If you ever get close to a human (3/4)
Part Three
From behind the shrubbery, Sam watched Ben and Lisa’s return. He knew this was a terrible hiding spot - that if Dean hadn’t been so nervous about explaining stuff to Lisa he would definitely have spotted Sam so poorly disguised as a bush. But Sam’s curiosity had gotten the best of him. He had to know how this would go, what Dean and Cas had decided, and he needed some clue of where they would go and whether or not he would be able to follow them. He didn’t really believe what Cas had said about giving him away - that would hurt Dean, and Cas wouldn’t want to do that - but Sam was still anxious. If they travelled a lot it would be harder for Sam to stay attached to them, take longer for him to find them and make it more difficult to stay. The familiarity of this house, this street, this town made it easier for Sam to hold on.
Sam was so wrapped up in his own musings that he didn’t even hear the barking. He noticed the stricken look on Dean’s face, though, and the crash of the cooler as Dean dropped it onto the front porch. It was as if he’d seen a ghost, and for a moment Sam panicked, sure that Dean had spotted him. Then he followed Dean’s eyeline.
The little old lady -Cas had said her name was Mrs. Perkins - was standing at the bottom of the drive. She had curlers in her hair and was wearing a pale pink cardigan, but her expression was anything but innocent. She was smirking and her eyes were ice-cold, filled with cruel mischief. They were pure black. She held her arms out straight, fanned out slightly from her body, and the knuckles of her fists were white with strain.
Her laughter was high-pitched and vicious. “Hiya Dean-o,” she trilled, “Long time no see.”
Dean’s response was low and measured, and Sam noticed him step slightly in front of Ben and Lisa as he spoke. “Hi Meg.”
~~~
Castiel didn’t recognized Meg until after Dean had said her name. He had recognized that the old woman wasn’t Mrs. Perkins, of course - had been mentally preparing himself for battle when Dean had identified her - and Castiel was struck by the fact that he hadn’t done so himself. He didn’t have angel sight anymore and he was reminded that this would be his first fight as a human, vulnerable and powerless.
Dean’s stance was apparently casual, though Castiel could see the tension in his back, the slight bend in his knees that meant he was ready for a fight. The other humans, though, were less calm.
Ben suddenly scrambled for the door, slipping on the spilt water all over the porch that was leaking out of the cracked cooler. Meg turned to look at him, gaze excited, as if she had been hoping someone would try something so she had a reason to strike. Castiel clutched the boy to his chest on instinct, covering his mouth with one hand.
Meg turned to Castiel. “Even fallen angels protect children.” She laughed, “It’s good to see you again too, Castiel. Or are you going by Luke now? Remember the last time we met out of disguise, when you pushed me into holy fire? Good times.”
Castiel didn’t respond, and Meg seemed irritated by his silence. “But things are a little different now, aren’t they? You’re powerless and weak. I most definitely have the upper hand.”
“You had the upper hand last time, didn’t you?” Dean’s voice oozed confidence, but Castiel could hear about four layers of false bravado. “You had him trapped in a ring of fire and he still managed to kick your ass.”
Castiel was momentarily touched by the compliment. Then he noticed the venom in Meg’s stare - now fixed on Dean - and realized he had said it to distract Meg, to bring her attention back to himself and away from Castiel and Ben.
“Yes, well I’ll be sure to make up for past wrongs today. I’m very glad our dear Castiel is human now. Humans feel so much more intensely than angels; he’ll be so much more fun to torture. And there’s something else now too, isn’t there? You love him. Maybe I’ll make you watch.”
Dean’s faced stayed blank. “How did you find me?” His tone was casual, but the abrupt change of subject betrayed something of his anxiety, and the victorious turn of Meg’s mouth meant she’d noticed.
“Oh, you thought those runes on your ribs and a few hex bags would stop me? I had some help from a friend of yours.”
Dean inhaled sharply. “Bobby,” he said quickly, the name slipping out before he had time to force the calm into his voice.
“Guess again, big brother,” said a low male voice from Castiel’s right, and he didn’t bother to turn and look. Something that had been hovering in the back of his mind snapped suddenly into place, and he hated himself for not seeing it sooner.
“Adam?” Dean asked, bewildered, all pretence of being in control utterly destroyed.
~~~
Sam saw Adam before Dean did, saw him flicker into view to Cas’ right, his face flooded with a relief Sam was all too familiar with himself. He heard Adam call Dean “big brother” and he knew what that would do to Dean. He saw Dean’s face break, saw the hunter’s calm fall away. He knew Dean’s weakness for blood, for family, for younger brothers. They were his Achilles heel, and Sam knew this could be the end.
“Weren’t expecting to see me again, were you Dean?” Meg’s voice had been cold and sadistic, but Adam’s was not. His tone was barely contained rage, a deep human bitterness of a man wronged. Meg’s was the voice of a demon doing what she does best, Adam’s was all human. “Bet you thought you’d gotten rid of me for good.”
“Adam, I...what are you talking about?” Dean still sounded like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “I never wanted this to happen to you.”
Adam’s laugh almost sounded like a sob. “Of course you did, Dean. You’re the reason this happened to me, you and Sam. You threw me down that pit and into hell, Dean, then abandoned me there.”
“I didn’t abandon you, Adam. If I had known there was a way to get you out...I thought you were dead...” Dean trailed off, but Sam knew the rest. I thought you were both dead. Dean’s guilt-wracked expression wasn’t just for Adam, Sam knew.
“See that’s the thing about Hell, Dean. You can’t die down there. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? So my body’s alive down there, burning itself out or being shredded to bits while Michael and Lucifer fight it out, only to be restored so I can die again and again for all eternity. Time works differently in Hell, Dean, but then you know that already.”
Dean winced at Adam’s words and Sam thought maybe he could even see tears welling in Dean’s eyes. Fuck. Dean needed to focus now, needed to fight. This isn’t the time for grief, for imagining Sam burning.
Sam saw Adam’s mouth twist in pure hatred as he nodded to Meg before he disappeared. She grinned like small child who had just been handed a shiny red balloon and actually bounced up and down with glee, an eerier sight because she was wearing a sweet little old lady. “Dean’s very familiar with Hell. In fact, he’s been missed down there. I’ve brought some old friends to take him home.”
She smiled wickedly as she opened her fisted hands, letting them fall to her sides. “Sick ‘em, boys.” The air filled with ear-splitting barking, and Sam moved.
~~~
Castiel pushed Ben towards the doorway and barely saw his mother grab his hand before he turned back to Dean. “Salt all the doors,” Dean was screaming over the barking, “Call Bobby.” Lisa didn’t respond and Castiel could only hope she had heard him over the chaos, that the hounds would be too busy with him and Dean to attack them too.
It was difficult to brace himself for an invisible attacker, for a blow that could come from any direction. Castiel could hear the dogs, yes, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere. Castiel felt like he was drowning in any ocean of growls and hot breath already.
He felt a warm hand in his and looked up into Dean’s face. Dean gave him a weak smile and squeezed. “I’m glad we figured it out, Cas.” He was speaking normally, but somehow Castiel found he could hear him easily over the sound of the hounds.
Castiel smiled back, faintly. He realized that Dean hadn’t told him to go inside with Lisa and Ben, that Dean hadn’t tried to save him, had known that Castiel wouldn’t leave him. He smiled more brightly. He had something that no one else had, that not even Sam had. He was the person Dean Winchester was willing to die with, not only for.
They stood, hands linked, pathetically human and completely unarmed as the Hell hounds bared down on them.
A loud whistle sounded suddenly from Castiel’s left. The barking stopped and the hound’s breath turned away from Dean and Castiel. Sam stood to their right, body tense and eyes determined. “Oh wow, I seem to have gotten lost on my way back to Hell,” he exclaimed in mock surprise, winking at Castiel. “Here doggy doggy doggy. Nice puppies,” he cooed.
The barking started again like lightning, the calm in the storm over without warning. Castiel felt a wind against his face as the hounds rushed by him towards Sam, their original mission abandoned in favour of juicier meat. Sam took off at breakneck speed, tearing down the sleepy small-town cul de sac with the invisible pack presumably close at his heels.
~~~
Sam ran like he had never run before. He was actually a little out of shape he knew; he could’ve done better if he hadn’t spent weeks sitting around watching Dean, lecturing Cas and juggling wax fruit. In any case, he was still ahead of the dogs, mostly because he’d had a bit of a head start. They would be nearly impossible to lose, of course, but that wasn’t the plan.
All he needed to do was get them far enough from Dean that they’d lose the scent. Hell hounds were easily distracted; that’s why they needed to be led around on leashes by demons. Get them far enough from their prey and they would forget all about it, and wander around sniffing fire hydrants until some demon came and collected them, or something. Sam just needed to get a few miles between himself and Dean.
But that, of course, was the problem. There was a reason Sam normally stuck to Lisa’s and the house across the street. He was attached to Dean; Dean was what held him to the earth against the tug of Hell. And when Dean wasn’t around, the Impala would do. Sam hadn’t been this far from Dean since he’d escaped from Hell.
Already he could feel a strong pull in his chest, a burning sensation in his heart. Hell was a magnet and Sam’s heart was an iron nail, tugged ceaselessly downwards. As if that wasn’t hard enough to resist, there was also Dean pulling him backwards. He and Cas may have joked about Sam haunting Dean, but there was something to it. Dean was his anchor to the real world, and running away from him felt like absolutely the wrong thing to do.
Sam turned off Lisa’s cul de sac and onto a main avenue. He didn’t know exactly where he should run; he wasn’t familiar with the town apart from Lisa’s and the empty house across the street, hadn’t even had the option of exploring. But Sam figured all he had to do was keep running in a relatively straight line to get away from Dean. He passed a group of teenagers playing ball hockey on the street, and they looked at him like he was insane. And they were probably right to stare - only Sam could hear the hounds barking, to everyone else he looked like he was sprinting with all his might, in intense pain, for no reason whatsoever.
People always say there’s a difference between pressure and pain, but Sam had reached the point where the two converged. Every step he took was torture and led to a fresh explosion of pain radiating from his heart through his entire torso and shooting down his limbs. Sam felt like his entire body had pins and needles, like his arms, legs, neck, fingers, toes, lips had all been numb and were - excruciatingly - waking up all at once. His gasped desperately for air but it felt like his lungs had shrunk or there wasn’t enough oxygen for him to take a real breath. For the first time Sam wondered what this might do to him, if running from both Dean and Hell could have consequences beyond the pain. What if he couldn’t survive at a distance from them? What if he disappeared, flickered out, this time for good? It was almost enough to make him slow his steps; Sam wasn’t ready to leave yet.
Dean, Sam remembered, Dean and Cas. It felt like a lifetime ago that Sam had jumped into that cage, though it had been less than two months. Sam had been scared then too, but he had jumped. He knew Dean thought he’d been motivated by guilt, by a responsibility to fix what he’d messed up, but that wasn’t why. Nor had he jumped because he was a hero, because he’d wanted to save the world. The real reason Sam had jumped was Dean. Sam had given his life so Dean could have a shot at living one. And if he’d done it once before, Sam couldn’t wimp out now.
Dean had a real shot at life now, a much better chance even than he’d had the first time now that he had Cas. Sam had seen the light slowly coming back into Dean’s eyes, he’d seen him smile and even laugh. Dean liked to be working at something, liked to be fighting for something. Whether it was the pretty girl they were saving, Sam, or the entire human race, Dean had always needed something to fight for. Cas would be Dean’s project now. Sam saw in the way Dean looked at Cas that Dean wouldn’t give up on whatever they were. And Sam figured that actually having a long-term relationship might have been the biggest challenge Dean had ever come up against, Apocalypse included.
So Sam gritted his teeth and ran for Dean and Cas, though he was pretty sure it would literally tear him apart at the seams.
~~~
The moment Sam disappeared around the curve in the street, Castiel sprang into action because he knew Dean wouldn’t be able to. He dropped Dean’s limp hand and sprinted across the lawn, towards a still-startled Meg. She blinked out of her surprise when he was two steps in front of her - raised her hand to repel him, to smash him into the concrete - but she was too late. Castiel slammed into her body hard, and they fell down together into the grass. Meg clawed at his face, aiming for his eyes, the moment they landed and Castiel’s human body was still winded from impact.
Castiel knew he had to stay on top of Meg, had to keep the demon pinned. It was the only upper hand he had; he was completely unarmed and the elderly vessel was deceptively powerful. Meg was stronger than he was, and in all likelihood a more experienced fighter. She struggled underneath him and Castiel tried to lean in the opposite direction of her momentum, to ride out her fury. Her fingernails bit into his flesh; Castiel could feel warm sticky trails of blood running down his arms, staining Mrs. Perkins’ pink cardigan where it dripped onto Meg’s body beneath him.
Meg hissed, spat and cursed in languages even Castiel had never heard before, but Castiel ignored her. He was listening for something else. Castiel’s heart leapt when he finally heard the rhythmic slap of running feet against concrete, the reluctant creak of a car trunk opening.
Castiel’s relief made him relax involuntarily, and Meg seized the moment to thrust her knee upwards into Castiel’s groin. As he gasped in pain she rolled so that suddenly Castiel’s back was pressed into the cool grass, Meg straddling him, vicious grin triumphant. She wrapped the old woman’s hands around Castiel’s throat and began to squeeze with superhuman strength. Castiel tried to tug her hands away with his own, but she was stronger than him and now that she was on top she had all the leverage, too. Castiel managed one last gasping breath before she tightened her grip and everything started to go blurry around the edges.
The last thing Castiel saw before everything went black was Dean, over Meg’s shoulder, shiny silver knife raised.
~~~
Sam was running through quicksand, or at least sidewalk that acted exactly like quicksand. When he glanced down between steps he could actually see his feet disappearing beneath the concrete, about a quarter inch deeper per step. What little mass he’d managed to give his body within the past few weeks was disintegrating as he increased his distance from Dean. Sam wondered if any of the townspeople he passed could see him sinking into the concrete too, or if this was a special hallucination Hell had cooked up just for him. He wondered if any of the townspeople could see him at all, or if whatever was left of him on earth was fading away completely.
The Hell hounds could definitely still see him, and they weren’t losing interest yet. Sam’s head start had slipped away, and now he led by mere inches. Sam imagined he could feel the vibrations of their jaws snapping closed a hair’s length away from his thighs. They would be biting at his ankles, of course, except that Sam was calf-depth in the ground by now. The deeper he sank the harder it was to run, like trying to walk in deepening water. Sam wondered what he looked like from underneath, if Lucifer and Michael could see his feet dangling overhead.
The dogs were still chasing him and Sam didn’t know how much longer he could keep moving like this. He tried to think about Dean, to give himself a little extra boost. He remembered, suddenly, that Christmas they’d tried to have before Dean was dragged to Hell. It had been terrible, of course, but it had also made him feel warm and safe and loved, and Sam was pretty sure it had been more than the really strong egg nog. He remembered how Dean had wrapped Sam’s gas station gift in the comics section of the newspaper because it was “more festive” and couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out more like a wheeze.
Sam’s legs felt lighter, as if he had regained some of his footing. The pressure in his chest eased slightly. Sam threw his mind back again, remembered the time he and Dean had to pretend to be teddy bear doctors in that wishing well cases, how much Dean had dreaded needing to off a plush toy. He remembered playing hundreds of games of pool - just for fun - and seeing the look of satisfaction in Dean’s eyes when he lost because it meant that Sam was getting better.
He remembered one fourth of July when he was a kid. Dad had been out of town for a few days and had missed the school picnic, and Sam had spent the evening pouting in his room. Past midnight Dean had burst into the room, carrying an armful of fireworks they couldn’t afford. They’d spent hours setting them off one by one in a field just outside the city, and the big one they’d saved for last had set the long grass alight in flames that were even more spectacular than the sparklers.
Then Sam felt a new sensation. Something bounced against his chest, a small object striking him repeatedly with a gentle tap. Sam reached up to touch it, and found himself holding metal, slightly warm to the touch. It was a charm strung on a leather cord, worn smooth with years of wear. Dean’s amulet, the one he’d dropped in a motel trash bin months ago. He’d thought it was gone forever.
Sam wrapped his hand around the charm and held it to his chest. He lurched forward suddenly as something pulled him sharply upwards like a puppet, yanking his lower legs out from the ground. Sam stumbled but managed not to fall, though he did feel at least one of the dogs brush against him. He quickened his steps and found it was easy, that his lungs were clear, that his legs felt strong and solid. For the first time in weeks Sam could really feel his muscles work, feel the vibrations of his steps reverberating through his whole body. He reached for a nearby streetlight with the hand not clutching the amulet, and his palm slapped painfully against it. It hurt like a bitch, actually, and Sam thought maybe he’d broken a finger or something.
Sam grinned, loving the feeling of the wind against his face. The Hell hounds brayed and Sam kept running. Just let them try to catch him now.
~~~
“Cas. Cas!” The voice sounded distant and Castiel wanted it to stop so he could go to sleep - sleep was very important for human beings - but it kept calling his name. “C’mon Cas, please.”
Finally Castiel opened his eyes, irritated. “What?” he snapped.
Dean’s eyes were very wide and very green. They were also full of tears. “Oh thank god,” he said, “I thought you were dead.”
“There is no god, Dean.” Castiel corrected. Then he added, “Are you crying?”
Dean looked startled. “Shut up. This has been a very emotional ten minutes for me.” He scrubbed furiously at his eyes, wiping away the evidence.
Castiel sat up, then struggled to stand, leaning heavily on Dean. He realized he was covered in blood.
“It’s not yours,” Dean said quickly, “It’s Meg’s.” Tossed carelessly to the side a few feet away lay Mrs. Perkin’s body, demon blade still protruding from her back.
Castiel staggered a few steps towards her, and bent down, wincing, to retrieve the knife. He wiped it on his t-shirt, which was ruined anyway. Then he handed the knife back to Dean. “You should take better care of this,” he reminded, “it would be hard to replace if we lost it.”
“I’m sorry, I was pretty distracted.” He tucked the knife into his belt, then wound an arm around Castiel’s waist again. He bit the fingernails of his other hand, which was a little bit disgusting because it was covered in demon blood. Dean realized his mistake soon enough, spitting on the ground in horror.
Castel chuckled and found that it hurt his ribs quite a lot. He settled into silence, trusting Dean to support his weight as they hobbled towards the house. When they reached the front step, Dean lowered him into a sitting position. “We should take off your bloody clothes before we take you inside. Don’t want to fuck up Lisa’s house.”
“Yes,” Castiel agreed. He looked at the driveway, where a miniature river of blood was making its way resolutely across the cement. “We should also bury that body.” The Neighbourhood Watch would be less than impressed with an old lady’s corpse cluttering up the neighbourhood.
“Yeah.” Dean looked distracted. He drew spirals in the salt spilled across the step as a result of the unnecessarily thick line either Lisa or Ben had poured. The salt turned a disarmingly lovely pink colour where his still-bloody hands touched it. “Cas?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, “Did you see -”
“Sam?” Castiel answered before Dean could even finish the question. It was heartbreaking how hesitant Dean looked now, as if he was even afraid to let himself hope that what he’d seen had been real. “Yes, I saw him too. You’re not crazy.”
He’d expected Dean to be happy, but of course Dean had grown to expect the worst when it came to his brother. His face looked pained for one brief moment, then turned cold and determined. “Oh. I guess that means I need to find him. There are no bones to burn, but I could lead him over hallowed ground or something.”
“You’re so certain you have to destroy him.” Castiel didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so much like a question. “Dean, you don’t even know why he’s here.”
Dean’s voice was hard. “I know why Adam was here, don’t I? They’re probably vengeful spirits.” Dean must’ve known that theory didn’t exactly hold water, because he paused briefly and resumed his salt drawings. “But whatever they are, I know it’s not good. Meg brought Adam here to hurt me. The least I can do is make sure some demon doesn’t make whatever little bit of Sam’s left into its bitch.”’
Castiel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He’d promised Sam he would let him tell Dean himself, but these were exceptional circumstances. Certainly Sam would want Castiel to stop Dean before he started to hunt Sam?
“Dean, he began, “there’s something you should know - ”
“Yeah, he should know that I’m nobody’s bitch.” Adam had appeared next to Mrs. Perkin’s body. He kicked it experimentally. His foot made contact with flesh and cardigan with a soft thwump noise that sent shivers down Castiel’s spine. So Adam had learned to touch objects too. If he could kick Mrs. Perkins he could definitely kick Dean. “I brought Meg here, not the other way around. I don’t know how you got past her hounds, but I’m betting you’ll find me a little more challenging. What do you say, big brother, you wanna try and kill me too?”
Castiel hadn’t seen Sam do more than open the Impala door or juggle wax fruit, but he was fairly certain Adam would be able to do some damage. After all, if it was Dean pulling Adam from Hell, as with Sam, Adam would have no problem touching him. Hadn’t Sam said being close to Dean made him feel real and strong? Adam’s face was twisted with rage, his eyes blazing with what Castiel imagined might be the fires of Hell itself. There was a darkness around Adam at the edges, like negative space or an aura gone horribly wrong. He had never noticed anything like that surrounding Sam; if anything he had seen the opposite. Though Sam was sad he was still always warm; just looking at Adam made Castiel feel cold, and Adam’s stare wasn’t even focused on him. Adam only had eyes for Dean.
Castiel moved to stand in front of Dean, a gesture that was completely pointless because Dean was already striding across Lisa’s lawn, pulling the demon blade out of his belt. He stomped on a lawn gnome on the way, and Castiel winced at the crunching noise of collapsing plastic, though of course he should have been more worried about the crunching of Dean’s bones.
“You gonna kill me Dean? You’ve already killed the rest of your family - some of them more than once.” Adam’s voice was so cold it would’ve frozen anyone but Dean in their tracks. But Dean was red hot with anger and mentioning his family would only make him hotter.
Dean’s passion was one of the many things Castiel loved about Dean, perhaps even the one thing he loved most. Dean had been willing to give his life for humanity, to risk everything for a species he’d never really fit into. He’d convinced Castiel - and Gabriel even - that they were worth saving by the force of his passion alone. When he had been an angel Castiel had assumed that all humans were so emotional, so fierce and overwhelming in their emotions. Now that he was human Castiel realized that this was just Dean. When Famine had told Dean he was empty inside Castiel had wanted to laugh, he might’ve if his mouth hadn’t been full of ground beef. Dean wasn’t empty inside - he was the fullest being Castiel had ever known. He was so full of life, passion, love that he had pulled Sam back from Hell like a planet with his own personal gravity. But Sam wasn’t the only one pulled out of Hell and into Dean’s orbit.
Suddenly, Castiel knew what he had to do.
~~~
Sam whistled as he walked back to Lisa’s, swinging the amulet around one finger. He smiled at every little old lady and dog-walking housewife he saw, and waved joyfully to people mowing their lawns. He trailed is fingers along fences as he walked, savouring the feeling of the rough wood against his skin and the rhythmic thwap thwap thwap sound it made. He actually hoped he’d get a sliver.
The trip back to Lisa’s seemed much shorter than his original sprint has been, though he was moving at less than half the speed. Maybe it was because going in this direction he wasn’t in excruciating pain and didn’t have vicious dogs on his heels. He’d lost them somewhere near the edge of town. Or maybe it was because in this direction he had something to look forward to. He was nervous about seeing Dean, but somehow he felt like everything was going to work out. He had his body - and somehow the amulet - back, and together they could conquer anything, even a Dean-sized temper tantrum.
Sam was practically skipping by the time he turned onto Lisa’s cul de sac. It felt good not to have to sneak around and hide himself. When he was within view of the house, though, he stopped dead, then broke into a run. There was someone else there, someone so intensely familiar that Sam knew it couldn’t be good news. Apart from Bobby and Cas, everyone Sam and Dean Winchester had ever gotten to know was either evil or dead or both. Once he was close enough to recognize Adam he knew the answer was ‘yes’ to the former and ‘it’s complicated’ to the latter.
Adam was standing near the end of Lisa’s driveway, next to a crumpled heap Sam assumed was the poor woman Meg had been wearing. Midway across the yard stood Dean, knife in hand, while Cas was closer to the house, moving slowly in Dean’s direction. He was saying something in that low, firm angel-voice of his and Sam couldn’t quite make out the words. Neither Dean nor Adam seemed to be listening to him, or at least they were too busy staring each other down to face him. Sam tried to approach the scene slowly - maybe they could use the element of surprise against Adam.
He raised one hand to signal to Cas that he was ready if they needed him. To Sam’s surprise, when Cas looked over at him his expression was panicked, not relieved. It was as if he was scared of Sam, as if his presence would hurt instead of help them. Had Cas assumed that Sam would turn into Adam, that Hell had ruined him too? Cas gestured for Sam to stop and, bewildered and maybe just a little hurt, Sam did so, crouching behind the neighbour’s hedge. If there was anything the past couple of weeks had taught him, it was that he could trust Cas - even if Cas couldn’t trust him.
If Sam strained his ears, he could hear what Cas was saying.
“Dean isn’t the one you want, Adam. Dean is the last person who’s responsible for what happened to you.”
Adam sneered, took a step towards Dean. The air around his seemed to shimmer as he yelled. “It should’ve been him! It should be him burning for all eternity!”
“Adam, I wish - ” Dean started to speak, but Cas gave him a look reminiscent of the good old days when he had been a real angel and a real dick. Dean was so busy watching Adam he missed the glance, but Cas interrupted anyway.
“He wishes you’d never called him - or whatever it was that looked like you. You’ve been so much more hassle than you’re worth. You aren’t really his brother anyway. Dean’s a hunter, and all the hunting blood is on his mother’s side.”
Sam watched Dean’s face as Cas spoke. Cas knew Dean pretty well - better than anyone in the world other than Sam, and Sam was pretty sure Cas now knew a few things about Dean a brother should never know. Which is why it was surprising that Cas had this whole thing incredibly wrong. Sam had been there when they met who they thought was Adam and he knew how much he meant to Dean, instantly and unconditionally. To Dean family was family, and Dean had loved that kid. He had been horrified when they angels had set their sights on him.
Now Dean watched Cas in disbelief, mouth slightly open, as if he was waiting for a chance to interrupt. But Cas just kept talking, words pouring out of him. “There are only two Winchester brothers. Even if they’d met you alive, you’d never have been anything but a third wheel.”
Adam, however, wasn’t afraid to interrupt. “You don’t think I know that?” he shrieked. “He’s always hated me - hated that my existence ruined his perfect image of his daddy. That’s why he let the angels take me - why he never really tried to save me - he wanted me dead.”
“Adam I - ” Dean tried to cut in, to deny Adam’s accusations, but Cas was too quick for him again.
“I’m afraid you misunderstand me, Adam.” Cas kept his voice low and firm. He made no move toward Dean or Adam. He stood as if his feet were rooted to the ground. “I didn’t say Dean hated you, I merely said he didn’t love you or consider you family. He didn’t waste his time imagining your death, in fact, I’d wager he barely thought of you at all. He didn’t want the angels to take you, but he didn’t much care after they did. He had his real brother to worry about.”
For all that Cas has most of the situation entirely wrong, there’s a grain of truth to this. Dean had been upset and guilty about Adam, but mostly he had wanted to move on, to make a plan to beat Lucifer. And after that, then he’d wanted to save Sam, to pull him out of the pit if necessary. And Cas had told him - and hell Sam could see it in the way Dean mowed the lawn, even - that he wasn’t over Sam now, never would be. Adam was a loss Dean could grieve and recover from, just another tragic causality of war. Dean hadn’t, and if Cas was right, never would, let go of Sam. And that passion, that eternal connection had been enough to link earth and Hell, to form a bridge between them for Sam to walk.
Problem was, Dean was apparently Adam’s bridge too. The force of his rage and hatred had been enough - Adam was so fucking mad at Dean that he had dragged himself out of Hell to take his revenge. And though Sam liked to think love was stronger than hate, Adam was obviously just as, if not more, secure here than Sam had been before the amulet had appeared.
“No,” said Adam, but he wasn’t yelling anymore. “No. They had it out for me.” When Sam squinted he thought he could see Adam flicker. He definitely saw him wince and clutch his chest. Sam winced in sympathy, not that Adam deserved any. Adam was being pulled back towards Hell; Sam knew the feeling.
“No one had it out for you, Adam. The angels thought you would be useful, that’s all. It wasn’t personal, and it certainly wasn’t Dean’s fault. He’d forgotten all about you by then.” Dean bit his lip and inhaled sharply at this, and if Sam could hear it then Cas certainly could, but he just kept talking. Sam was pretty sure this was the most he’d ever heard Cas talk at one time, actually. “You were hurt, of course. But you can’t blame Dean for that. Blame Zachariah and the rest of the angels. Blame Michael. Blame Lucifer. Blame John Winchester for not preparing you like he prepared his other sons. Blame Sam Winchester for saying yes.”
Something was happening to Adam. The angry glare was fading from his eyes, replaced by uncertainty and finally pain. He clutched at his stomach, and struggled to take a step toward Dean, falling to his knees in the process. They sank a good six inches into the ground. His image flickered rapidly, like an old TV losing reception.
“The thing is,” Castiel continued, raising his voice so it could be heard over Adam’s whimpers of pain and gasping breathes. “None of them are here, are they? There’s nothing keeping you here, Adam. Chase the angels all the way to Heaven if you must have your revenge, or find Michael, Lucifer and Sam in Hell.”
Adam’s gaze was fixed on Cas as he severed Adam’s last connection to Earth, but Sam was watching Dean. He saw realization dawn on his brother’s face as he figured out what Cas was up to. It was an intensely familiar expression; he’d seen Dean work out how to gank a monster a thousand times before.
“Dean,” Adam whimpered, reaching one arm out towards Dean’s boot. Half his torso had sunk through the ground now, and he was transparent. Sam could see Mrs. Perkin’s body through him. There were tears in his eyes and Sam wondered if it was just Hell’s pull he was crying about. “Dean, we’re family. Help me.”
Dean shrugged. “Kid, I barely know you. I can’t save everyone.” He turned his back on the boy, taking a few steps back toward Cas.
It was kind of anticlimactic, actually, the way Adam silently flickered out of existence. There wasn’t even a dent in the grass where most of his body had pulled through to Hell. As far as entrances and exits went, Hell opted for efficiency over dramatics this time.
Dean didn’t even seem to notice Adam that was gone. He walked the rest of the way across the lawn towards Cas and held his hand. Sam watched his chest rise and fall as he took one deep breath. He said it quietly, but the silence of Adam’s departure seemed to amplify his voice. “Sammy?”
~~~
For one horrible moment Castiel was certain Sam wasn’t going to answer Dean’s call. He thought he’d seen Sam in the neighbour’s yard, but maybe he’d hallucinated it. Hell hounds didn’t give up easily, and Sam couldn’t get very far from Dean anyway. Either way Castiel knew it was possible Sam would be back in Hell, and maybe the demons would be beefing up security after Adam. He squeezed Dean’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting way.
Then Sam popped out of a nearby hedge. There were leaves in his too-long hair. “Hey guys,” he said casually, “what’s up?”
Dean was across the lawn before Castiel even realized he had dropped his hand. As he approached, Sam winced, closed his eyes and braced himself. Dean stopped inches from his brother. “What the fuck are you making that face for?” he demanded.
“Aren’t you going to punch me?” Sam asked, opening one eye cautiously.
Dean laughed - a laugh so real and genuine Castiel thought he could almost see the air around Dean lighten. He was feeling a great deal lighter himself. “No I’m not going to hit you.” He pulled Sam into a hug and Castiel gasped because it looked so solid. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see your stupid face.”
“How?” Castiel muttered. Dean’s arms should’ve passed right through Sam.
Sam grinned at him and made a lewd hand gesture over Dean’s shoulder. “I told you I’m not a fucking ghost.”
Dean pulled away from Sam. His smile was as wide as Sam’s. Often Castiel thought there wasn’t much family resemblance between them, but those smiles were identical. “Of course you’re not a ghost, Sammy. I have no idea what you are, but you’re not a ghost. Ghosts are losers - wait, what?” He turned to face Castiel. “You knew about this, Cas?”
Castiel looked at the ground. Really, the way ants organized their little civilizations was fascinating. Watching them reminded him of when he’d been an angel watching the humans.
“Cas?” Dean interrupted Castiel’s anthropological study of ant, and his tone indicated he meant business.
“Maybe. I mean, yes. We spoke. I called him a ghost.” Castiel chanced a quick glance at Dean’s face and he definitely looked...pissed. “Sam made me promise not to tell you!”
Dean whirled to glare at Sam now. “Okay well maybe I am gonna have to punch someone,” he threatened.
“Uh, guys?” Lisa stuck her head out of the kitchen window. “Sorry to interrupt, but are we all going to die or not?”
Dean grinned at her. “Nope. No one’s dying today!” he exclaimed. He glanced briefly at Mrs. Perkins’ body, “Well, no one else.”
“Oh good. Then you might want to consider getting the dead lady off my driveway.”
“No problem. Right away. I’ve got a shovel in my car. Wanna help me hide a body, Sam?” He asked the question like he was offering Sam a special treat.
“Damn right I do.” Sam slapped Dean on the shoulder as they walked toward the Impala. It made a loud smacking noise.
“Ow!” Dean whined.
“Sorry,” Sam looked contrite. “I just like that I can do that now.”
From inside the house a child’s voice begged, “Can I help hide the body? Huh? Can I? Can I?”
“No,” answered Lisa, Dean and Castiel simultaneously.
Epilogue
Master Post