The Pride of Your Heart Part 5
Sam was working at untying his tie when his phone started blaring “Purple Haze,” the ringtone Andy had downloaded and assigned to himself, then proceeded to set off during group before raising his hand and accusing Sam of triggering him. He found this to be the funniest thing in the world until the fourth time, when Missouri was running the meeting, and his glee earned him a good solid whack across the back of the head and three hours washing dishes in the Rosemount kitchen.
“Hey,” Sam answered.
“BEST GROUP EVER!” Andy bellowed. “Hey Pop-seatbelt? Sorry, my arm makes it super hard to-Dad! No, I want to tell him-IT’S MY STORY!”
“Jack here,” Andy’s Dad came on while Andy swore and hollered in the background. “Just want to say sorry about whoever’s dead.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
“No sir, I hate that. Ow!” he swore. “This is what happens when you get a kid from the pound-he grows up, gets shot, and hits you with his cast.”
“I WANT MY PHONE, POP!”
“Take care, Sam.”
“He’s such a jerk!” Andy griped. “Dad, buckle me in! Anyway. We’re going for pizza, because I can eat that one-handed, but guess what? Ansem failed his third test...he’s GONE, baby!”
Ansem Webber was, for some reason, Andy’s chosen nemesis. Sam thought he was a jerk, but no more than any of the other bullies (and there were a few) in their program. For whatever reason though, Andy had hated him from day one, and took great pleasure in challenging his excuses in group. He’d been reprimanded several times-though never by Missouri, who seemed to enjoy watching Andy take him on-and even Sam had told him to cool his heels.
“You didn’t spike his urine, did you?” Sam asked.
“Nope. And that makes it all the better. Oooh, thanks Pop!” Sam heard him chewing. “Dad’s been buying me DumDums and taking the wrappers off!”
“And eating the Butterscotch!”
“Yeah, friggin’ Butterscotch. Ugh. I’d take another bullet before sucking on that. It tastes like boiled tears.”
“You okay?” Sam asked. DumDums tended be Andy’s way of redirecting his urge to use.
“Oh yeah, nothing like that. We’re celebrating because it’s Friday and Ansem got kicked out of group and my cast comes off in a week.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Yeah, whatever! We’re celebrating.”
“Someone should celebrate Thursday!” Jack called.
“Yeah, so there. Oh before I forget-Ruby’s back. And she’s a brunette.’”
“How is she?”
“Seriously? He wants to know how she is,” Andy relayed.
“Christ on a cracker-give me that phone.” Jack’s voice became clearer. “Major Jack of ground control here, son. Listen to me: you are too damn nice. You make my son look petty.”
Andy yelled “hey!” in the background.
“And that’s good, because that’s how I raised him to be.”
“Damn right!”
“Seriously, Sam, the girl’s trouble. I get it, maybe you like the bad girl type, but you’re on the straight and narrow now.”
“Oh my God...do you think he has a crush on her?”
“I’ve always thought that. I think she was a little sweet on him, for sure.”
“How can you tell? Did you even meet her?”
“I’m an old man, kid, I know these things.”
“She is so not his type! He likes smart and maybe a little sassy, but Ruby?”
“You know...I can hear you!” Sam called.
“Seriously Sam?” Andy asked, coming in clearer.
“No. You two just invented that and then ran off with it.”
“Oh yeah...sorry, we do that sometimes. Do not ask me what happened when we decided my eighth grade history teacher was a lesbian. Holy hell. Pop, you remember that?”
“We swore not to speak of it.”
“Yeah, we did. I’ll tell you when you get back. When is that?”
“We have a flight tomorrow. Kind of hoping Cas will change it though. He’s not really spending any time with his family.”
“Holy crap you met them? The Morgans? No wait-shutup, shutup until I put you on speaker!” There was the sound of fumbling and swearing and “Dad, I can’t do this gimp!” and then Sam could hear background noise. “Okay, we’re both here! What’s Lou like? Does he really not sleep? Did you get Cas’s real name? Is Mike still a dick?”
“Well-Lou, Raphael, and Cas’s Mom are scary as hell, Mike seems like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and Cas’s name...” he hesitated. Cas had only ever shared his full name with Dean, and Sam had found out completely by accident. It didn’t seem right to share it. “Cas’s name is still a mystery.”
Andy and his Dad sighed in unison. “Well, listen,” Jack called, “when you get back, we two are taking you out to dinner and we want to hear everything-looks, non-looks, names, convos, hotel details. Full disclosure, hear? Back in the day, I played New York thousands of times.”
“He did not.”
“Radio City, Carnegie Mellon-”
“It’s Carnegie Hall-”
“Stock market, Apollo-you name it.”
“Sam, ignore him. Except for the us buying you dinner for gossip part, that’s totally going down. But hey-this is meant in a completely non-gay way, but...I miss you. I don’t have anyone to make faces at during group. I’m saving you all the Root Beer Dum Dums. So let me know when you land okay?”
Sam smiled. As enthralling and overwhelming as New York was, a few hours in Cas’s world had had him wanting nothing more than to toss on jeans and a flannel shirt and see Bobby and Ellen, Andy and Jack. He even missed Missouri-he would have loved to see her take on Cas’s family on their behalf.
“We’ll be back soon.”
“Awesome. Hey, you need me, hit the horn, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Alright. We’re gonna eat pizza and talk about your crush on Ruby now. Take care!”
Sam smiled as he hung up. Sure, there was nothing genetically linking Andy and his Dad, but they were living proof that you didn’t need blood to be family.
Sam pulled his tie and jacket off. He’d promised Dean and Cas to make a lunch run, and had shut both of the doors between their rooms to let them have some time to themselves. The afternoon had been hard on Cas, and Sam knew it had been hard on Dean to not be at Cas’s side.
A light knock came on his door as Sam was unbuttoning his dress-shirt. He checked his watch and figured enough time had passed that Dean may havae stepped out for ice and was returning to complain he’d forgotten his key, or a hotel employee had been sent to offer perks because of Cas’s last name.
Instead, he found Lou Morgan.
“Oh...hi,” Sam said. Lou smiled.
“Sam...may I call you Sam?”
“Sure. Sorry...Cas is next door. I don’t think he’s feeling well.”
“Actually...I was hoping to talk to you.”
“Oh...”
“I know...you have every reason not to trust me.” Lou’s smile wavered, and he shifted his briefcase. “I’m sure my brothers have told you plenty of stories. And the truth is...well, that they’re true.”
“Oh.” Sam had no idea where this was headed, so he just clutched the doorway and wondered if Dean would hear him if he yelled.
“I know...it’s awful. It turns out that...well...I have a mood disorder.” Lou tried to restore his grin and failed. “I’m bi-polar, it seems. I’m on medication now, and I stay close to my doctors. I never realized life didn’t have to be a massive uphill battle before I saw them. I was lucky I had a great big brother looking out for me.” Lou shuffled his feet. “I’m trying so hard to change, and it’s like...I’ll only ever just be the crazy one. The one who ruins everything, no matter how hard he tries. The one no one trusts.” Lou’s eyes grew wet. “I know...and you’d be right. But, Sam...I’d hoped you’d understand. All I want to know is if my little brother is happy and well. Michael has his opinions and Gabe has his and Raphael is consumed with business. I’d hoped you’d give me a few minutes to just share what your lives have been like recently.”
Sam still barred the entryway, eyes searching for-and finding zero-deceit. Nothing he said rang false-Gabe had said Lou was volatile and unpredictable, and Sam knew a few diagnosed as bi-polar-Ruby and Max instantly coming to mind-that he could see that as true. Michael’s visit had certainly done a number on all of them, and while Sam wasn’t sure what had happened with Raphael’s once they’d left the room, he could read the Dean and Cas well enough to know that it had been difficult.
On the other hand, he knew what it was to be the family screw-up, trying to do right, and being miles and miles away from where he needed to. He knew what it was to worry about a brother, and he knew what it was to feel doubted by one.
“I guess...you can come in,” Sam said slowly. Lou brightened. “I don’t want to talk poorly about Cas though. Or Dean. But if you have questions...I can try to answer them.”
“Of course,” Lou beamed. “All I want is the best, Sam, truly. For all of us. Nothing but the best,” he promised, and, as the younger Winchester turned, ensured the chain lock forbade anyone from the inside or out from opening the door.
***
“He’s not answering...his calls just keep going to Lou!” Cas said.
“Okay, well, like you said, most stuff is going to him since he’s dealing with the media.”
“I left three messages with his assistant and he still hasn’t called me.”
“Dude, it’s not even an hour after the royal luncheon ended.”
“You don’t understand, Dean! Lou and Raphael are probably taking this time to move, and Michael needs to be aware!”
“Cas, I get it. I also get that you calling over and over isn’t going to change where he is.”
“I have to stop this. I have to do this right.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I haven’t been here-I haven’t supported them.”
“Listen to me. I can’t pretend to know everything about your family, but I think this would have happened whether you were here or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“You hated all this. The same way Gabe did. All this... infighting. Don’t you think they would have tried to slip this past you, even if you’d been here all along?”
“I can’t think about that now. I know this is wrong and I have to stop it!”
“I’m not saying you can’t and I’m not saying not to. I’m saying that hitting that number over and over isn’t going to change the fact that Michael is off grid, and you can’t pull him back on.”
“You doubt me,” Cas snapped, whirling on him.
“I’ve never doubted you, but if you need to talk to me like a Morgan, you go right ahead. I can take it.”
Cas felt heat fill his cheeks as tears filled his eyes, and he sank onto the bed next to Dean.
“I didn’t mean that,” he managed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Dean put a hand over one of Cas’s and pressed, gently. “We have to wait. It sucks, I know, but the ball’s in Mikey’s court here.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
Dean lay back and patted the bed next to him. Cas glared.
“I can’t sleep now.”
“I’m not asking you to sleep. I’m asking you to trust me.”
Cas’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t doubt that.”
“I don’t. Which is why you’re gonna lie down, just like you did when we were courting.”
Cas snorted. “’Courting?’”
“Hey, I was a perfect gentleman. You’re the one who jumped me in the front seat.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Just lie down.”
“I can’t.”
“Lie. Down.”
Cas obeyed, slowly, turning his back into Dean’s side. Dean adjusted the pillows and himself and ran a warm hand over Cas’s shoulders.
“I can’t afford to sleep, Dean.”
“I’m not humming, am I?”
A quiet moment passed, where Cas stared out toward the window, toward his hometown, and Dean pressed against the tightest knots of muscle along his upper back.
“I remember, you know,” Cas murmured. “When I first started staying with you, and I was up and down checking my email and calling in and reading the news, and you...you taught me to relax.”
“And I remember, that when you first pulled into the garage, you seemed like you were from another planet. That’s how damn tired you were.”
“And you pitied me.”
“Dude, I liked you. You were tired as hell and you still felt guilty. I can relate.”
Cas smiled, even as he felt his throat swelling.
“Cas, buddy, when I saw Michael up there giving that speech...that’s what you were like. You can’t go back to that. I’m not saying this isn’t important, but you can’t let it rule you. I get that your family isn’t thrilled with me and my livelihood, but I was never too tired for Sammy and Dad. I can live in an apartment and drive an old car and shop at thrift stores, if that’s the price.”
“Sam...I promised I’d take him downtown.”
“And you will, but not now. He’s going to shower and grab us some lunch, and you’ll get ahold of Mike, and then we’ll figure the rest of this out, okay?”
Dean forced his fingers into one of Cas’s fists and held tight, and Cas finally allowed himself to list back into him.
“Tell me a funny story. About you and Sam. When you were young.”
Dean chuckled, the warmth of it rumbling through his chest to Cas’s back. “Alright. This one is called ‘Big Brother Gets Baby Brother to Love Grocery Shopping.’ Also known as ‘John Winchester Restacks Tomato and Pineapple cans and is Banned from ShopRite.’”
***
Sam couldn’t say he trusted Lou Morgan, but he could certainly identify with him.
Like him, Lou had wanted his older brother to break out from under their father. Like him, Lou was navigating medications for anxiety and depression. Like him, Lou wanted nothing more than to be successful enough to provide for his family, for a change.
And so when Lou smiled and said “I’m sorry to ask this, but could I have a glass of water?” Sam didn’t think twice about going into the bathroom and filling one of the hotel’s cheap glasses, until he walked back into the room and found it empty.
In the seconds he was processing this, a hand clamped over his mouth, the glass hit the carpet with barely a sound, and a sharp stab rendered him completely immobile in seconds.
Because the room wasn’t empty, and Lou wasn’t thirsty, and Sam didn’t know Cas’s family, and if there was giant thing he had in common with this Morgan, it was making a mess of everything those before him had tried so hard to build.
***Michael Morgan was never taking pills again.
Even as he thought that, he realized it was irrational, but when awoke in a puddle of his own drool, on his office sofa, it felt reasonable. He hadn’t slept in days, and, when he’d confessed as much to Lou, his brother had encouraged him to take what he did when the worst arose. Michael had refused, but with their Father’s funeral looming and no remarks prepared, he’d finally acquiesced and swallowed what his brother swore by.
While he’d never been one to heavily-medicate, he wondered if the pills had hit him a touch too hard. He’d known he’d been in shock, and known he was tired, the pills put him one step away from everything happening. It was as if his brain was working at half-speed, and his planned rapprochement with Castiel was a miserable failure: he’d been so damn out of it, he hadn’t even pulled Cas aside to explain what had changed his mind.
“A Vincent Virgil to see you, Sir,” Kim, Michael’s assistant, told him.
“Fine,” Michael mumbled, waving his hand. He felt more grounded and present than he had earlier, but he was still so drained, he didn’t care if the Pope appeared in his door, hat and all.
“Can I get you a coffee, sir?”
Michael sat up, tie askew, head half-swimming, to look at his assistant, who was frowning at him like his mother would. “Please,” he mumble. “Can you give me a few minutes before you send him in?”
“Of course.”
“Kim? Thank you.”
She nodded and clicked her heels away, the consummate professional his father had taught him to hire. She’d worked for him for five years, and he’d never even asked her husband’s name, and she’d never lingered to ask if he was ready, really ready, for a meeting.
He tried to chalk up his sudden neediness to Lou’s pills, but he knew it wasn’t. It was that his Father...his boss...the Commander in Chief...was gone.
His father was gone.
Michael sank down behind his desk and managed a few deep, controlled breaths. He’d been fighting this realization with papers to sign, and boards to reassure, and brothers to pull together, and a mother to calm-
He’d been fighting this. He’d been fighting this and so, he should, at this point, be winning.
“Vincent Virgil,” the man in his doorway said, and Michael forced himself upright and shook his hand, heartily.
“Good to see you...please, have a seat,” he managed, straitening his tie.
“I prefer to stay standing, sir.”
“Alright,” Michael sank into his own seat, attempting to look casual when he ran a hand through his hair, and not like a man with a mess of a mop he was hoping to tame. “Please, go on.”
“Sir...I swore a duty to the law when I passed the bar. I entered this profession wanting nothing more than to serve and protect and prosecute wrong-doing. And, although I believe in loyalty to my executive, I can’t help but worry here.” Vincent handed him a packed with CONFIDENTIAL scrawled on the front. Michael seized it and fumbled with the clasp, tossed the documents across his desk. “It’s...referred to as the ‘Castiel Codicil’, Sir,” Vincent explained. “An amendment to the will that stipulates the conditions of Castie’s interest in the estate-”
“I know what Codicil means!” Michael bellowed, dread settling in his stomach.
“He said that Castiel would be returning.”
“Cas said this?”
“No, sir. In fact...what I witnessed seemed that he was directly opposed to it.”
“You witnessed?”
“The second document.”
Michael flipped through, but it didn’t take much to figure out that what he had signed was in no way related to the transfer of the estate: he’d signed away his rights to two parts off it.
Only the back page was torn, and Cas’s blank line meant that the document was moot.
“My mother and I signed so much in the past few days...we didn’t read this,” he realized.
“That’s what Castiel understood, sir.”
“Kim!” Michael called. “Has my brother Cas called?”
She appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir. I forwarded the call to your brother Lou, per your instructions.”
“I never gave those instructions!”
“It came from your Blackberry-I can show you the email. You wanted all cell calls forwarded directly to Lou, and any office calls from your brother to go to him too.”
“And that seemed normal?”
Her eyebrows lowered. “Sir, all we’ve been doing the past few days is redirecting and forwarding calls. That’s not normal protocol, but it’s certainly been this past week’s.”
“You’re right-I’m sorry. I haven’t slept. Thank you, Kim, truly. Please, put in for all the overtime you’ve worked.” He rushed to grab his briefcase and stick the papers inside. “Where is my brother staying?”
“I believe the W, in Midtown.”
“Okay. Kim, please, get me a car. I need to get there immediately. Mr. Virgil,” he said, “I owe you, deeply. We can discuss what you’d like as soon as I attend to this.”
“Will you be alright, sir?”
“I hope so,” Michael gasped. “If you pray...say one for us,” he pleaded, and took off running for the elevator banks.
***
“From where you’re lying, this must seem extraordinarily personal,” Lou said.
Sam was on his back, a towel gagging his mouth and drying out his tongue. It wasn’t necessary-he couldn’t move a thing, even his jaw, no matter how much he wanted to scream for his brother.
And Sam wanted Dean more than he’d ever wanted him before, even in the Rosemount waiting room.
“It’s not though,” Lou continued, unwrapping a black cloth kit. “I mean...yeah, you’re the one who’s going to die, and you’re the only one who needs to die, but it’s not like I set out to plan it that way.” Lou pulled out an empty syringe and began to clean the tip. “Honestly, at first it just seemed like you and Dean would up and die on your own. Then this whole sobriety kick came along...and even then, I figured a dose or two in your salt, and you’d be good as dead.”
Sam tried to moan, but it came out a limp, pathetic little whimper, so soft it wouldn’t carry past the foot of the bed he lay beside, let alone to Dean or Cas. Lou smiled and retrieved the fallen cup, arriving moments later with one full of water, which he sipped while eyeing a paralyzed Sam.
“This is one of those the things I hate about your kind...you lower the bar for the rest of us. If Cas were here, he’d have wondered what a wealthy, international financier was doing in Kansas. And if Fitzgerald could control himself, he’d have stayed out of your pants and fed you the overdose you deserved. As it stands, he didn’t have the ability to control his lust for you or his dealers, and Cas couldn’t keep his lust for your brother in line long enough to ask the important questions.”
Lou sighed, set the glass beside the television, and pulled a spoon, a plastic bag of powder, and a lighter with a stand out of his briefcase. Sam had been a junkie far too long to recognize what he was prepping, and not to fight his paralysis with everything he had.
“Don’t bother with that little struggling act-my family has access to the best hospitals on Earth, and so I have access to the greatest paralytics,” Lou smiled. “Honestly, Sam...we do have a great deal in common. If you weren’t the key to Cas, I’d be happy to let you walk along your little life’s road.”
Lou carefully installed the stand, placed the spoon on top, and poured far, far too much of that dreaded white powder into that suddenly heaping large spoon. Sam screamed for his hand to move, to his voice to shout, for his leg to kick, but nothing responded.
“Of course, technically, you’re not the key to Cas-and I get that. Like I said, I don’t bear you any ill will. It’s just that my good friend Fitzgerald McClould, he’s had this long-standing insight to your kind, and he predicted you'd go down on the first run-him in an alley. When that didn’t work we tried the second-his associate and a salt-shaker-and, unfortunately, here we are.” Lou shook his head. “You want something done, you do it yourself, right?”
Lou carefully took the melted powder-now boiling liquid-and poured it ever so carefully into the empty syringe. “And look, this whole ‘addiction,’ of yours, this whole prodding you along with pain killers and dope, that wouldn’t have been necessary if we didn’t need Dean to drink himself to death-fast. Dad locked up the will so only Cas’s agreement can alter it, and despite our best efforts thus far we haven’t been able to knock you out, and thus haven’t been able to get Dean to take the bottle to the grave, and thus haven’t been able to get Cas to run home.”
Sam tried to scream and writhe and fight once more, and Lou just knelt over him and scooped him up, cradling him close.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he murmured, and stroked Sam’s hair. “I am. I know you’ve tried, and I want you to know this isn’t your failure. It’s just that you and Dean were never meant to come close to the likes of us. You were meant to stay in your place and eat up our taxes and die quickly and early.” He gave Sam a gentle squeeze. “Listen-what I’m about to do won’t hurt. You’re going to die of an overdose, like so many addicts do when they try to use after a long sober stretch. You’re going to die quickly and, mostly, painlessly. And then Dean will hit the bottle, and one way or another come after you, and me and Ralph will take care of Cas and bring him home, and he’ll have plenty of work to do and plenty of money to support it. Okay? You just close those pretty green eyes,” he smiled, and gave the younger Winchester another gentle squeeze of reassurance before he shot the overloaded syringe into Sam’s right arm.
***
Cas was dozing-which was no surprise to Dean. Yeah, he’d promised not to let him fall asleep, and he hadn’t exactly meant to, but he had had enough practice raising a perfectionist little brother to know that his type didn’t do waiting well, and it was best to just let them sleep until they could do what they were great at, which was kicking ass and taking names.
Dean slid carefully out from under his boyfriend, jumped into the shower, and prided himself in being ready in under three minutes. His Dad would be proud. If he wasn’t in a New York City hotel room with a guy he’d been sleeping with for a few years now, and Dean didn’t have his kid brother a room away, and John hadn’t driven himself drunkenly into a truck-
Okay, screw Dad. Dean was proud of himself. So...ha.
He carefully opened the first door between him and Sam’s room, found that Sammy had shut his own, for the first time since they’d been there, and knocked. On the other side, a voice that was not Sam, suddenly dimmed. Dean waited, assuming Sam had the TV on, but when nothing happened, he knocked again, harder.
The voice went silent.
Dean stretched the door to his and Cas’s wide open, and stood there, waiting. When no sound resumed he pulled open the front door, went into the hallway, and pounded on Sam’s, thinking maybe Sam had been playing the TV or radio while he showered-which wouldn’t be too unusual, given that he knew Dean and Cas were alone in the next room.
Sam didn’t answer.
Dean had been a big brother for twenty-eight years. He’d seen Sammy through wet diapers, violent stomach flus, brutal head-wounds, minor colds, and unrepentant withdraws.
He knew that kid. And he knew, right then, that something was terribly, horrifically, wrong.
***At first, the rush of the drug was warm, almost welcoming, and so terribly, evilly, familiar.
There was a slow wave of what’s this? And then a oh, I know you, and then the dreaded we can fly, you and I. We can conquer the world.
And then Sam couldn’t breathe.
Lou still had him in his arms, pushing his hair back, rocking him slightly. He pulled the gag free and said “I’m sorry, Sam, I truly am,” as Sam felt hot fluid seeping from his nose and mouth and thought I’m dying and Dean is one room away and Cas is going to lose us both and think it’s all his fault.
He thought of Andy and his lollipops and Ruby with her new dark hair; Ava frowning at her giant calendar and Missouri’s hand over his; Jess lying back and opening her arms; Ellen calling him ‘sweetie’ while Bobby called him ‘idgit’; Cas leaning against his side while they mapped the garden; Cas in scrubs and a white jacket, embracing him just like a big brother.
And Dean...there was way, way too much to recall of Dean. Hugs and fights and holidays and countless you good, bros? and fingers in his hair and catches in the yard and Dean carrying him out the front door to Pastor Jim and Dean rocking him through withdrawal and Dean loving him more than his own life, more than his lover’s lives.
Dean, who was going to drink himself out of any chance of life, believing he couldn’t save his little brother from himself.
Sam spat the fluid, desperately, and strained, pleaded, begged his voice to reach out to Dean, and all he managed was another lame whimper, while Lou wiped the fluid away with his sleeve and hushed him.
“Stand down, kiddo,” he murmured. “Time to close your eyes, and stand on down.”
And that’s when Dean kicked in the adjoining door.
***
Cas wasn’t quite asleep, but he was half there, enough to remember pulling into the garage, enough to remember asking Dean what he’d like to drink during that first round, enough to remember the two of them all over each other in the front seat, and then on the stairs, and then throughout that apartment, until they were on the bed and Cas whispered, “I’ve never...never been with a man...”
And of course, Dean didn’t mind. Dean kissed him and stroked his hair and all was fine. And then Dean pulled away, and Cas was alone, but Dean was calling, calling, screaming, howling, his name, and Cas was flying upright, and he was in New York, and all his sins were following him.
***
The slamming of the door was all it took to send Lou running, and Sam knew enough about what was inside him to know he wasn’t going to be able to explain it to his brother.
“Sammy?” Dean gasped, slamming on knees next to him. “Sam?”
Sam parted his lips, tried to move his hand, and couldn’t find the strength. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, Dean! I can’t breathe!
His brother gripped his shoulder with his left hand while his right stroked Sam’s hair. “Okay, I’m here,” he soothed, than whirled toward the doorway and screamed “Cas! CAS! Someone call for an ambulance! Cas! Cas! Goddamnit CAS!”
Doors were flung open and slammed in the aftermath. Sam huffed in another, painful, slow, and inadequate breath as his brother turned back to him. “It’s okay, Sammy, I know, I know, I gotcha, gonna get you help. Hold on, you hear? CAS!”
“What is it?” Sam heard Cas’ voice, and then began to lose words. He heard his own name, and ‘breathe’ and Cas’ ‘God’ and then the doctor was leaning over him, tearing open his collar, and speaking in a calm, soothing tone before he found his jaw forced open and Cas’ mouth over his-which for a few seconds was the creepiest and weirdest thing ever-until Cas magically forced his lungs full of oxygen, and then pulled away to pump at his chest.
That’s when he heard Dean screaming.
He wanted to reach out, tell his brother it was okay, he’d be okay, Cas knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t move at all now, and the air wasn’t coming until Cas moved over him and forced his lungs to take it once more. While Cas did compressions Dean leaned into his vision, hand shaking as he stroked over Sam’s forehead, over his scalp, saying what Sam knew must be promises of everything being right and normal and fine and Dean being right there no matter what, because his brother always gave him those comforts, and was always there when he woke, no matter how horrific life had been when he’d drifted to sleep.
Sam wanted to touch his brother. Wanted to hang on tight to Dean and process his words and know that they were true. Wanted Cas to fix it so he could breathe on his own, move on his own, feel and think again. Wanted to sit up and clutch his brothers and be held and reassured. But, inexplicably, they left his vision, and Sam was left, unable to even gasp, staring helplessly up as Michael Morgan leaned into his vision, a flash of silver in his hand as he bore down on him.
Part 6
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
“Hey,” Sam answered.
“BEST GROUP EVER!” Andy bellowed. “Hey Pop-seatbelt? Sorry, my arm makes it super hard to-Dad! No, I want to tell him-IT’S MY STORY!”
“Jack here,” Andy’s Dad came on while Andy swore and hollered in the background. “Just want to say sorry about whoever’s dead.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
“No sir, I hate that. Ow!” he swore. “This is what happens when you get a kid from the pound-he grows up, gets shot, and hits you with his cast.”
“I WANT MY PHONE, POP!”
“Take care, Sam.”
“He’s such a jerk!” Andy griped. “Dad, buckle me in! Anyway. We’re going for pizza, because I can eat that one-handed, but guess what? Ansem failed his third test...he’s GONE, baby!”
Ansem Webber was, for some reason, Andy’s chosen nemesis. Sam thought he was a jerk, but no more than any of the other bullies (and there were a few) in their program. For whatever reason though, Andy had hated him from day one, and took great pleasure in challenging his excuses in group. He’d been reprimanded several times-though never by Missouri, who seemed to enjoy watching Andy take him on-and even Sam had told him to cool his heels.
“You didn’t spike his urine, did you?” Sam asked.
“Nope. And that makes it all the better. Oooh, thanks Pop!” Sam heard him chewing. “Dad’s been buying me DumDums and taking the wrappers off!”
“And eating the Butterscotch!”
“Yeah, friggin’ Butterscotch. Ugh. I’d take another bullet before sucking on that. It tastes like boiled tears.”
“You okay?” Sam asked. DumDums tended be Andy’s way of redirecting his urge to use.
“Oh yeah, nothing like that. We’re celebrating because it’s Friday and Ansem got kicked out of group and my cast comes off in a week.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Yeah, whatever! We’re celebrating.”
“Someone should celebrate Thursday!” Jack called.
“Yeah, so there. Oh before I forget-Ruby’s back. And she’s a brunette.’”
“How is she?”
“Seriously? He wants to know how she is,” Andy relayed.
“Christ on a cracker-give me that phone.” Jack’s voice became clearer. “Major Jack of ground control here, son. Listen to me: you are too damn nice. You make my son look petty.”
Andy yelled “hey!” in the background.
“And that’s good, because that’s how I raised him to be.”
“Damn right!”
“Seriously, Sam, the girl’s trouble. I get it, maybe you like the bad girl type, but you’re on the straight and narrow now.”
“Oh my God...do you think he has a crush on her?”
“I’ve always thought that. I think she was a little sweet on him, for sure.”
“How can you tell? Did you even meet her?”
“I’m an old man, kid, I know these things.”
“She is so not his type! He likes smart and maybe a little sassy, but Ruby?”
“You know...I can hear you!” Sam called.
“Seriously Sam?” Andy asked, coming in clearer.
“No. You two just invented that and then ran off with it.”
“Oh yeah...sorry, we do that sometimes. Do not ask me what happened when we decided my eighth grade history teacher was a lesbian. Holy hell. Pop, you remember that?”
“We swore not to speak of it.”
“Yeah, we did. I’ll tell you when you get back. When is that?”
“We have a flight tomorrow. Kind of hoping Cas will change it though. He’s not really spending any time with his family.”
“Holy crap you met them? The Morgans? No wait-shutup, shutup until I put you on speaker!” There was the sound of fumbling and swearing and “Dad, I can’t do this gimp!” and then Sam could hear background noise. “Okay, we’re both here! What’s Lou like? Does he really not sleep? Did you get Cas’s real name? Is Mike still a dick?”
“Well-Lou, Raphael, and Cas’s Mom are scary as hell, Mike seems like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and Cas’s name...” he hesitated. Cas had only ever shared his full name with Dean, and Sam had found out completely by accident. It didn’t seem right to share it. “Cas’s name is still a mystery.”
Andy and his Dad sighed in unison. “Well, listen,” Jack called, “when you get back, we two are taking you out to dinner and we want to hear everything-looks, non-looks, names, convos, hotel details. Full disclosure, hear? Back in the day, I played New York thousands of times.”
“He did not.”
“Radio City, Carnegie Mellon-”
“It’s Carnegie Hall-”
“Stock market, Apollo-you name it.”
“Sam, ignore him. Except for the us buying you dinner for gossip part, that’s totally going down. But hey-this is meant in a completely non-gay way, but...I miss you. I don’t have anyone to make faces at during group. I’m saving you all the Root Beer Dum Dums. So let me know when you land okay?”
Sam smiled. As enthralling and overwhelming as New York was, a few hours in Cas’s world had had him wanting nothing more than to toss on jeans and a flannel shirt and see Bobby and Ellen, Andy and Jack. He even missed Missouri-he would have loved to see her take on Cas’s family on their behalf.
“We’ll be back soon.”
“Awesome. Hey, you need me, hit the horn, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Alright. We’re gonna eat pizza and talk about your crush on Ruby now. Take care!”
Sam smiled as he hung up. Sure, there was nothing genetically linking Andy and his Dad, but they were living proof that you didn’t need blood to be family.
Sam pulled his tie and jacket off. He’d promised Dean and Cas to make a lunch run, and had shut both of the doors between their rooms to let them have some time to themselves. The afternoon had been hard on Cas, and Sam knew it had been hard on Dean to not be at Cas’s side.
A light knock came on his door as Sam was unbuttoning his dress-shirt. He checked his watch and figured enough time had passed that Dean may havae stepped out for ice and was returning to complain he’d forgotten his key, or a hotel employee had been sent to offer perks because of Cas’s last name.
Instead, he found Lou Morgan.
“Oh...hi,” Sam said. Lou smiled.
“Sam...may I call you Sam?”
“Sure. Sorry...Cas is next door. I don’t think he’s feeling well.”
“Actually...I was hoping to talk to you.”
“Oh...”
“I know...you have every reason not to trust me.” Lou’s smile wavered, and he shifted his briefcase. “I’m sure my brothers have told you plenty of stories. And the truth is...well, that they’re true.”
“Oh.” Sam had no idea where this was headed, so he just clutched the doorway and wondered if Dean would hear him if he yelled.
“I know...it’s awful. It turns out that...well...I have a mood disorder.” Lou tried to restore his grin and failed. “I’m bi-polar, it seems. I’m on medication now, and I stay close to my doctors. I never realized life didn’t have to be a massive uphill battle before I saw them. I was lucky I had a great big brother looking out for me.” Lou shuffled his feet. “I’m trying so hard to change, and it’s like...I’ll only ever just be the crazy one. The one who ruins everything, no matter how hard he tries. The one no one trusts.” Lou’s eyes grew wet. “I know...and you’d be right. But, Sam...I’d hoped you’d understand. All I want to know is if my little brother is happy and well. Michael has his opinions and Gabe has his and Raphael is consumed with business. I’d hoped you’d give me a few minutes to just share what your lives have been like recently.”
Sam still barred the entryway, eyes searching for-and finding zero-deceit. Nothing he said rang false-Gabe had said Lou was volatile and unpredictable, and Sam knew a few diagnosed as bi-polar-Ruby and Max instantly coming to mind-that he could see that as true. Michael’s visit had certainly done a number on all of them, and while Sam wasn’t sure what had happened with Raphael’s once they’d left the room, he could read the Dean and Cas well enough to know that it had been difficult.
On the other hand, he knew what it was to be the family screw-up, trying to do right, and being miles and miles away from where he needed to. He knew what it was to worry about a brother, and he knew what it was to feel doubted by one.
“I guess...you can come in,” Sam said slowly. Lou brightened. “I don’t want to talk poorly about Cas though. Or Dean. But if you have questions...I can try to answer them.”
“Of course,” Lou beamed. “All I want is the best, Sam, truly. For all of us. Nothing but the best,” he promised, and, as the younger Winchester turned, ensured the chain lock forbade anyone from the inside or out from opening the door.
***
“He’s not answering...his calls just keep going to Lou!” Cas said.
“Okay, well, like you said, most stuff is going to him since he’s dealing with the media.”
“I left three messages with his assistant and he still hasn’t called me.”
“Dude, it’s not even an hour after the royal luncheon ended.”
“You don’t understand, Dean! Lou and Raphael are probably taking this time to move, and Michael needs to be aware!”
“Cas, I get it. I also get that you calling over and over isn’t going to change where he is.”
“I have to stop this. I have to do this right.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I haven’t been here-I haven’t supported them.”
“Listen to me. I can’t pretend to know everything about your family, but I think this would have happened whether you were here or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“You hated all this. The same way Gabe did. All this... infighting. Don’t you think they would have tried to slip this past you, even if you’d been here all along?”
“I can’t think about that now. I know this is wrong and I have to stop it!”
“I’m not saying you can’t and I’m not saying not to. I’m saying that hitting that number over and over isn’t going to change the fact that Michael is off grid, and you can’t pull him back on.”
“You doubt me,” Cas snapped, whirling on him.
“I’ve never doubted you, but if you need to talk to me like a Morgan, you go right ahead. I can take it.”
Cas felt heat fill his cheeks as tears filled his eyes, and he sank onto the bed next to Dean.
“I didn’t mean that,” he managed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Dean put a hand over one of Cas’s and pressed, gently. “We have to wait. It sucks, I know, but the ball’s in Mikey’s court here.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
Dean lay back and patted the bed next to him. Cas glared.
“I can’t sleep now.”
“I’m not asking you to sleep. I’m asking you to trust me.”
Cas’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t doubt that.”
“I don’t. Which is why you’re gonna lie down, just like you did when we were courting.”
Cas snorted. “’Courting?’”
“Hey, I was a perfect gentleman. You’re the one who jumped me in the front seat.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Just lie down.”
“I can’t.”
“Lie. Down.”
Cas obeyed, slowly, turning his back into Dean’s side. Dean adjusted the pillows and himself and ran a warm hand over Cas’s shoulders.
“I can’t afford to sleep, Dean.”
“I’m not humming, am I?”
A quiet moment passed, where Cas stared out toward the window, toward his hometown, and Dean pressed against the tightest knots of muscle along his upper back.
“I remember, you know,” Cas murmured. “When I first started staying with you, and I was up and down checking my email and calling in and reading the news, and you...you taught me to relax.”
“And I remember, that when you first pulled into the garage, you seemed like you were from another planet. That’s how damn tired you were.”
“And you pitied me.”
“Dude, I liked you. You were tired as hell and you still felt guilty. I can relate.”
Cas smiled, even as he felt his throat swelling.
“Cas, buddy, when I saw Michael up there giving that speech...that’s what you were like. You can’t go back to that. I’m not saying this isn’t important, but you can’t let it rule you. I get that your family isn’t thrilled with me and my livelihood, but I was never too tired for Sammy and Dad. I can live in an apartment and drive an old car and shop at thrift stores, if that’s the price.”
“Sam...I promised I’d take him downtown.”
“And you will, but not now. He’s going to shower and grab us some lunch, and you’ll get ahold of Mike, and then we’ll figure the rest of this out, okay?”
Dean forced his fingers into one of Cas’s fists and held tight, and Cas finally allowed himself to list back into him.
“Tell me a funny story. About you and Sam. When you were young.”
Dean chuckled, the warmth of it rumbling through his chest to Cas’s back. “Alright. This one is called ‘Big Brother Gets Baby Brother to Love Grocery Shopping.’ Also known as ‘John Winchester Restacks Tomato and Pineapple cans and is Banned from ShopRite.’”
***
Sam couldn’t say he trusted Lou Morgan, but he could certainly identify with him.
Like him, Lou had wanted his older brother to break out from under their father. Like him, Lou was navigating medications for anxiety and depression. Like him, Lou wanted nothing more than to be successful enough to provide for his family, for a change.
And so when Lou smiled and said “I’m sorry to ask this, but could I have a glass of water?” Sam didn’t think twice about going into the bathroom and filling one of the hotel’s cheap glasses, until he walked back into the room and found it empty.
In the seconds he was processing this, a hand clamped over his mouth, the glass hit the carpet with barely a sound, and a sharp stab rendered him completely immobile in seconds.
Because the room wasn’t empty, and Lou wasn’t thirsty, and Sam didn’t know Cas’s family, and if there was giant thing he had in common with this Morgan, it was making a mess of everything those before him had tried so hard to build.
***Michael Morgan was never taking pills again.
Even as he thought that, he realized it was irrational, but when awoke in a puddle of his own drool, on his office sofa, it felt reasonable. He hadn’t slept in days, and, when he’d confessed as much to Lou, his brother had encouraged him to take what he did when the worst arose. Michael had refused, but with their Father’s funeral looming and no remarks prepared, he’d finally acquiesced and swallowed what his brother swore by.
While he’d never been one to heavily-medicate, he wondered if the pills had hit him a touch too hard. He’d known he’d been in shock, and known he was tired, the pills put him one step away from everything happening. It was as if his brain was working at half-speed, and his planned rapprochement with Castiel was a miserable failure: he’d been so damn out of it, he hadn’t even pulled Cas aside to explain what had changed his mind.
“A Vincent Virgil to see you, Sir,” Kim, Michael’s assistant, told him.
“Fine,” Michael mumbled, waving his hand. He felt more grounded and present than he had earlier, but he was still so drained, he didn’t care if the Pope appeared in his door, hat and all.
“Can I get you a coffee, sir?”
Michael sat up, tie askew, head half-swimming, to look at his assistant, who was frowning at him like his mother would. “Please,” he mumble. “Can you give me a few minutes before you send him in?”
“Of course.”
“Kim? Thank you.”
She nodded and clicked her heels away, the consummate professional his father had taught him to hire. She’d worked for him for five years, and he’d never even asked her husband’s name, and she’d never lingered to ask if he was ready, really ready, for a meeting.
He tried to chalk up his sudden neediness to Lou’s pills, but he knew it wasn’t. It was that his Father...his boss...the Commander in Chief...was gone.
His father was gone.
Michael sank down behind his desk and managed a few deep, controlled breaths. He’d been fighting this realization with papers to sign, and boards to reassure, and brothers to pull together, and a mother to calm-
He’d been fighting this. He’d been fighting this and so, he should, at this point, be winning.
“Vincent Virgil,” the man in his doorway said, and Michael forced himself upright and shook his hand, heartily.
“Good to see you...please, have a seat,” he managed, straitening his tie.
“I prefer to stay standing, sir.”
“Alright,” Michael sank into his own seat, attempting to look casual when he ran a hand through his hair, and not like a man with a mess of a mop he was hoping to tame. “Please, go on.”
“Sir...I swore a duty to the law when I passed the bar. I entered this profession wanting nothing more than to serve and protect and prosecute wrong-doing. And, although I believe in loyalty to my executive, I can’t help but worry here.” Vincent handed him a packed with CONFIDENTIAL scrawled on the front. Michael seized it and fumbled with the clasp, tossed the documents across his desk. “It’s...referred to as the ‘Castiel Codicil’, Sir,” Vincent explained. “An amendment to the will that stipulates the conditions of Castie’s interest in the estate-”
“I know what Codicil means!” Michael bellowed, dread settling in his stomach.
“He said that Castiel would be returning.”
“Cas said this?”
“No, sir. In fact...what I witnessed seemed that he was directly opposed to it.”
“You witnessed?”
“The second document.”
Michael flipped through, but it didn’t take much to figure out that what he had signed was in no way related to the transfer of the estate: he’d signed away his rights to two parts off it.
Only the back page was torn, and Cas’s blank line meant that the document was moot.
“My mother and I signed so much in the past few days...we didn’t read this,” he realized.
“That’s what Castiel understood, sir.”
“Kim!” Michael called. “Has my brother Cas called?”
She appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir. I forwarded the call to your brother Lou, per your instructions.”
“I never gave those instructions!”
“It came from your Blackberry-I can show you the email. You wanted all cell calls forwarded directly to Lou, and any office calls from your brother to go to him too.”
“And that seemed normal?”
Her eyebrows lowered. “Sir, all we’ve been doing the past few days is redirecting and forwarding calls. That’s not normal protocol, but it’s certainly been this past week’s.”
“You’re right-I’m sorry. I haven’t slept. Thank you, Kim, truly. Please, put in for all the overtime you’ve worked.” He rushed to grab his briefcase and stick the papers inside. “Where is my brother staying?”
“I believe the W, in Midtown.”
“Okay. Kim, please, get me a car. I need to get there immediately. Mr. Virgil,” he said, “I owe you, deeply. We can discuss what you’d like as soon as I attend to this.”
“Will you be alright, sir?”
“I hope so,” Michael gasped. “If you pray...say one for us,” he pleaded, and took off running for the elevator banks.
***
“From where you’re lying, this must seem extraordinarily personal,” Lou said.
Sam was on his back, a towel gagging his mouth and drying out his tongue. It wasn’t necessary-he couldn’t move a thing, even his jaw, no matter how much he wanted to scream for his brother.
And Sam wanted Dean more than he’d ever wanted him before, even in the Rosemount waiting room.
“It’s not though,” Lou continued, unwrapping a black cloth kit. “I mean...yeah, you’re the one who’s going to die, and you’re the only one who needs to die, but it’s not like I set out to plan it that way.” Lou pulled out an empty syringe and began to clean the tip. “Honestly, at first it just seemed like you and Dean would up and die on your own. Then this whole sobriety kick came along...and even then, I figured a dose or two in your salt, and you’d be good as dead.”
Sam tried to moan, but it came out a limp, pathetic little whimper, so soft it wouldn’t carry past the foot of the bed he lay beside, let alone to Dean or Cas. Lou smiled and retrieved the fallen cup, arriving moments later with one full of water, which he sipped while eyeing a paralyzed Sam.
“This is one of those the things I hate about your kind...you lower the bar for the rest of us. If Cas were here, he’d have wondered what a wealthy, international financier was doing in Kansas. And if Fitzgerald could control himself, he’d have stayed out of your pants and fed you the overdose you deserved. As it stands, he didn’t have the ability to control his lust for you or his dealers, and Cas couldn’t keep his lust for your brother in line long enough to ask the important questions.”
Lou sighed, set the glass beside the television, and pulled a spoon, a plastic bag of powder, and a lighter with a stand out of his briefcase. Sam had been a junkie far too long to recognize what he was prepping, and not to fight his paralysis with everything he had.
“Don’t bother with that little struggling act-my family has access to the best hospitals on Earth, and so I have access to the greatest paralytics,” Lou smiled. “Honestly, Sam...we do have a great deal in common. If you weren’t the key to Cas, I’d be happy to let you walk along your little life’s road.”
Lou carefully installed the stand, placed the spoon on top, and poured far, far too much of that dreaded white powder into that suddenly heaping large spoon. Sam screamed for his hand to move, to his voice to shout, for his leg to kick, but nothing responded.
“Of course, technically, you’re not the key to Cas-and I get that. Like I said, I don’t bear you any ill will. It’s just that my good friend Fitzgerald McClould, he’s had this long-standing insight to your kind, and he predicted you'd go down on the first run-him in an alley. When that didn’t work we tried the second-his associate and a salt-shaker-and, unfortunately, here we are.” Lou shook his head. “You want something done, you do it yourself, right?”
Lou carefully took the melted powder-now boiling liquid-and poured it ever so carefully into the empty syringe. “And look, this whole ‘addiction,’ of yours, this whole prodding you along with pain killers and dope, that wouldn’t have been necessary if we didn’t need Dean to drink himself to death-fast. Dad locked up the will so only Cas’s agreement can alter it, and despite our best efforts thus far we haven’t been able to knock you out, and thus haven’t been able to get Dean to take the bottle to the grave, and thus haven’t been able to get Cas to run home.”
Sam tried to scream and writhe and fight once more, and Lou just knelt over him and scooped him up, cradling him close.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he murmured, and stroked Sam’s hair. “I am. I know you’ve tried, and I want you to know this isn’t your failure. It’s just that you and Dean were never meant to come close to the likes of us. You were meant to stay in your place and eat up our taxes and die quickly and early.” He gave Sam a gentle squeeze. “Listen-what I’m about to do won’t hurt. You’re going to die of an overdose, like so many addicts do when they try to use after a long sober stretch. You’re going to die quickly and, mostly, painlessly. And then Dean will hit the bottle, and one way or another come after you, and me and Ralph will take care of Cas and bring him home, and he’ll have plenty of work to do and plenty of money to support it. Okay? You just close those pretty green eyes,” he smiled, and gave the younger Winchester another gentle squeeze of reassurance before he shot the overloaded syringe into Sam’s right arm.
***
Cas was dozing-which was no surprise to Dean. Yeah, he’d promised not to let him fall asleep, and he hadn’t exactly meant to, but he had had enough practice raising a perfectionist little brother to know that his type didn’t do waiting well, and it was best to just let them sleep until they could do what they were great at, which was kicking ass and taking names.
Dean slid carefully out from under his boyfriend, jumped into the shower, and prided himself in being ready in under three minutes. His Dad would be proud. If he wasn’t in a New York City hotel room with a guy he’d been sleeping with for a few years now, and Dean didn’t have his kid brother a room away, and John hadn’t driven himself drunkenly into a truck-
Okay, screw Dad. Dean was proud of himself. So...ha.
He carefully opened the first door between him and Sam’s room, found that Sammy had shut his own, for the first time since they’d been there, and knocked. On the other side, a voice that was not Sam, suddenly dimmed. Dean waited, assuming Sam had the TV on, but when nothing happened, he knocked again, harder.
The voice went silent.
Dean stretched the door to his and Cas’s wide open, and stood there, waiting. When no sound resumed he pulled open the front door, went into the hallway, and pounded on Sam’s, thinking maybe Sam had been playing the TV or radio while he showered-which wouldn’t be too unusual, given that he knew Dean and Cas were alone in the next room.
Sam didn’t answer.
Dean had been a big brother for twenty-eight years. He’d seen Sammy through wet diapers, violent stomach flus, brutal head-wounds, minor colds, and unrepentant withdraws.
He knew that kid. And he knew, right then, that something was terribly, horrifically, wrong.
***At first, the rush of the drug was warm, almost welcoming, and so terribly, evilly, familiar.
There was a slow wave of what’s this? And then a oh, I know you, and then the dreaded we can fly, you and I. We can conquer the world.
And then Sam couldn’t breathe.
Lou still had him in his arms, pushing his hair back, rocking him slightly. He pulled the gag free and said “I’m sorry, Sam, I truly am,” as Sam felt hot fluid seeping from his nose and mouth and thought I’m dying and Dean is one room away and Cas is going to lose us both and think it’s all his fault.
He thought of Andy and his lollipops and Ruby with her new dark hair; Ava frowning at her giant calendar and Missouri’s hand over his; Jess lying back and opening her arms; Ellen calling him ‘sweetie’ while Bobby called him ‘idgit’; Cas leaning against his side while they mapped the garden; Cas in scrubs and a white jacket, embracing him just like a big brother.
And Dean...there was way, way too much to recall of Dean. Hugs and fights and holidays and countless you good, bros? and fingers in his hair and catches in the yard and Dean carrying him out the front door to Pastor Jim and Dean rocking him through withdrawal and Dean loving him more than his own life, more than his lover’s lives.
Dean, who was going to drink himself out of any chance of life, believing he couldn’t save his little brother from himself.
Sam spat the fluid, desperately, and strained, pleaded, begged his voice to reach out to Dean, and all he managed was another lame whimper, while Lou wiped the fluid away with his sleeve and hushed him.
“Stand down, kiddo,” he murmured. “Time to close your eyes, and stand on down.”
And that’s when Dean kicked in the adjoining door.
***
Cas wasn’t quite asleep, but he was half there, enough to remember pulling into the garage, enough to remember asking Dean what he’d like to drink during that first round, enough to remember the two of them all over each other in the front seat, and then on the stairs, and then throughout that apartment, until they were on the bed and Cas whispered, “I’ve never...never been with a man...”
And of course, Dean didn’t mind. Dean kissed him and stroked his hair and all was fine. And then Dean pulled away, and Cas was alone, but Dean was calling, calling, screaming, howling, his name, and Cas was flying upright, and he was in New York, and all his sins were following him.
***
The slamming of the door was all it took to send Lou running, and Sam knew enough about what was inside him to know he wasn’t going to be able to explain it to his brother.
“Sammy?” Dean gasped, slamming on knees next to him. “Sam?”
Sam parted his lips, tried to move his hand, and couldn’t find the strength. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, Dean! I can’t breathe!
His brother gripped his shoulder with his left hand while his right stroked Sam’s hair. “Okay, I’m here,” he soothed, than whirled toward the doorway and screamed “Cas! CAS! Someone call for an ambulance! Cas! Cas! Goddamnit CAS!”
Doors were flung open and slammed in the aftermath. Sam huffed in another, painful, slow, and inadequate breath as his brother turned back to him. “It’s okay, Sammy, I know, I know, I gotcha, gonna get you help. Hold on, you hear? CAS!”
“What is it?” Sam heard Cas’ voice, and then began to lose words. He heard his own name, and ‘breathe’ and Cas’ ‘God’ and then the doctor was leaning over him, tearing open his collar, and speaking in a calm, soothing tone before he found his jaw forced open and Cas’ mouth over his-which for a few seconds was the creepiest and weirdest thing ever-until Cas magically forced his lungs full of oxygen, and then pulled away to pump at his chest.
That’s when he heard Dean screaming.
He wanted to reach out, tell his brother it was okay, he’d be okay, Cas knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t move at all now, and the air wasn’t coming until Cas moved over him and forced his lungs to take it once more. While Cas did compressions Dean leaned into his vision, hand shaking as he stroked over Sam’s forehead, over his scalp, saying what Sam knew must be promises of everything being right and normal and fine and Dean being right there no matter what, because his brother always gave him those comforts, and was always there when he woke, no matter how horrific life had been when he’d drifted to sleep.
Sam wanted to touch his brother. Wanted to hang on tight to Dean and process his words and know that they were true. Wanted Cas to fix it so he could breathe on his own, move on his own, feel and think again. Wanted to sit up and clutch his brothers and be held and reassured. But, inexplicably, they left his vision, and Sam was left, unable to even gasp, staring helplessly up as Michael Morgan leaned into his vision, a flash of silver in his hand as he bore down on him.
Part 6
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4