Life From the Dead 2/2
Sam liked to sit out on the front porch after group. It let him think in a small, peaceful space, and sitting out in the open air reminded him of the endless hours he and Dean had spent outside: watching the stars, the storms rolling in, the rain dripping off the roof. He could sit with Dean, for hours, and not have to say a thing. Just be close, resting, together, with a feeling of perfect safety, perfect understanding.
He’d chosen this spot to call Dean and confess that he’d withheld his conversation with Ruby. Dean, being Dean, had scoffed and told him to quit worrying, that they were in the clear. But then he’d said:
“You should have told me this afternoon, Sammy.”
And Sam hated himself for it, but he just wanted Dean to be by his side while he spoke. He was determined to give him space, for Cas’ sake, but his wretched, ragged nerves had other ideas.
“You-I-you and Cas. Were...things were-they were good. You’re happy again. You and him. And-I almost broke you up. For good. I told him-I told Cas I’d-I’d back off. Be-be out of the picture. But I don’t want to lie to you, Dean-”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell do you mean, you told him you’d be out of the picture?”
“I just...I’ve dumped too much on you both. You can’t have a relationship that revolves around me-”
“Cas went along with this?”
Sam felt heat in his face. “Well...no. No, he said things shouldn’t change. But, Dean-”
“And we know from experience that every time you’ve sacrificed for me, you’ve been kicked in the jewels so hard you could’ve worn them like a necklace.”
“Ew-that-that doesn’t even make sense!”
“Shutup and listen to me, Sam.” Dean took a deep breath. “I’m no shrink, but you’re not up to par yet. You’ve been leaning on me more than you used to. But that’s what I’m here for. You carried me for years, you need to let me carry you now. It’ll be your turn again. But don’t you dare let anyone-Cas, Ash, Alan, Missouri-tell you you can’t come to me. It took us way too long to get to where we are, bro. We are not having a backslide.”
“You’ve given just as much-more-for me!”
“Yeah, and it’s a bad habit. You know it. Missouri made us both eat our own crow, remember?”
“But...I want you to be happy, Dean.”
“I am, Sammy.” Dean softened his voice. “I am. We’re fine. You ain’t heavy-you’re my brother.”
Sam burst out laughing. “Asshole.”
“Whatever. Don’t worry about that dumb bitch. I’m not going to prison. McCloud isn’t going to try to touch me, because he knows damn well you’ll be right behind, fully willing to testify, and that would damn him worse.”
“I would, Dean. I wouldn’t care what I had to tell them. I wouldn’t ever let you go to jail.”
“I know,” Dean’s voice was warm, affectionate. Sam felt himself beaming, the dumb thing that always happened when he’d made his big brother proud. “Think I’d have gone out there without knowing my pain-in-the-ass-little-brother had my back?”
“Yes.”
“Well...yeah. But still. I know you did.”
Sam chuckled. “Dean...thanks for buying me ice cream.”
“I’ve been buying you ice cream since you were a year old.”
“But...still. This weekend-”
“Was nothing, you hear me? I had fun. I didn’t think about Cas. Don’t thank me.” Dean dropped his voice. “Don’t, bro. Don’t thank me for being around.” Sam’s throat was too swollen to speak after that. “It’s almost ten, bud. You need to hit the hay. Pop your glory pills and dream of the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”
“Will you text me when Cas gets home safe?”
“As long as you’re not awake to read it.”
Sam grinned again. “Cas is going to pick me up from work and drive me to yours. Andy’s got the green light and will be at dinner on time.”
“Good. Because when I get home, I like dinner on the table. I’m old fashioned.”
“You’re not getting near the table without a shower.”
“I smell like peaches and roses, even when I’m rolling out from under the bellies of beasts.”
“Goodnight, Dean.”
“Nighty night, babycakes.”
Sam clicked “end” and sat smiling at the phone. Dean could be so damn...Dean.
The screen door swung open and Ash sauntered out. “Thought I smelled angst in these parts,” he said, and swung himself up on the porch railing, lighting a cigarette. “You’ve been quiet in group. You good, bro?”
“I’m okay.”
“If you don’t vent, you’re gonna lose all that awesome hair before you’re ready.”
Sam smiled. He thanked God Ash was the head in the halfway house. He was evangelical about recovery, and the physical, emotional, and psychological wellbeing of his lodgers. “Just...been thinking about relapse.”
“Not an island I’d recommend visiting.” Ash blew a smoke ring.
“It’s just...my Dad had big stretches of sobriety. He really worked at it. He came to my soccer games. He took us for ice cream, and to the movies, and out to dinner. He ordered pizza and watched TV with us. I hated him for so long...but sometimes...sometimes I miss him so much,” Sam’s voice broke. “I hated him, Ash. And now...now I think, maybe I could have helped him. Maybe we’d understand each other.”
“Did your Dad ever lie on Freud’s leather couch?”
“Well...no. He’d...he had some literature. And he’d quit buying booze. And-”
“And it takes more than that, kid. You know it. It doesn’t stick if you don’t dive into the deep shit.”
“I just...I wish I could tell him I get it now.”
“Aw, hell, bro.” Ash ground out his cigarette. “There’s all sorts of shit I’d like to lay on my old man. And it sucks, but they’re not us. You’re not gonna fall just because he did.”
“But-”
The electronic rendition of Born a Ramblin’ Man rang out of Ash’s hip. Ash flashed him the “one minute” finger and answered. “Talk to me. Dr. Al! yeah, I’m home, I’m-” his face dropped. “Oh, shit. Where-” he looked at Sam and carefully composed himself. “Okay. Sure. Yeah, yeah I’ll tell them. Thanks for the call, doc. Keep me posted.” He hit end.
“Everything alright?”
“Ruby OD'ed.”
Sam’s chest constricted. “What?”
“She’s alive-in intensive care. Lily found her.”
“What’d she take?”
“Some cocktail. They don’t know yet.”
“Ash...she told me this afternoon that she was still using. That she never stopped.”
“Well yeah, bro. We all knew that.”
“You did?”
“You didn’t?”
“But...she came to meetings and stuff.”
“Well, she passed her urinalysis every week. We figured someone was bringing her clean piss, but Alan couldn’t exactly kick her out on a hunch, they were trying to trap her other ways.”
“How?”
“Trade secret.” Ash winked. “Look...it’s way past your usual turn-in time. You need to get some sleep. I’m not trying to mother-hen you, but you’ve heard the speeches about the importance of sleep when dealing with everything. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”
Sam just nodded and got to his feet. He performed his nightly rituals like a robot, like an automaton, like an avatar of the brilliant, promising young man on his way to law school.
He could do this. He could lie down and relax and not think about Ruby. Or relapse. Or Crowley. Or Jess and Dad and Maddy and Cas and Dean and Cas and Dean and Cas and DeanDeanDeanDean...
***
Dean was a gifted man. It was technology that was stupid.
Like the fact that if he hit the “All On” button the remote, Cas had to reset their DVD player, cable box, and speakers. Which was so not his problem. If his dumbass doctor wanted to bring a remote control in the house with a giant red button that said “All on/off” and then tell him not to press it, that only proved what Dean knew: electronics were stupid, not him.
Dean was trying to find America’s Most Wanted-and why weren’t they making remote controls with pop-out keyboards like his damn phone did?-and kept landing on various episodes of The Real Bitches From Hell from cities all over the country and didn’t bother looking at the caller ID. “Yeah, what?” he barked.
“Dean?” fast, harsh breathing-Sammy in a panic attack.
“Hey,” Dean murmured, snapping off the TV-without hitting All Off, thank you-and heading out to the porch. “Thought it was Bedtime for Bonzo, buddy. What’s going on?”
“Ruby overdosed.”
Ruby. The dumb bitch Dean had hated from the second he’d eyed her. She’d dealt drugs-Sammy had never dealt drugs. She’d given attitude in groups. She’d rolled her eyes every time Dean asked Sam if he needed anything. She was just a dumb bitch and Dean didn’t care who knew it.
But, she was also Sammy’s friend. And Dean never did hold up well when Sammy needed something.
“Is she okay?” he swung himself up on the porch railing and looked out over their small front yard. He liked to talk to his brother on the porch-it reminded him of the hours they spent outdoors, watching storms and stars and silently relaxing, feeling a peace that never came inside their father’s house.
“She’s in the hospital. I-Dean, she told he me she was still using. She told me. And I...I didn’t...I didn’t do anything about it.”
“What could you have? You can’t make her sign in. You know that. She’s got to-”
“What if I can’t stay clean?”
Dean’s heart sank. It was his own worst fear. Dean was no dummy: he knew there were moments Sam longed to ease his crippling anxiety, guilt, and depression. He couldn’t fault him: he missed his own liquid courage often enough.
“You said Ruby never stopped using. So she’s never seen what it’s like on the other side.”
“It’s not that, Dean, it’s-it’s-she said-she said there’s no getting out. That I’ll go down again. Dad did. Dad went down, over and over-”
“You’re not Dad.”
“-no matter how much he didn’t want to, I think he tried, Dean, when I look back, he did try, he stayed sober, or he didn’t come home if he’d had too much or he locked himself in his room and-and-what if I can’t-”
“Sammy, you can. You’re clean. You’re surrounded by safeguards to keep you clean.”
“I’m not right, Dean,” he sobbed. “I had a scholarship to law school. And now I can’t...I can’t even work the cash register on a Saturday.”
Dean closed his eyes. These were the worst moments for him-the ones where he just wanted to ride to the rescue, have his brother by his side, keep him against him where he could be sure he was safe. Missouri, Cas, Alan, and everyone else had pointed out that part of this problem all along was that they had no coping mechanisms outside of one another, which meant if one wasn’t well, the other went down just as hard and fast.
“If you relapse, you know what happens? You go back to Rosemount. They lock you down. And when you’re clean, Cas and me come. And we sit with you, and we go to therapy, and we bring you dinner, and we work your meds, and we find you a safe home, and we do it as many times as we have to until it sticks for good, you understand me? Because I won’t accept anything less than you sober, and if it takes five, ten, fifteen, a hundred rounds to get there, then we get back up and do it until we get there.”
Sam’s breathing slowed. “Thanks Dean,” he whimpered. Dean hated that sound.
“S’okay,” he soothed. “It’s okay, Sammy. You’re doing great. I’m proud of you. I’m proud you’re my brother.”
“But-”
“I am.”
“Dean, I-”
“So what?”
“You shouldn’t-”
“The hell I won’t.” Sam burst out laughing. Dean smiled into the receiver. “You’re that easy, bitch.”
“You’re the world’s biggest jerk.”
Dean may struggle with call waiting and speaker phone and conference calls and remote controls and cable, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how to attach things to an email. He tended to act without thinking long-term, and he’d tossed his partner into the ditch for daring to question a decision that clearly had impacted his life. He could be short tempered and foul-mouthed and co-dependent and God knows he would fight the urge to take a drink for the rest of his life.
But there was one thing he was awesome at, and that was being Sam’s big brother. When the world broke down on him, that was what he’d clung to-it was Sam he clung to. And once he did, none of his own shortcomings seemed to matter anyway, and he wondered how he’d ever let them.
***
Cas thanked the nurse as he handed over a request for tests and a few prescription adjustments. It had been an uneventful shift-even a good one. Patients he had left for the weekend were generally glad to see him, as well as some of the other staff.
He hadn’t recognized half of them. He hadn’t thought to tell anyone but Dean when he left.
Peter had never crossed his mind. The thought that McCloud might have parents, brothers, sisters, friends, had never crossed his mind. That McCloud particular brand of...philanthropy might affect others had certainly never crossed his mind. And yet, his friend was right: this wasn’t just about him and Sam and Dean.
“Cas.” He started as a friendly voice sounded behind him. Anna was there, smiling warmly. “Did you have a nice weekend?”
“It was...productive.”
“I’m glad. You were missed.” Anna made a few notes on a clipboard and handed it over to the on duty nurse with warm thanks. “So. Everything alright?”
“Very good, thank you. My brother Gabriel...he needed me. But he’s well now.” Cas had never been a good liar. But Anna just smiled.
“Good. I wish I had siblings. Or family nearby.”
“I can’t remember you taking vacation.”
“I haven’t in quite a long time.” Anna looked serious once more. “Sometimes...going home doesn’t feel like a vacation. And yet...going on vacation alone seems like work in itself.”
“You could...rest at home.”
“I’ve never done ‘rest’ well.” She managed a small smile. “It’s...good to have you back. As I said. You were missed.”
Anna started down the hall. Cas felt his own spike of anxiety: he didn’t know what was right, what was professional, what was in line with etiquette, what right he had to-
If Sam can face withdrawl and Dean can face a monster in alley, you can risk a social faux-pas bro, Gabe’s voice suddenly rang in his head, and got him moving.
“Anna,” he called, jogging after her. “Listen...Dean and I, we’re having friends over for dinner tomorrow night. Bobby and Ellen and Sam and Andy-people from our Superbowl party. Would you like to join us?”
Anna’s eyes widened. Cas’ stomach sank. “I...” her voice cracked.“That...that would be very nice.”
“We were planning on 7:30.”
“I...I have a meeting. But-I’ll cancel. Can I bring anything?”
“Your fruit tray was deeply appreciated by myself and Sam. Dean...not so much. And since Ellen has dessert covered-”
“I’ll bring the good carbs.” Anna blushed a bit. “Thank you, Cas. I...I’ll be on time.”
“You can be late.” He smiled, hoping it was as warm as he wished. “We don’t mind.”
If Cas was going to be a true friend, a true brother, a true partner, he needed to push. He needed to stretch the limits of his comfort zone. Sure, he and Dean had been as passionate as they’d been in the beginning, this morning, but that didn’t erase the wake of destruction left by McCloud, or the fact that Cas had spent his life struggling to understand the emotional needs of those around him. If he was going to make it, going to truly join the Winchester family in their habit of patching together emotional strays and loving them as their own, he had to start facing down the emotional and psychological challenges they fought and conquered.
He was ready.
***
Sam couldn’t sleep. Either the valium wasn’t strong enough to combat his nerves after the past few days, or he’d adjusted to it. Alan and Missouri had warned him he’d build a tolerance, but Sam didn’t want to up his dose. He wanted to be off meds all together. As a kid, drugs usually meant Dean shoplifting, and so Sam had learned to hide his aches and pains and fevers and soldier on without any extra boosts so he wouldn’t sully his brother’s criminal record.
Considering what he was coming off of, a little mood stabilizer/anxiety suppressor shouldn’t be much of anything. But Sam still resented those little orange bottles.
He wanted to talk to Dean. Again. Wanted to be sure he and Cas were okay-body and soul. Wanted to be sure they were on the mend and Cas wasn’t going to abandon them for the east. Wanted to be sure they were healthy and their smoke alarms had fresh batteries and they’d locked their windows and doors. Wanted to be sure the car engines were safe and their carbon-monoxide detector was running. He knew it was compulsive-obsessive (because Sam did NOT have OCD, thank you) but he needed them to be safe. He needed to never have to hear about another loss for as long as he lived.
Of course…he’d told Cas that it would be alright if he pushed him away from Dean a bit. And he’d meant it. But now, in the dark of his small rented room of Ash’s halfway house, he regretted it. He hadn’t had limitations on talking to his brother since he’d left Rosemount, and he’d come to rely heavily on Dean’s constant availability.
Too heavily.
Sam absently traced the scars on his left wrist. One. Two. Three. Jess, Dad, Maddy. College, Addiction, Rosemount. Michael, Crowley, Ruby.
Dean, Cas, Sam.
Shit.
Sam shot upright, gasping, heart racing, trying to walk himself through the deep breathing Cas had taught him, the focusing exercises he’d learned in groups and with Missouri. It was no use. This is how he felt after losing Jess and Dad, after leaving school. He couldn’t think, couldn’t calm down, couldn’t bear a life of constant grief and anxiety. Missouri had helped him understand what drugs had helped him do: fill the voids of lost confidence and faith he’d had when he arrived at college. When he’d met Jess. When lawschool and children and a life of peace for himself and his brother was right there.
She’d said other things, things Ruby had addressed at, all places, their Superbowl party: that sometimes, Dean’s protective nature had smothered him. But that was in his days of being happy, being healthy. And in his days of addiction, striving to prove that he could go back to being who he was before people started dying around him. Trying to prove that he wasn’t scared. Trying to prove to Dean that he wasn’t a scrawny, shy, geeky pre-teen who hid behind his brother when their Dad yelled, or crawled into bed with him when he’d had a bad dream, or was afraid the blows Dean had taken would cause him to abandon Sam in the night.
It was second nature to retreat to Dean in times of uncertainty and distress. But it wasn’t fair to Dean or Cas, to retreat to them every single time his anxiety spiked. Dean had made a valiant effort to re-trust his brother after everything Sam had done, and Sam hadn’t reciprocated by trusting Dean and Cas to take care of themselves-and one another-in his absence.
Sam rocked himself, feeling sick, wanting to cry with the weight of fear and guilt and the rush of his heartbeat. He really, really, really, didn’t want to be alone right now. He really, really, really, wanted Dean and Cas to have the night to themselves.
He dialed without thinking.
“Heyo!” Andy answered. “Sam, you’re usually out by now, buddy. Everything cool?”
Andy-housed in his van, spooning his old bong, coasting by and who knows what money-was still the group’s fussy Grandmother at heart. He knew all his friend’s schedules, habits, meds, and official diagnosis. And he’d read the DSM-cover to cover. And God knows why, but he made a special effort to befriend Sam.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just...” Sam didn’t know what to say. He just didn’t want to sit with all this on his own.
“Gotta tell you, man-hope you’re not interested in an Oscar. You couldn’t fake a cold while you had the flu.” Sam smiled. “Listen, I just dropped Tracy off at hers. I’m five away. You want me to swing by?”
“Curfew-”
“Dude, me and Ash are cool. You won’t get in trouble. Is he awake?”
“I didn’t check. I-I’m trying to...give Dean and Cas space.”
“Gotcha. T-minus four minutes, okay? You good until then? I can stay on the line.”
“No. No, you shouldn’t drive and talk.”
“Then you be at the door. In one giant, unharmed, sober piece. Alright?”
“Thanks. Thanks, man.”
“No worries. Me and the Polar Princess are riding to the rescue.”
Sam pulled on socks, but didn’t bother sliding out of his sweats. Andy had seen him at his sickest, sweatiest, smelliest, and weakest at Rosemount: he didn’t need to hide behind real clothes.
Andy was screeching up on the curb and bounding up the stairs faster than he could remember him ever doing before.
“Hey,” he said, wrapping Sam in a hug. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, man. We’ve come way too far not to have it be okay.”
And goddamnit, with all the after-effects of recovery, he hated that one was looking kindness in the face and breaking down.
***
Cas had crawled into bed around one in the morning and fitted himself close to Dean. Dean had woken up enough to shoot a “C ssfe” text to Sam before dropping back into oblivion. He woke warm and rested, deeply rested, for the first time since Sam had run like a bat out of hell out of KGB’s burger joint. He could feel Cas at his back, breathing even and steady, soft rolls of muscle nudging his spine when he inhaled. Cas’ fingers traced over his back and shoulder. Dean grumbled and tried to burrow into the pillow.
“Dean...I want you to tell me what happened in the alley.”
“Leave off,” Dean grumbled.
“Please.”
I did what I had to and you tucked tail and ran. I don’t even know why you came back. I don’t want to question it. I don’t want you to.
As if hearing his thoughts, Cas’ hand stilled, a firm palm on his back. “I’m not leaving again. No matter what you tell me. I know more, now, about what that man did, than I understood before I left. I thought it was just Sam he’d used. And Sam was willing. So I didn’t see why-”
“Sam was not willing. Sam was sick and starving. And Sam fought that SOB when he went for his pants.”
“I know,” Cas placated. “I know. But, Dean...how did you find him? Did he see you? Know you?”
Dean stared at the sun hitting the dark blue carpet on the floor of their room. It’d been one of the few colors he’d agreed on. Growing up, everything had been beige. For Cas, everything had been full of explosions of intense reds and purples and yellows and greens-the latest “must-haves” for the season. He’d longed for neutrals. Dean hated neutrals.
“I started at the bar. Said he dropped his phone and I wanted to give it back. They’d seen us sitting there. Sonofabitch had his card on file, so after I got a few beers into Carly the bartender, she conveniently ‘forgot’ I had the phone and gave me his cell. I got the GPS activated and caught the sonofabitch getting blown by some fifteen year old in an alley.”
“Did he say anything?”
“I told the kid to get the hell out of there.”
“Not the kid. McCloud.”
Dean’s entire body tensed. It didn’t matter how much time passed: he didn’t believe he’d ever not want to scream, cry, or kill when he thought of it. Thought of Sammy-smart, sweet, innocent little Sammy-on his knees for smack. Sick and starving and calling the garage just to hear Dean’s stupid voice. Giving in to everything Dean had battled to save him from. Being forced to stand in the doorway of the bus ride that would leave him ten blocks from Rosemount, all so the driver could eye him. Make sure he wasn’t going to hold up the bus or charge a passenger or something.
How could anyone-think-about-Sam-
Dean didn’t think he’d said it out loud. But Cas’ arm was suddenly around him, and his chest was pressed fast against his back, and cheek was resting on Dean’s head, and he was whispering “it’s alright now. You saved him. Please...tell me.”
***
McCloud seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the services rendered. Dean was rage embodied: all he could see was Sam, stumbling toward him, a sweaty, smelly, sobbing mess in Rosemount’s waiting room: Sam, pleading with him not to be mad, not to abandon him: Sam, the little kid with dark floppy hair and big sweet eyes, who’d cuddle against his side and sleep easy, no matter what, outside or inside, was hurting him.
Dean could have slugged him in the pub on principal. It was only the desperate efforts of Cas and Peter Balthazzar that kept him from doing so. The second Sam had swung himself half into Dean, the elder Winchester had known something was terribly wrong. Forget big brother instinct: Dean knew people. And he’d known McCloud was a slimy piece of scum from the second he’d slithered up. He’d attempted to tolerate him because, for whatever reason, Cas had an attachment to Peter Balthazzar. And, though he loved his bright-eyed, serious-minded boyfriend, he sometimes felt he was guiding an emotional child.
And then...well. His emotional child had vanished and his broken, degraded brother had surfaced, and Dean hadn’t known where or what he was but an underqualified life preserver.
He’d underestimated both Cas and Sam. And, like everyone one day did, they’d run from him.
Dean had never learned how to run.
So there he was: facing down McCloud-Sam’s ‘Crowley’-full of rage and hurt and the crippling guilt of failure.
“You here about your little ‘Sammy?’” the man had mocked, not even bothering to zip his pants. Like Dean wasn’t worth his modesty.
“I know what you really are,” Dean growled.
“An entrepreneur. A do-gooder. The salvation of many rotting souls on these indifferent streets.”
“You’re a dealer, a rapist, and a dirty rotten sonofabitch.”
McCloud cocked his eyebrow. “I always thought your moose might have a big mouth. Theoretically, of course. You wouldn’t believe just how small and tight it could be with the right persuasion.”
Dean launched himself forward and slammed the smaller man into the wall, elbow pressed against his throat.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he hissed.
“You’re Papa Bear now, is that it? You sure it’s me you’re mad at? After all, mate. I was the one sustaining him while you were encouraging your doctor to examine your naughty bits.”
Dean threw his first punch. It snapped the man’s head to the side, but Dean wouldn’t let him fall. McCloud gasped, and, for the first time, Dean saw fear in his face, in his eyes.
He loved it. He wanted more of it. He wanted him to feel every bit of what Sam had: right down to the moment he collapsed in a sweaty, snotty, sobbing mess of withdrawal.
“I’ll have you imprisoned for life,” the Scot growled, spitting blood. “You’ll never see your either of your little come-buckets again.”
“See, that’s not gonna happen,” Dean murmured, keeping his voice a steady, calm, assured tone. “I’m gonna grind you into the ground and when they find you, the jig’ll be up. And it’ll be your ass they’ll want behind those bars. “
“I’ll never see jail.”
“You’ll only see jail.” McCloud’s eyes were widening further. “And if you out me, I guarantee my brother will turn over pitch perfect testimony in seconds.”
“Alright.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Let’s make a deal. Quarter million will do ya?”
Dean slugged him again. “You’re not gonna buy my brother from me.”
“I already did.” He heaved in a pained breath. “And that filthy animal wasn’t worth the cost of the baggie he snorted from.”
Dean threw him to the ground and slammed his foot into his ribs, satisfied with the sound of their cracking.
“Okay,” gasped, spitting blood. “Okay. Half a million. I’ll go up to the fully monty. Just-”
Dean slammed his knee into the man’s stomach. “Sorry, ‘Crowley.’ I’m the one thing that can’t be bought.”
Dean would love to say that he attacked with calm, thorough, planned assurance. But he didn’t. He went at the sonofabitch like there was nothing to live for. He poured the rage at his father for hurting them, Sam for hurting himself, Cas for fearing his outbursts, and his own failure, into the blows he fed into that asshole. He hadn’t regretted a single one.
He didn’t, to this day. No matter what the cost, he knew, in the darkness of that damnable night, he’d been the first to ever beat that sonofabtich. And that, at least, he owed the brother he loved. The partner he was willing to sacrifice for that love. And for all the many, many, underprivileged souls who’d never see the justice of dawn.
***
Cas was a warm, shaking mess against Dean’s back. Dean didn’t want to feel his disappointment. His horror. His rage.
Sometimes, he wished he couldn’t feel a thing.
“That...monster,” Cas’ voice broke. “Dean. I’m...sorry.”
“Shove it,” Dean mumbled.
“No. Dean...Sam-”
“Just stop, Cas.”
“I didn’t realize-”
“I said SHUTUP.”
“Thank you for loving me.”
Dean felt like he’d been slugged. “God, Cas…”
“You don’t have to handle this alone,” Cas pleaded. “Dean...I love him too. I won’t leave again. I mean it. I get it now. I’m...I’m in it with you now.”
“Christ,” Dean snapped. So what if his snap sounded like a sob? So what if Cas’s arms tightened? He was Dean Winchester, and little comforts didn’t matter. Promises from others didn’t mean a thing.
“It’ll be okay,” Cas murmured. “You’re not alone. I love you, Dean.”
And that? That was just the sort of thing Dean didn’t care about. Not a bit. He’d lived his whole life without it. Sam had lived huge stretches without it. He didn’t care for Cas’ smell. He didn’t care for Cas’ warmth. He didn’t need it.
He didn’t.
He did.
Cas’ lips met his bare shoulder. “I’m sorry. I promise...this round, there’s no going back. We’ll do what we have to, and we’ll live with it. We will, Dean. We three.”
Dean’s boyfriend was dumb and dramatic and dorky, and Dean’s brother was nerdy and loyal and struggling, and Dean just wanted the three of them to freeze in a place of understanding: one little, solid, steadfast trinity, forever and ever.
Amen.
Part I