The Rain is the Punch Line (Things Can’t Possibly Get Worse), 9/?
Fandom: Supernatural/Good Omens (crossover)
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Summary: Dean had thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was. He supposed this was his punishment for being so optimistic.
Warnings: Violence, language, crack, angst.
Notes: I would just like to say, for the record, that I actually wrote this chapter early in the morning on Friday the 16th, so the whole "Stairway to Heaven" thing is just a freaky coincidence!
Chapter Eight
They made it to Cuba before dark. Dean had learned how to compensate for his loss in stature by scooting the bench seat forward and had gotten back to driving at his typical breakneck pace. Sam, for his part, was more than a little grumpy, his legs cramped from being pressed to the dashboard and his head pounding from Lucifer's rendition of "Stairway to Heaven."
"Where to?" Dean asked as they zoomed past the sign welcoming them to town.
"You've gotta get on St. Highway double-dee." Sam said, twisting in his seat to get a little more legroom. "It goes out and around the lake, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, "I remember. It's like the last place we lived before you started turning into a bitchy teenager."
"Dude, I was fourteen, what did you expect?" Sam said, letting his voice stay light. He had to remind himself that Dean didn't know that a considerable part of Sam's behavioral changes that summer had been due to his feelings towards Dean, and as far as Sam was concerned he didn't ever need to know.
"I was never that whiny at fourteen." Dean said loftily. But he grinned. "Remember the rope swing we put over the lake?"
"How could I possibly forget?" Sam laughed, "I think that's the only concussion I've ever had that wasn't caused by a monster. Dad was so pissed."
"Not to interrupt your nostalgia," Aziraphale said, "But are you certain that this Trotter fellow is a friend? From what I understand, many hunters don't work well with others."
Dean shrugged, creating a very weird visual for Sam, who'd just seen his mouth form the question. "I mean, we aren't best friends or whatever, but he'll help us. Our dad did him a solid when we were here last time."
"He did?" Sam said, surprised, "I didn't know that."
"You remember the werewolf he was hunting that we followed out here in the first place?" Dean asked. When Sam nodded, he continued, "Turns out it was Trotter's sister. Caught his scent and followed it up here. He couldn't do the job...which is where we came in."
"I don't understand." said Aziraphale, "Why do you think he would be friendly with you after you killed his sister?"
"I didn't say we were friends." Dean corrected, "I said he would help us. His sister was killing people and he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. There's no cure for werewolfism."
"There wasn't any other option." Sam said quietly. Dean glanced over like he knew what his brother was thinking.
"That's just dreadful." said Aziraphale so bluntly that Sam couldn't help but laugh.
"Story of our lives, man."
"Here we are," Dean said, pulling the car into a long, secluded driveway, "Let's go."
"There's no car." Sam observed as they walked up to the house. It was a lot like Bobby's had been: a rundown old two-story with windows looking out at the deserted street like eyes.
"Maybe it's in the garage around back,” suggested Dean. He took the steps up to the porch, two at a time and rapped on the door. "Hello? Trotter?"
There was silence, except for the sound of a bird calling out through the trees. Dean knocked again.
"Why is it that everyone you two inflict yourselves upon winds up missing or dead?" Lucifer asked, peering in the windows, "Because I'm pretty sure this guy is dead."
"Is it locked?" Sam wondered, reaching for the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand. He pushed it lightly and it swung inward with a groan.
"Well that's not ominous at all." Dean muttered.
"Is Trotter the kind of hunter that's prone to leaving his doors unlocked?" Aziraphale asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"Let's check it out." Dean whispered, drawing his gun and checking the munitions. Sam followed suit. "You take the second floor, I'll search this one."
It only took twenty minutes to scour the joint and when they met back up in the living room, both were empty handed.
"Where could he be?" Sam wondered, "I'd think there would at least signs of a struggle if something took him."
"Maybe nothing took him." Dean said, walking over to a gun cabinet that stood on the opposite wall. He pulled it open, revealing a single empty shotgun rack and what looked like the indention of large knife in the open case on the inside the cabinet floor. "Maybe he's on a hunt."
"Maybe." Sam agreed, but he wasn't entirely convinced. "Should we just wait for him?"
Dean shrugged. "Just as good a place as any. Probably not gonna get found by Leviathan out here."
"While we're waiting," Aziraphale suggested, "Perhaps we could look through his library and find out if he has any information about how to return Dean to his original form." He sounded almost eager and Dean rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Are you kidding me?" he groaned, "Now I have two dorks to deal with?!"
Despite his complaining, Dean joined in on the hunt for a useful book. It was rough going; Trotter's library was crammed to bursting with books, in every possible nook and cranny once he'd filled out the shelves, and there didn't seem to be a particular order to anything, much to both Aziraphale and Sam's dismay. It was starting to get dark outside, so they switched on the lights and continued working.
"If we had more time, I would make sure these books got the treatment they deserve." the angel said, a little indignantly after he discovered a book shoved in the desk that had begun to mold.
"Is this what you're going to be like when you get old, Sammy? A grumpy, reclusive hunter who likes books more than people?" Dean asked, turning to his brother, "Sammy? Are you okay?"
Sam was sitting in the chair nearest the door, holding his head in his hands, a pained expression on his face.
"Sam!" Dean said loudly, crossing to him. "Are you with me, man?"
Sam blinked, and looked up at his brother. His expression was clear, but there was a light sheen of sweat over his forehead and his face was pale.
"I'm fine, Dean, I'm handling it." Sam said. "I'm going to go for a walk. It's too claustrophobic in here."
Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he just pursed his lips and said, "Don't go too far."
Sam nodded distractedly and stumbled out the door without another word.
*
After walking aimlessly for a while, Sam found himself at the shoreline of the lake. He kicked at a pile of pebbles and looked out over the dark water. The sun was no longer visible in the sky, but the faint orange glow of sunset still gleamed over the horizon.
"You seem down, Sam," said Lucifer, "What's the matter?"
Sam didn't answer, not even when the lake caught fire. It wasn't anything new.
"Saaaaaaam! I'm bored!" he moaned, "Talk to me!" Sam caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up.
"There's someone in the water." he said, staring out over the lake.
Lucifer paused mid-fit. "What?"
"There's someone in the water!" Even in the growing dark, Sam could clearly see a small figure in the water, struggling to remain afloat. He stripped off his shirt and dove into the water, hardly registering Lucifer's disappearance.
The water was cold and dark and Sam disappeared under the surface with hardly a ripple.
*
"Sam?" Dean strode down the beach, his irritation growing. "Dammit, Sam, you've been gone for ages!"
"I'm sure he's fine," Aziraphale said, trying to be reassuring. "He probably just lost track of time."
"Or he convinced himself that fuckin' Satan was real again and did something stupid." Dean took a few more steps forward and promptly tripped over something. He threw his hands out to catch himself, and scraped his palms on the pebbled ground. "Ow, Christ, what--?"
It was Sam's shirt. Dean felt fear slide down his spine like ice. "Sam!" There was no reply, but for the waves gently lapping against the shore.
"Dean, don't pan--"
"--ean!" Sam's voice broke through the silence and Dean spun to look out at the water. For a split second, he saw the top of his brother's head and an arm and then something dragged him back under the surface.
Dean was in the water before Aziraphale could protest, swimming towards his brother as quickly as possible.
"Can't see." he gasped when he came up for air. "Az..." The angel understood immediately, accessing his Grace and white light lit the water around them and suddenly, terribly, he could see.
Sam was being dragged down toward the bottom of the lake, head lolling. The surrounding water was a cloudy red that made Dean's stomach lurch. But the creature that was latched onto Sam was even worse.
It was a slick black color, like spilled oil, and its fingers were bone thin and ended in wickedly sharp claws. It appeared to be caught mid-morph between human and something more animalistic. Dean gave an angry shout and swallowed a mouthful of lake water.
Suddenly he wasn't in control of his body anymore, just a passenger and, for a moment, he panicked. Then he heard Aziraphale's voice in his head: "Let me help" and he immediately stopped struggling.
Aziraphale reached out and grabbed the creature. It barely had time to turn and bare its yellowed fangs before lightning sparked across its skin and it released Sam with a dying screech.
Dean snapped back into place like a rubber band and everything went dark. For a moment, he floated, disoriented, before he managed to get Sam's arm around his shoulder and started paddling towards shore, struggling to keep his brother's head above the water. He could feel Aziraphale, a throbbing at the base of his skull and it occurred to him that something was wrong with the angel, but he was distracted by the near impossibility of dragging Sam to shore. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he cursed the demon bitch that had done this to him. He was too small to handle all of Sam’s bulk and he had to keep stopping to make sure his brother’s head hadn’t dipped back under the water.
Finally, they reached the shore, and Dean was sure it was only adrenaline that had gotten them this far his legs shook under him and he felt like he was going to be sick. He dragged Sam's upper half out of the water as much as he could and dropped to his knees beside him, gasping for breath.
It didn't look good. A deep gash ran across his chest, left shoulder to right hip and he wasn't breathing, lips blue.
"No, no, no, c'mon Sammy," Dean muttered. He put his head on his brother's chest and felt the weak flutter of a heartbeat under his ear. He sat back on his haunches and started doing compressions, his hands slipping in Sam's blood.
"Come on, Sam, don't do this to me!" he gasped. "You don't get to do this!"
Sam still wasn't breathing. Dean did a few more compressions, but there was no reaction.
"Remember, if someone's drowning, you have to check their mouth for obstruction before you start rescue breathing," Dean heard his father's voice as if he was standing right next to him.
Sam's airways were clear, so Dean plugged his nose and covered his mouth with his own, trying to breathe evenly against the sheer terror in his chest. But Sam still wasn't responding. Dean leaned back and went through another set of compressions.
"I swear to God, Sam, if you die on me right now..."
He did another set of rescue breaths and black spots started to bloom in the corners of his vision. It was no use, he was too small and fragile in this unfamiliar body to be of any help to Sam...
Sam's jerked forward and Dean fell back, Sam's forehead barely missing cracking into his nose. The younger Winchester rolled onto his side and started retching up water while the older took a few deep, shuddering breaths and tried not to cry in relief.
"Sammy," he gasped, and it came out sounding more like a sob, "We gotta get you inside, got to stop that bleeding."
Sam didn't seem to hear him, flopping back down on his back, eyes fluttering. "Az, help me out here, man!"
"Dean..." the angel's voice sounded faint, "I don't think I have enough power to heal him."
"He's gonna bleed to death!" Dean shouted, his voice going thin and hysterical, "Help me!"
Aziraphale didn't say anything, but for the second time that evening, Dean felt the sensation of not being in control of his own body. The angel leaned over and grabbed Sam's wrist and suddenly, they were back inside Trotter's house, lying on the library floor.
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, "That's the best I can do. I have to recuperate and then I'll do what I can to help Sam." Dean felt his head go fuzzy for a moment and assumed Az was doing whatever the angel variation of "sleeping it off" might be.
"Good enough," Dean said savagely, scrambling to his feet. He felt dizzy and lightheaded from the swim and the rescue breathing, but he managed to stumble into the kitchen and find a first aid kit. The harder part was getting Sam's limp body onto the couch, Dean's thin arms screaming in protest and he hauled his brother up and on to the sofa.
"Sammy, wake up," he pleaded, "You gotta stay awake, you've lost a lot of blood."
Sam's eyes didn't open, but he groaned. "Can we play twenty questions?" he asked.
Dean felt a rush of relief. It was a trick their dad had taught them, back when Sam wasn't even old enough to drive. To keep a person awake, you gotta keep them talking. "Sure, Sammy. Ask away."
"Is it animal, vegetable, mineral, or other?" he asked, hissing a little as Dean started dabbing at the edges of the gash with a washcloth.
"Animal."
"It's Batman." Sam said immediately. Dean gaped at him.
"Dude! That's not fair!"
"My turn," Sam insisted. His eyes were still closed, but there was a thin smile playing at his lips, like he was trying to stay optimistic, even in the face of this new blow. It broke Dean's heart a little bit and he took a moment to collect himself before speaking.
"Fine. Animal?"
"Yes."
"Is it a guy?" There was a long moment of silence. "Sam, you still with me?"
"It's a guy." Sam said finally, and Dean let out the breath he had been holding.
"Brad Pitt?"
A crease appeared in Sam's forehead. "You always jump to Brad Pitt first. You got a crush on him or something?"
"I'll take that as a no." Dean answered. "What number was that?"
"Three," Sam said, after a moment's pause, "So, what, you're just not gonna answer me?"
"It's my turn to ask the questions, Samantha," Dean said, threading a wicked looking needle with dental floss.
"Oh, that's rich coming from you right now, Deanna." Sam teased. "At least I don't actually have the--"
"Question four," Dean cut him off, "Is he famous?"
"Not in the traditional sense." Sam answered.
"Hey, yes or no answers only!"
"Please, Dean, you know I own you at this game," his brother teased, "You need all the help you can get."
"Yeah, yeah." muttered the older Winchester, "Here, take these before I start on the stitches." He shoved a handful of pain pills into Sam's hand and then snagged up the bottle of whiskey he'd grabbed from the Impala's wheel well.
Sam finally opened his eyes then, looking considerably cognizant for what he’d been through. Obediently, he tossed back the pills and chased them with a swallow of the whiskey. He coughed a couple of times and then slumped back against the arm of the sofa.
"Question five?" he asked softly.
"Um...is he a fictional character?"
"Nope."
“Is he tall?” Dean asked.
“Eh.” replied Sam, a mischievous light in his eyes.
“Dude, that’s not a yes or no answer.” Dean poked at him experimentally with the needle, but Sam just laughed. It looked like the pain meds were kicking in quick. Thank God for small mercies. “Sam?”
“Like...taller than average, but still shorter than me.” Sam mumbled. His words were starting to slur slightly, so Dean started in on the stitches.
"Everyone's shorter than you."
"Shut up, jerk."
The dude off the Oxy Clean commercials?" Dean threw out a random guess, more focused on the stitches than the game.
"Noooooo. I said he's not famous!" Sam whined.
"You said 'not in the traditional sense'." Dean pointed out. Sam rolled his eyes. "Eight: is he someone we know?"
"Yeahhh." Sam said, a little sleepily, his eyes drooping. Dean poked him in the ribs again and Sam batted his hands away, but opened his eyes. For a moment, he looked about nine years old again, trusting his brother to fix everything, and Dean had to look away.
"Nine: Is he an angel?" He finished the stitches and started taping down gauze. His knuckles brushed lightly over his brother's stomach and Sam shivered and giggled.
He grinned up at Dean, the blissed-out, carefree smile of the heavily sedated. "Could be."
"Dude, that's not a yes or no answer," Dean exclaimed, "You're cheating!"
"Question ten, Deaaaaaaaan."
Dean sighed. "I can't think of a good question."
"Ask if he's attractive." Sam said so quietly that Dean almost didn't hear it.
"If he's attract--what?"
"The answer's yes." said Sam, looking sidelong at his brother. Dean swallowed, a feeling of trepidation coming over him. "Do you know who it is yet?"
"No." he whispered. Sam's hand closed around his wrist and yanked him down, their lips crashing together with a sudden inevitability.
"It's you." Sam murmured against his mouth and then Dean was being kissed within an inch of his life. It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds before he wrenched away, but Dean felt like maybe decades had passed while he'd been sitting there in a stranger's house getting kissed by his baby brother.
"Dude, what the fuck?" he gasped, stumbling backwards until he knocked into a bookshelf. He didn't even remember getting to his feet. "What the hell was that, Sam?"
Sam shrugged. He was way too calm for Dean’s liking. "I wanted to."
"You wanted---Jesus, Sam, are you even hearing yourself right now?" Sam blinked confusedly up at him and suddenly Dean felt like the world's biggest dick. "Dude, you're injured and you're as high as a freakin' kite."
"But I wanted to before I was drugged," Sam said, as if it were that simple.
Dean barked out a nervous laugh, "Sam, you just need to go sleep it off and we'll deal with this in the morning."
For once in his life, Sam didn't argue. He got shakily to his feet, swaying slightly, and let Dean lead him to the downstairs bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed as soon as his brother shoved him towards it, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.
Dean went into the bathroom at the end of the hall and washed his face, hands, and arms, watching Sam's blood disappear down the drain. He stared at the unfamiliar face in the mirror for a long moment before going back to sit in the library.
If Az was there, he made no indication of it and Dean flopped sideways on the couch, feeling very lost and very alone.
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Summary: Dean had thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was. He supposed this was his punishment for being so optimistic.
Warnings: Violence, language, crack, angst.
Notes: I would just like to say, for the record, that I actually wrote this chapter early in the morning on Friday the 16th, so the whole "Stairway to Heaven" thing is just a freaky coincidence!
Chapter Eight
They made it to Cuba before dark. Dean had learned how to compensate for his loss in stature by scooting the bench seat forward and had gotten back to driving at his typical breakneck pace. Sam, for his part, was more than a little grumpy, his legs cramped from being pressed to the dashboard and his head pounding from Lucifer's rendition of "Stairway to Heaven."
"Where to?" Dean asked as they zoomed past the sign welcoming them to town.
"You've gotta get on St. Highway double-dee." Sam said, twisting in his seat to get a little more legroom. "It goes out and around the lake, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, "I remember. It's like the last place we lived before you started turning into a bitchy teenager."
"Dude, I was fourteen, what did you expect?" Sam said, letting his voice stay light. He had to remind himself that Dean didn't know that a considerable part of Sam's behavioral changes that summer had been due to his feelings towards Dean, and as far as Sam was concerned he didn't ever need to know.
"I was never that whiny at fourteen." Dean said loftily. But he grinned. "Remember the rope swing we put over the lake?"
"How could I possibly forget?" Sam laughed, "I think that's the only concussion I've ever had that wasn't caused by a monster. Dad was so pissed."
"Not to interrupt your nostalgia," Aziraphale said, "But are you certain that this Trotter fellow is a friend? From what I understand, many hunters don't work well with others."
Dean shrugged, creating a very weird visual for Sam, who'd just seen his mouth form the question. "I mean, we aren't best friends or whatever, but he'll help us. Our dad did him a solid when we were here last time."
"He did?" Sam said, surprised, "I didn't know that."
"You remember the werewolf he was hunting that we followed out here in the first place?" Dean asked. When Sam nodded, he continued, "Turns out it was Trotter's sister. Caught his scent and followed it up here. He couldn't do the job...which is where we came in."
"I don't understand." said Aziraphale, "Why do you think he would be friendly with you after you killed his sister?"
"I didn't say we were friends." Dean corrected, "I said he would help us. His sister was killing people and he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. There's no cure for werewolfism."
"There wasn't any other option." Sam said quietly. Dean glanced over like he knew what his brother was thinking.
"That's just dreadful." said Aziraphale so bluntly that Sam couldn't help but laugh.
"Story of our lives, man."
"Here we are," Dean said, pulling the car into a long, secluded driveway, "Let's go."
"There's no car." Sam observed as they walked up to the house. It was a lot like Bobby's had been: a rundown old two-story with windows looking out at the deserted street like eyes.
"Maybe it's in the garage around back,” suggested Dean. He took the steps up to the porch, two at a time and rapped on the door. "Hello? Trotter?"
There was silence, except for the sound of a bird calling out through the trees. Dean knocked again.
"Why is it that everyone you two inflict yourselves upon winds up missing or dead?" Lucifer asked, peering in the windows, "Because I'm pretty sure this guy is dead."
"Is it locked?" Sam wondered, reaching for the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand. He pushed it lightly and it swung inward with a groan.
"Well that's not ominous at all." Dean muttered.
"Is Trotter the kind of hunter that's prone to leaving his doors unlocked?" Aziraphale asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"Let's check it out." Dean whispered, drawing his gun and checking the munitions. Sam followed suit. "You take the second floor, I'll search this one."
It only took twenty minutes to scour the joint and when they met back up in the living room, both were empty handed.
"Where could he be?" Sam wondered, "I'd think there would at least signs of a struggle if something took him."
"Maybe nothing took him." Dean said, walking over to a gun cabinet that stood on the opposite wall. He pulled it open, revealing a single empty shotgun rack and what looked like the indention of large knife in the open case on the inside the cabinet floor. "Maybe he's on a hunt."
"Maybe." Sam agreed, but he wasn't entirely convinced. "Should we just wait for him?"
Dean shrugged. "Just as good a place as any. Probably not gonna get found by Leviathan out here."
"While we're waiting," Aziraphale suggested, "Perhaps we could look through his library and find out if he has any information about how to return Dean to his original form." He sounded almost eager and Dean rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Are you kidding me?" he groaned, "Now I have two dorks to deal with?!"
Despite his complaining, Dean joined in on the hunt for a useful book. It was rough going; Trotter's library was crammed to bursting with books, in every possible nook and cranny once he'd filled out the shelves, and there didn't seem to be a particular order to anything, much to both Aziraphale and Sam's dismay. It was starting to get dark outside, so they switched on the lights and continued working.
"If we had more time, I would make sure these books got the treatment they deserve." the angel said, a little indignantly after he discovered a book shoved in the desk that had begun to mold.
"Is this what you're going to be like when you get old, Sammy? A grumpy, reclusive hunter who likes books more than people?" Dean asked, turning to his brother, "Sammy? Are you okay?"
Sam was sitting in the chair nearest the door, holding his head in his hands, a pained expression on his face.
"Sam!" Dean said loudly, crossing to him. "Are you with me, man?"
Sam blinked, and looked up at his brother. His expression was clear, but there was a light sheen of sweat over his forehead and his face was pale.
"I'm fine, Dean, I'm handling it." Sam said. "I'm going to go for a walk. It's too claustrophobic in here."
Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he just pursed his lips and said, "Don't go too far."
Sam nodded distractedly and stumbled out the door without another word.
*
After walking aimlessly for a while, Sam found himself at the shoreline of the lake. He kicked at a pile of pebbles and looked out over the dark water. The sun was no longer visible in the sky, but the faint orange glow of sunset still gleamed over the horizon.
"You seem down, Sam," said Lucifer, "What's the matter?"
Sam didn't answer, not even when the lake caught fire. It wasn't anything new.
"Saaaaaaam! I'm bored!" he moaned, "Talk to me!" Sam caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up.
"There's someone in the water." he said, staring out over the lake.
Lucifer paused mid-fit. "What?"
"There's someone in the water!" Even in the growing dark, Sam could clearly see a small figure in the water, struggling to remain afloat. He stripped off his shirt and dove into the water, hardly registering Lucifer's disappearance.
The water was cold and dark and Sam disappeared under the surface with hardly a ripple.
*
"Sam?" Dean strode down the beach, his irritation growing. "Dammit, Sam, you've been gone for ages!"
"I'm sure he's fine," Aziraphale said, trying to be reassuring. "He probably just lost track of time."
"Or he convinced himself that fuckin' Satan was real again and did something stupid." Dean took a few more steps forward and promptly tripped over something. He threw his hands out to catch himself, and scraped his palms on the pebbled ground. "Ow, Christ, what--?"
It was Sam's shirt. Dean felt fear slide down his spine like ice. "Sam!" There was no reply, but for the waves gently lapping against the shore.
"Dean, don't pan--"
"--ean!" Sam's voice broke through the silence and Dean spun to look out at the water. For a split second, he saw the top of his brother's head and an arm and then something dragged him back under the surface.
Dean was in the water before Aziraphale could protest, swimming towards his brother as quickly as possible.
"Can't see." he gasped when he came up for air. "Az..." The angel understood immediately, accessing his Grace and white light lit the water around them and suddenly, terribly, he could see.
Sam was being dragged down toward the bottom of the lake, head lolling. The surrounding water was a cloudy red that made Dean's stomach lurch. But the creature that was latched onto Sam was even worse.
It was a slick black color, like spilled oil, and its fingers were bone thin and ended in wickedly sharp claws. It appeared to be caught mid-morph between human and something more animalistic. Dean gave an angry shout and swallowed a mouthful of lake water.
Suddenly he wasn't in control of his body anymore, just a passenger and, for a moment, he panicked. Then he heard Aziraphale's voice in his head: "Let me help" and he immediately stopped struggling.
Aziraphale reached out and grabbed the creature. It barely had time to turn and bare its yellowed fangs before lightning sparked across its skin and it released Sam with a dying screech.
Dean snapped back into place like a rubber band and everything went dark. For a moment, he floated, disoriented, before he managed to get Sam's arm around his shoulder and started paddling towards shore, struggling to keep his brother's head above the water. He could feel Aziraphale, a throbbing at the base of his skull and it occurred to him that something was wrong with the angel, but he was distracted by the near impossibility of dragging Sam to shore. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he cursed the demon bitch that had done this to him. He was too small to handle all of Sam’s bulk and he had to keep stopping to make sure his brother’s head hadn’t dipped back under the water.
Finally, they reached the shore, and Dean was sure it was only adrenaline that had gotten them this far his legs shook under him and he felt like he was going to be sick. He dragged Sam's upper half out of the water as much as he could and dropped to his knees beside him, gasping for breath.
It didn't look good. A deep gash ran across his chest, left shoulder to right hip and he wasn't breathing, lips blue.
"No, no, no, c'mon Sammy," Dean muttered. He put his head on his brother's chest and felt the weak flutter of a heartbeat under his ear. He sat back on his haunches and started doing compressions, his hands slipping in Sam's blood.
"Come on, Sam, don't do this to me!" he gasped. "You don't get to do this!"
Sam still wasn't breathing. Dean did a few more compressions, but there was no reaction.
"Remember, if someone's drowning, you have to check their mouth for obstruction before you start rescue breathing," Dean heard his father's voice as if he was standing right next to him.
Sam's airways were clear, so Dean plugged his nose and covered his mouth with his own, trying to breathe evenly against the sheer terror in his chest. But Sam still wasn't responding. Dean leaned back and went through another set of compressions.
"I swear to God, Sam, if you die on me right now..."
He did another set of rescue breaths and black spots started to bloom in the corners of his vision. It was no use, he was too small and fragile in this unfamiliar body to be of any help to Sam...
Sam's jerked forward and Dean fell back, Sam's forehead barely missing cracking into his nose. The younger Winchester rolled onto his side and started retching up water while the older took a few deep, shuddering breaths and tried not to cry in relief.
"Sammy," he gasped, and it came out sounding more like a sob, "We gotta get you inside, got to stop that bleeding."
Sam didn't seem to hear him, flopping back down on his back, eyes fluttering. "Az, help me out here, man!"
"Dean..." the angel's voice sounded faint, "I don't think I have enough power to heal him."
"He's gonna bleed to death!" Dean shouted, his voice going thin and hysterical, "Help me!"
Aziraphale didn't say anything, but for the second time that evening, Dean felt the sensation of not being in control of his own body. The angel leaned over and grabbed Sam's wrist and suddenly, they were back inside Trotter's house, lying on the library floor.
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, "That's the best I can do. I have to recuperate and then I'll do what I can to help Sam." Dean felt his head go fuzzy for a moment and assumed Az was doing whatever the angel variation of "sleeping it off" might be.
"Good enough," Dean said savagely, scrambling to his feet. He felt dizzy and lightheaded from the swim and the rescue breathing, but he managed to stumble into the kitchen and find a first aid kit. The harder part was getting Sam's limp body onto the couch, Dean's thin arms screaming in protest and he hauled his brother up and on to the sofa.
"Sammy, wake up," he pleaded, "You gotta stay awake, you've lost a lot of blood."
Sam's eyes didn't open, but he groaned. "Can we play twenty questions?" he asked.
Dean felt a rush of relief. It was a trick their dad had taught them, back when Sam wasn't even old enough to drive. To keep a person awake, you gotta keep them talking. "Sure, Sammy. Ask away."
"Is it animal, vegetable, mineral, or other?" he asked, hissing a little as Dean started dabbing at the edges of the gash with a washcloth.
"Animal."
"It's Batman." Sam said immediately. Dean gaped at him.
"Dude! That's not fair!"
"My turn," Sam insisted. His eyes were still closed, but there was a thin smile playing at his lips, like he was trying to stay optimistic, even in the face of this new blow. It broke Dean's heart a little bit and he took a moment to collect himself before speaking.
"Fine. Animal?"
"Yes."
"Is it a guy?" There was a long moment of silence. "Sam, you still with me?"
"It's a guy." Sam said finally, and Dean let out the breath he had been holding.
"Brad Pitt?"
A crease appeared in Sam's forehead. "You always jump to Brad Pitt first. You got a crush on him or something?"
"I'll take that as a no." Dean answered. "What number was that?"
"Three," Sam said, after a moment's pause, "So, what, you're just not gonna answer me?"
"It's my turn to ask the questions, Samantha," Dean said, threading a wicked looking needle with dental floss.
"Oh, that's rich coming from you right now, Deanna." Sam teased. "At least I don't actually have the--"
"Question four," Dean cut him off, "Is he famous?"
"Not in the traditional sense." Sam answered.
"Hey, yes or no answers only!"
"Please, Dean, you know I own you at this game," his brother teased, "You need all the help you can get."
"Yeah, yeah." muttered the older Winchester, "Here, take these before I start on the stitches." He shoved a handful of pain pills into Sam's hand and then snagged up the bottle of whiskey he'd grabbed from the Impala's wheel well.
Sam finally opened his eyes then, looking considerably cognizant for what he’d been through. Obediently, he tossed back the pills and chased them with a swallow of the whiskey. He coughed a couple of times and then slumped back against the arm of the sofa.
"Question five?" he asked softly.
"Um...is he a fictional character?"
"Nope."
“Is he tall?” Dean asked.
“Eh.” replied Sam, a mischievous light in his eyes.
“Dude, that’s not a yes or no answer.” Dean poked at him experimentally with the needle, but Sam just laughed. It looked like the pain meds were kicking in quick. Thank God for small mercies. “Sam?”
“Like...taller than average, but still shorter than me.” Sam mumbled. His words were starting to slur slightly, so Dean started in on the stitches.
"Everyone's shorter than you."
"Shut up, jerk."
The dude off the Oxy Clean commercials?" Dean threw out a random guess, more focused on the stitches than the game.
"Noooooo. I said he's not famous!" Sam whined.
"You said 'not in the traditional sense'." Dean pointed out. Sam rolled his eyes. "Eight: is he someone we know?"
"Yeahhh." Sam said, a little sleepily, his eyes drooping. Dean poked him in the ribs again and Sam batted his hands away, but opened his eyes. For a moment, he looked about nine years old again, trusting his brother to fix everything, and Dean had to look away.
"Nine: Is he an angel?" He finished the stitches and started taping down gauze. His knuckles brushed lightly over his brother's stomach and Sam shivered and giggled.
He grinned up at Dean, the blissed-out, carefree smile of the heavily sedated. "Could be."
"Dude, that's not a yes or no answer," Dean exclaimed, "You're cheating!"
"Question ten, Deaaaaaaaan."
Dean sighed. "I can't think of a good question."
"Ask if he's attractive." Sam said so quietly that Dean almost didn't hear it.
"If he's attract--what?"
"The answer's yes." said Sam, looking sidelong at his brother. Dean swallowed, a feeling of trepidation coming over him. "Do you know who it is yet?"
"No." he whispered. Sam's hand closed around his wrist and yanked him down, their lips crashing together with a sudden inevitability.
"It's you." Sam murmured against his mouth and then Dean was being kissed within an inch of his life. It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds before he wrenched away, but Dean felt like maybe decades had passed while he'd been sitting there in a stranger's house getting kissed by his baby brother.
"Dude, what the fuck?" he gasped, stumbling backwards until he knocked into a bookshelf. He didn't even remember getting to his feet. "What the hell was that, Sam?"
Sam shrugged. He was way too calm for Dean’s liking. "I wanted to."
"You wanted---Jesus, Sam, are you even hearing yourself right now?" Sam blinked confusedly up at him and suddenly Dean felt like the world's biggest dick. "Dude, you're injured and you're as high as a freakin' kite."
"But I wanted to before I was drugged," Sam said, as if it were that simple.
Dean barked out a nervous laugh, "Sam, you just need to go sleep it off and we'll deal with this in the morning."
For once in his life, Sam didn't argue. He got shakily to his feet, swaying slightly, and let Dean lead him to the downstairs bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed as soon as his brother shoved him towards it, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.
Dean went into the bathroom at the end of the hall and washed his face, hands, and arms, watching Sam's blood disappear down the drain. He stared at the unfamiliar face in the mirror for a long moment before going back to sit in the library.
If Az was there, he made no indication of it and Dean flopped sideways on the couch, feeling very lost and very alone.