WOTR | Book 1 Part VIII

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War Of The Regions:
Book 1 Part VIII
Masterpost
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The next morning, Dean is the last to wake up, surprised to find Sam and Cas sitting opposite each other, hands moving, slow and languid, a small smile on Sam’s face. Dean sits up, rolls his shoulders and feels them creak and stretch from the hard ground.

Morning, Sam tells him, and offers a little wave.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says, making the signs with his hands as he does, and Dean mumbles a morning back to them before standing up and grabbing the flask of water in the corner of the room. He drinks from it, cool and refreshing, and lets out a slow breath as he feels himself slip back into consciousness as he peers through the crumbling window. The sun is still low in the sky and the birds are chirping, bright and merry, and he can tell it’s early, hours before midday. There’s no sign of anyone having passed through last night, and it’s as if nothing has changed, no destruction going on all around them.

Watching Sam and Castiel talk, sorting out the food from their bags, he knows he’s lucky. They’re much luckier than a lot of people. They’re not eroding, being eaten by flies, forgotten corpses in their burnt homes. He has his brother and his brother is safe, and now there’s Cas, and it’s as if he’s gotten all he’s hoped for and more, in the circumstances.

Sam walks over and hands him a corner of bread, ripped off their loaf, and Dean takes it with a grateful smile. He eats it, washes it down with some more water, and then helps the other two pack their belongings and they carry on towards the Outerlands.

Dean stops at the edge of the bubbling brook, water clear and shining, and refills the water bottles and flasks. Sam cups the water and lets it run through his hair and roll over his neck, and Dean watches as Cas does the same. The water clings to his eyelashes and lips and Dean has to turn away with a smile, can feel his cheeks heat and has to dip his head in the water to do the same and cool his skin.

They walk in the opposite direction of the rising sun and Cas points out the berries and plants and trees as they walk, his knowledge of natural medicine far outweighing Dean’s, and Dean translates, spelling them out for Sam as Cas explains each one. He always keeps his eyes trained and his eyes alert for any flash of color or snap of sound that isn’t theirs, but since the last region the woodlands have been eerily quiet, with only the squirrels and deer and birds and other wildlife making any sound, and living as if nothing has changed.

Dean could almost imagine they’re just going for a leisurely stroll on a sunny day, if not for the way they all cast anxious glances into the trees that surround them every couple of miles. It’s as if they’re all waiting for this spell to be broken, for the Officials to come charging towards them from behind trees. They all seem to have silently agreed to keep moving today, to get as far away from the last Region as possible, away from leaving Jo and Gabriel, and to keep heading west towards the Outerlands.

They walk all day and finally collapse at sunset beneath a tall oak. There’s something uncomfortable thrumming through Dean’s veins, and it’s been building all day. He’s hot and he’s tired and hungry. Every time thing is making his blood boil, and he’s trying hard not to snap when Cas says anything, knows he’s only trying to make conversation, and that he hasn’t actually done anything wrong.

Dean takes in Sam’s appearance and notices with a jolt of disbelief that he looks hot and clammy. He puts the back of his hand against Sam’s head and realizes he’s hot, too hot, and pale.

You feel okay? he asks, and Sam smiles at him, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. You feel sick?

A little, Sam replies honestly, and it feels like a punch that Dean didn’t realize this sooner, didn’t notice the signs. The last time Sam got a fever and was ill, he’d lost his hearing. Dean can’t let something like that happen. Not again.

They eat in relative silence, everyone feeling the tension, and there’s not enough food to go around. Berries can only fill them up for so long, and what was left of the bread has already gone moldy. Dean is too tired to hunt tonight, and so they all lie down on the hard ground and try and get some rest.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to realize he’s not getting to sleep tonight. The ground is too uncomfortable beneath him, and he’s trying to let everything go, but all the anger and worry is building up and there’s no release for it. He sits up and throws his blanket off, and stands up in the middle of the darkness. He walks towards the tree and leans against its trunk, drinking in the night air.

“Fuck this,” he murmurs, letting his forehead rest against the tree.

There’s movement beside him and out of the corner of his eye he sees as Cas stands up and walks towards him.

“Dean?” he asks, quietly. “Are you alright?”

Everything feels like it’s about to pour out, but he can’t do that, and he tries hard to bite his tongue. “I’m fine,” he snaps, not looking towards him. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Are you upset?” he asks.

Dean wishes Cas would stop pushing and something hot flashes in his mind, something red and angry and Dean swallows hard, pushing it down.

“No,” he grinds out. “I’m just - it’s everything. Sam’s fucking sick again, and we’re not at the damn Outerlands, and we don’t even know what direction we’re going in.”

Cas is quiet beside him, and Dean ignores him. Cas takes a step forward, and Dean says, “Don’t.”

The fact that Cas doesn’t come any farther forward, and goes back to sleep, hurts more than Dean lets himself comprehend.



The next day, Dean feels no more relaxed or rested. He hardly managed any sleep the night before, and although Cas seems certain they’re getting near, nearer than any of them realized, it’s still not enough to reassure him.

Dean is getting very, very agitated. Sam’s ill, constantly looking dazed and weak, and it’s causing Dean to get annoyed at the tiniest things. He knows Cas is trying to get them there, knows none of them really know how to make it to the closest thing they have to safety, but Dean needs to blame someone, and Cas is conveniently there.

“Fuck this,” Dean says, in the afternoon of the second day. It’s still hot and humid, his skin prickling in the heat, and he’s hungry and thirsty and feeling nervous about Sammy’s decline in health. Sam stops weakly beside him and leans against a tree, and Cas turns to Dean with his eyebrows raised. They all look worn out and exhausted, and Dean knows he shouldn’t be stirring up trouble, but he needs to vent.

“You have no idea where we are, do you?” he asks, walking towards Cas. Cas holds his own, doesn’t avert his gaze which Dean respects and is a little bit awed by, but it does nothing to slow him down. “We’ve been walking for days and Sam is getting sicker and sicker, and you’re just making this shit up. We’re lost, so just fucking admit it.”

Cas does glance away then, looks past Dean’s shoulder and then at his feet before answering. “Would you like to lead the way then, Dean?”

Dean stares at him, feels his heartbeat begin to race. “Why would I do that, when I thought you knew the way? You had me believing all we had to do was go west, but I haven’t seen any sign of civilization in days. Not another Region crossing, not an Official, nothing.”

Dean knows he shouldn’t be unhappy about these things, knows he’s being completely irrational, but he’s on a roll now. Cas is standing there and just taking it, so Dean continues to give it.

“It’s just an asshole thing to do, you know? You’ve screwed this up, man. I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

Cas’ eyes flash at that, something close to anger, and it’s the most cool he’s ever seen Cas, who’s appearance and demeanor is normally warm and inviting. Cas steps closer towards him and something dark stirs in Dean’s belly.

“Tell me, Dean, when exactly I have let you down? What I said that led you to believe I knew the way to the Outerlands? Tell me when I have ever caused any suggestion for you not to trust me?”

Dean swallows convulsively, desperately wants to break the eye contact but doesn’t. Cas continues to stare, and says, in a quieter, calmer voice. “Are you finished?”

Dean nods, shame creeping in, and Cas takes a step backwards. Dean feels the loss of something as he walks away, and feels a rush of guilt pour over him.

“Cas...” he starts, his tongue feeling unusually heavy in his mouth. He tries to get across everything he’s been meaning to say, that beneath this calm exterior he’s frightened, and taking it out on Cas had seemed like the easiest way. Instead, he says, “I didn’t - you know.”

Cas smiles at him, soft again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, Dean. So am I.”

Dean’s not sure what Cas thinks he should be apologizing for, but Dean doesn’t talk anymore about it. He hands his flask of water to Sam, watches as he slowly sips it, and then they head off again through the woods. Dean tries to keep a careful distance, but Cas stays as close as he normally does, and it makes the tension dissipate a little.

They carry on walking through the woods, in the dying light of the day and with sunset the tension seems to have passed.

Dean thought it would be awkward between them after his blowout, but Cas doesn’t seem to hold any grudge towards him, and Dean is just as happy pretending that the past two days didn’t happen.

They decide to go to sleep as soon as the sun has set that night, and Cas keeps trying to comfort them with the fact that he thinks they’re getting closer, as the woods turn more wild and the vegetation thicker. Dean’s not sure what to say to that, and so he stays quiet.

Sam plays with the slingshot that Cas gave him, and they take turns shooting a tree in front of them with acorns and conkers from the ground. Sam quickly tires and falls asleep with no trouble, and Dean watches over him.

Cas sits beside him and they don’t say anything, but it’s enough to know he’s there. Dean shuffles a little closer and Cas rests his head on his shoulder, leaning back against the trunk of a tree.

“Thanks,” Dean says quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies.

Dean doesn’t specify what he’s thanking him for, but Cas understands all the same.



Dean wakes up the next morning in the same position as last night, still sitting up against the tree, with Cas’ head leaning on his shoulder. He wake up with the sun and the chirping of the birds, and everything feels calm and quiet until he looks over to Sam and feels something painful clench in his chest.

He’s still asleep, but his skin is flushed, fevered, and Dean can’t help the swell of fear that surges through him. Cas stirs beside him, and lifts his head up, but doesn’t move any farther away. Dean glances at him, and offers as much of a smile as he can manage.

Cas stares at him, confused, and then glances over at Sam and something like understanding washes over his face. He gets up off of the floor and walks forwards towards his bag.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, standing up after him and doing the preliminary checks for the morning, eyes assessing the forest around them. There’s no sign of any disturbance and Dean walks over to Cas where he kneels beside Sam.

Cas presses the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead, rests it there for a few moments, and pulls away.

“My mother taught me how to make remedies and crush herbs,” Cas says, getting up off the floor and standing beside Dean. Sam continues to sleep on, oblivious to their talking. “For colds and flu. It might not do much good, and it’s been a while since I made it, but...”

He looks towards Dean and gives a small shrug of his shoulders. “But I could try.”

“Thank you,” Dean says, relief flooding through him. “Even if it helps just a little. We can’t leave with him like this. He wouldn’t...”

“I know,” Cas says, gentle, taking one of Dean’s hands in both of his. His thumb strokes over the back of his hand, and Dean keeps it there, the agitation and feeling of helplessness slowly seeping out of him.

Cas pulls away and Dean swallows hard as he watches Cas  wander towards a nearby bush, looking over its berries. Dean grabs his water flask and a spare shirt and sits beside Sam. He pours some of the water on the corner of the shirt and dabs it over Sam’s forehead, which is hot to the touch.

Sam lets out a small mumbling sound, and then relaxes as Dean continues to trace his face with the cloth. He keeps alert to all of the sounds around him, feeling particularly vulnerable like this, and pays close attention to where Cas is in proximity to them.

Sam stirs a little while later, when Cas is returning with pockets full of different berries and natural ingredients, and blinks drowsily up at Dean.

Dean undoes the top of the water flask and holds it near Sam’s mouth, and he lifts his head up just a little to sip at it. He rests his head back down and lets out a slow sigh, shutting his eyes again.

“You got anything?” Dean asks quietly, as Cas kneels down behind him, piling wood.

“We need to make a fire,” he says. “But I should have enough.”

Dean leaves Sam to sleep and helps Cas with the fire, as well as rationing out their food for some breakfast. Cas takes his leather pouch and empties everything out of it, before putting in all the ingredients and using a stone to crush them together.

Dean watches with interest in the methodical way Cas works, all attention to the task at hand. He doesn’t hesitate as he makes the remedy, and Dean moves between Sam and Cas, helping in any way he can.

“Cook this,” Cas says, holding his hand out, and Dean picks up the item he holds to see it’s guelder rose. “Only the berries and strip the leaves.”

Dean knows what he’s doing with this, at least, and works as fast as he can as Cas continues to make the medicine. Once the guelder rose is done, Cas mixes it up and pours it into an empty water flask.

“That should help,” he says, finally, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Dean takes it and sniffs the flask, which smells of a mixture of berries and mint, and hands it to Sam, who’s sitting up against the trunk of a tree.

Medicine, Dean says, once Sam has taken the flask and is looking up at Dean with his eyebrows raised. Cas made it.

Sam offers a soft smile before drinking it down, and chasing it with water. The sun is hot in the clear sky, and it beats relentlessly down on them as they sit on the forest floor. The trees offer some protection, but Dean still feels as if his skin is burning, and he knows the freckles across his nose and cheeks will stand out on his face.

Dean doesn’t want to spend much longer sitting in one place, feeling too exposed and restless. The anxiety is a hot thrum beneath his skin, and he feels agitated sitting still.

We need to leave, he says, and Sam watches his hand move with drowsy eyes, face still flushed and skin hot. Cas thinks we’re close to the border.

I feel ill, Sam says, hands moving slowly in the air.

I know, Dean says. You’re going to be okay.

Sam nods at him and Dean helps him get off the ground, steadying him once he’s stood. Dean and Cas share some of the contents of Sam’s bag between them, and then they start walking, set on finding the way to the Outerlands.



It’s a surprise to all of them when they reach the crossing. Dean hadn’t realized how close they were until they push through the branches of an ash tree and a sliver of metal glimmers in the sunshine. Relief floods through him at the sight, and he shares a smile with Cas. They walk towards it, not saying anything, and stop at the bottom, heads craned upwards.

The fence is tall and made of a thick metal, vines growing up either side, but the crossing is here. This has to be it. Along the top are iron spikes and rounds and rounds of thick barbed wire and Dean feels more at a loss the longer he looks at it, no ideas coming to mind about how to get over. It’s at least twelve feet tall and spreads out across the land for longer than Dean can guess at.

The fence curves around, and he can see, in the distance, perhaps a mile out, a tall guard tower, metal and rusted, and is what he assumes an abandoned post. Dean glances towards Sam, who’s standing beside Cas, an anxious expression on his face, looking pale and weak. There’s no way they could all climb over this fence and make it there alive.

Dean thinks about what their dad would say, and how he would find a way forward. He would have to find a different method. Instead of going up, the most obvious way, they would have to go around, find a different stretch of fence, or go under, go down. Down.

Dean feels a surge of hope and kneels on the soft earth, and starts digging at the thick dirt along the edge of the fence. He makes a small hole and sees the metal fencing goes down, further down beneath them than he can probably dig to and Dean stands up in agitation. “Fuck,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand over his face.

He turns around and Cas is staring at the fence with a frown on his face, as if by sheer will alone it will come crumbling down and let them over.

“There has to be a way,” he says, walking towards it. Dean lets him, doesn’t bother telling him that there’s no possibility of getting through, and goes to stand next to Sam. He puts the back of his hand against Sam’s forehead and feels the skin burning up, hot and clammy. He lets out a slow breath and asks him if he feels okay. Sam gives a weak nod and lowers himself gently on the ground to sit. Dean hands him a flask of water before going to stand next to Cas, who’s still eyeing the fence.

“Any luck, Cas?” he asks, leaning up against it. He tries to peer through the thick vines and sees more woodland on the other side, but it looks overgrown and uninhabited.

“There is a way, Dean,” he says, and Dean looks towards him, hopeful.

“Yeah? How?”

Cas looks down and kicks at the dirt that Dean dug up. “I’m not certain yet.”

Dean huffs out a breath and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, man. I can’t see a way, either. But we’re getting over there. No question.”

Dean’s not sure where this sense of confidence or assurance is coming from, maybe due to the fact he still feels guilty for going off on one at Cas, but he goes with it, and is happy to see Cas smile at him, even if it’s small. He looks back towards Sam and something urgent pangs in his chest. Sam needs to be somewhere dry and warm and comfortable. Somewhere he can lie down and sleep and rest and recover.

“I may be able to find some more medicine,” Cas says quietly, following Dean’s gaze. Dean looks back towards him and smiles, grateful.

“That would be great,” Dean says.

There’s the sound of snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and a soft breathing that makes both Dean and Cas snap their heads up and look towards the fence in both alarm and a surge of hope. Dean turns to Sam and taps him twice on his shoulder. It’s their message, the way of telling him to be quiet, not that he ever makes much sound. Sam nods once at him and Dean gets up, knife in hand and walks quietly towards the fence. He peers through the vines and sees the back of a small girl as she walks along the edge of the fence picking up small twigs and berries. He slips the knife back into his leather pouch. She looks about Sam’s age and Dean takes a long, reassuring breath before taking the risk.

“Hey,” he says, voice stronger than he feels.

The girl stands up, shocked, and spins around, her long hair blowing in the soft wind.

“Um,” she says, and Dean smiles, trying to make it as sweet as possible. “Hi.”

“My name’s Dean. This is my brother, Sam, and my friend, Cas.”

There’s a long moment where Dean feels like he’s holding his breath, before she says, “I’m Jessica. Jess.”

Dean grins at her and nods towards her hand. “What are you collecting?”

She looks down at her closed fist and then tentatively lifts it towards him and opens her fingers. In her palm lies some small twigs and a number of green leaves. “They’re for bracelets. See?”

She lifts up her other arm and Dean sees a small bracelet hanging there, made of long grass, woven together, with twigs in between.

“That’s beautiful,” he says. “I’ve got a question to ask you, though, Jess. See, my brother, Sam, he’s not feeling well. He needs somewhere to lie down and rest, but it’s dangerous this side. Can you help us over?”

She pulls her arm back and closes her fist again. Dean watches her intently, tries to make his face as gentle and earnest as possible, but feels like he’s screaming on the inside. There’s not going to be another chance like this. It all relies on this one girl.

“I’m not sure,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Jess,” he says, quickly, as if not spitting the words out now will mean they’re lost forever. “Please. We’ve come a long way. There must be a way through. If you want, we won’t even let anyone know it was you who helped us. All I’m asking for is the way through.”

Dean feels Cas shift beside him and glances at him, and they share a look of unease. Sam is still sat on the ground looking tired and resigned and Dean gives him a weak smile before turning back around to look at the girl.

“How old is your brother?” she asks.

“Fourteen,” Dean replies. “It's just us.” Cas steps forward and peers through the gap in the fence and smiles at her. She smiles back and she nods, almost imperceptible, but it’s there, and Dean sees it on her face the moment she makes her decision.

“Go south of here and follow the fence for about half a mile until you reach a red oak tree. It’s the only one, you can’t miss it. Opposite it there is a deep hole dug underneath the fence. It’s covered in leaves and branches. Make sure you cover it back up when you’re on the other side.”

“Thank you, Jess. Thank you,” Dean says, feeling a great amount of anxiety fly out of him in one breath.

She smiles at him and begins to walk away, but stops. She turns around slowly and Dean raises her eyebrows at her. She starts, hesitant, “Once you’re on the other side just carry on west through the woods. You’ll find your way.”

“Thanks, Jessica,” Cas says beside him, and she smiles once more before turning around and running off into the trees.



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