean, turning your back only means you can't answer back. You need to go back and talk to him, find out what he wants. I mean, they're angels! They're here to make things better, don't you think things are better?”
Sam knows that Dean has sighed again, sees his ribs expand and his shoulders slump before he turns back around. Sam wants to smile at the childish pout but knows when not to push Dean's buttons.
/Okay, fine. I'll go talk to the stupid, winged freak. But if this all goes to shit, I'm gonna be blaming you./
“When do you not?” Dean smirks at Sam's last remark and slumps back down on the sofa.
/Beer?/
---II---
Dean spends a rather uncomfortable night curled up on the sofa, but at least he doesn't dream. Well okay, he dreams, but it's not of hell and no-one needs to know if a certain pair of pleading blue eyes and pale, full lips were one of the main features.
He wakes the next morning to the welcoming smell of coffee and sends a sleepily grateful smile in his brother's direction. Sam may have driven him to distraction on occasion, but this is one of those times when Dean misses the time spent together, the silent team work, the way they could move together without getting in each other's space. Sam's grin is bright with happiness when Dean pulls him into an unexpected hug and he flushes with pleasure when Dean ruffles his hair and knocks him with an arm as they make their way outside, reminding Sam of the easy relationship they shared as children.
“Aw, man, you miss me! You love me!” Sam's voice rings with glee and Dean's friendly knock turns into a brotherly shove. He chucks his duffle in the back seat before opening the door to the Impala with its familiar squeak. He settles himself behind the wheel, and Sam leans in through the window.
“So, keep me updated? I'll try and come up to see you soon, could maybe make the trip out to see Bobby?”
Dean nods in agreement and starts the engine, Sam smiles at the familiar rumble and pats Dean on the shoulder. “Enjoy your date, Dean!”
Dean scowls as he pulls out, Sam always has to try and get the last word and he leans a hand out the window, finger-spelling the word 'Bitch'. He hears Sam yell back “Jerk!” and looks in his rear-view mirror to see Sam standing, smiling, hand held up with the two middle fingers tucked in, others spread wide. Dean sighs, but the smile that creases the corners of his eyes belies the noise and he lets fingers form a matching shape, waving his hand in farewell.
On to Part Five