FIC: Say If It's Worth Saving Me
Say If It's Worth Saving Me
Characters: Sam and Dean, Castiel, and a small bit of Crowley
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1993
Warnings: Angst, I guess?
Summary: It's a long drive back to the bunker after the battle with Cain. Missing scene for 10x14 “The Executioner's Song.”
(Title is from Nickelback's song “Savin' Me.”)
A/N: Another fic for this episode! This one is sad, depressing stuff, even for me, but it wouldn't get out of my head until I wrote it, so here you go.
Say If It's Worth Saving Me
Sam doesn't realize he'd stopped breathing until Crowley disappears, and his brother turns slowly to meet his eyes. Dean's eyelids are heavy, and he's barely able to keep his head up. There's a flicker of a smile across Dean's face, and then it's gone and Sam steps forward just as Dean's knees give out, and it's only when his arms are around his brother that he breathes again.
"You did it," he murmurs, voice shaking, feeling Dean's muscles quivering, "Dean, you did it."
Dean doesn't respond, and Sam didn't expect him to. He never wants to let Dean go, but the hunter in him knows they need to keep going.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, not moving yet.
Dean doesn't answer.
"Dean, we gotta move, man," Sam says, voice soft.
There's a motion of Dean's head that Sam interprets as a nod, and he reluctantly releases Dean and takes up a position at his side, long arm reaching out to tuck his brother close. Cas slips in to take the forgotten knife from Dean's hand, and Sam gives a nod of thanks. A sharp noise of discomfort escapes Dean's lips as he tries to bring his own arm up to drape over Sam's shoulders, and Sam immediately freezes.
"Dean, you ok?"
Dean lifts his arm again, silent this time as he hooks it around the back of Sam's neck, and nods slowly.
"Ok. Let's go."
Dean's movements are slow, sluggish. It takes them longer that Sam would have liked to get back to the Impala. And there Dean pulls away, heading for the driver's door. He takes two wavering steps before Sam catches up with what he's doing, and grabs a fistful of Dean's jacket at the shoulder, both steadying him and restraining him.
"Whoa, Dean," he says, sharper that he intended, "You can't drive like this."
Dean doesn't resist when Sam carefully guides him towards the passenger side. He slumps limply into the seat, eyes downcast. Clenching his jaw, Sam closes the door and turns to Castiel.
"Get that thing out of here," he says tightly, gesturing to the First Blade still in Cas's hand.
Castiel nods.
"I will."
Sam nods back and gets in the car alongside his brother. Dean's shivering, left hand tight around his right forearm, jaw tight. His eyelids are drooping again.
"Ok, I think I saw a motel on-"
"No."
Dean's response is immediate, voice rough and weary.
"What?"
Dean swallows, his eyes sliding towards his brother.
"Wanna go home, Sammy."
He sounds so much younger than he is - broken, drained. Sam bites his lip.
"The bunker's like, nine hundred miles away, Dean," he tries.
Dean holds his gaze, even though his eyes are barely visible.
"I gotta patch you up a bit first," Sam bargains, "We'll get a room just for a couple of hours, maybe, clean you up, and then we'll go... home."
His voice catches. Dean seems oblivious to it, just nodding and then his eyes drift away again. Sometime during the drive Dean loses consciousness completely, and when Sam returns to the car after checking into the nearest motel, he has to call his brother's name several times before Dean jolts awake, foggy eyes darting around wildly.
"Dean, hey, take it easy," Sam soothes, hands up in placation, "It's just us here. Dean, are you with me?"
Dean's eyes finally clear as they land on Sam's face, and he looks relieved.
"Where are we?" he asks hoarsely.
"Motel," Sam replies, "C'mon, let's get you inside."
Dean gets out of the car stiffly, steadies himself with a hand on the Impala's roof, and pushes Sam's hands away.
"'m good, Sammy," he says, but he doesn't move away from the car.
Sam takes the first aid kit into the room and when he returns, Dean's still leaning heavily on the Impala, his head lowered.
"Dean?"
Dean looks up, and for a second his walls are down and Sam's breath catches at the grief on his brother's face. And then it's gone, just exhausted eyes staring back at him from a bruised and bloodied face. Sam swallows, his hands curling into fists. There's more going on with Dean than the physical effects of the fight and the way using the Blade always messed him up. What had Cain done to him?
"You coming in?" Sam asks, voice gentle, in contrast to the turmoil inside.
Dean nods slowly, and reluctantly leaves the Impala. He's limping, still unsteady, and Sam's hands hover ready to support him if he stumbles. He doesn't, and he makes it to the first bed on his own. Dean goes still and quiet again as Sam cleans the blood off his face. Sam feels a strange twist in his gut, remembering the aftermath of another solo battle with a powerful enemy. He'd cleaned Dean up after that too, carried him to his bed and stared at closed eyelids thinking over all the what ifs. Sam swallows hard, steadies the slight shake in his hands. Dean's alive now, and he's human, and they can handle everything else. There are tiny cuts over one side of Dean's face, and when Sam looks closer he can see the glint of embedded glass in several of them. He wonders how, and then shakes his head to banish the thoughts. He'd heard the noise, the thumping and crashing and sometimes indistinct shouting, and his heart had been racing wildly the entire time. He doesn't need to think about that now.
"You've got some glass in here, Dean," he says now, quietly, reaching for the tweezers.
Dean barely reacts to his touch, the only signs he's feeling anything the ripple of muscle along his jawline and the hitch in his breathing. Sam keeps up a soft murmur of reassurances, letting Dean know every move he's going to make.
"Ok, I got 'em. What about your hands, Dean?"
Sam gently takes one of Dean's hands and examines the knuckles.
"Gotta clean them out."
Both hands are bloodied and bruised. Sam takes his time, making sure he gets all the dirt and grime out of the grazes.
"Dean, you need to get that jacket off so I can check your shoulder."
Dean lets Sam manhandle the dusty jacket off him, and then his red shirt. Without the protective layers, Sam can see bruises on Dean's arms, and his jaw tightens. His fingers are gentle though as he feels Dean's shoulder.
"Everything feels ok," he says, "Nothing out of place. You hurt anywhere else?"
"Nothin' bad," Dean replies, words slightly slurred.
Sam puts it down to exhaustion. He fills a cup from the tap and when he turns, he's struck by how small and lost his big brother looks. Dean's shivering again, and his hands are gripping the edge of the mattress. Sam hands him the water.
"Here, take these," he says firmly and holds out the pills.
Dean takes them without protest, washing them down with the water. He's too subdued, too compliant, and worry flutters again in Sam's gut.
"We done?" Dean asks, breaking the silence with a rough voice.
Sam nods, takes the cup from Dean's hand.
"Yeah, we're done."
Dean winces as he slowly stands, puts on his red shirt and the jacket, while Sam repacks the kit. They leave the room dark and empty, Dean slumping into the passenger seat with a grunt of discomfort. Sam drops into the seat beside him. He glances over at his brother, leaning heavily against the door, his hand once again tight over the Mark on his arm. He wonders if he should say something, but he doesn't know what to say. So instead he shoves a tape into the player and lets the music cover the silence as the Impala's tyres eat up the miles. It doesn't take long before Dean lets out a soft sigh, his grip on his right arm relaxing as he loses consciousness. And it's not much longer after that when Dean starts to shift restlessly in the seat, muttering, breathing faster. Sam's just about to call his name to wake him, when Dean flinches and his eyes fly open, straightening up with a strangled yell he quickly clamps down on as he escapes from the nightmare.
"Dean, you ok?" Sam asks carefully.
Dean's panting, but he nods and slumps down again, and Sam can tell it's an effort for him to steady his breathing. He's avoiding Sam's eyes.
"Dean?" Sam pushes, knowing he's treading on unstable ground.
Dean's unstable, has been for a while now, and Sam's walking a fine line trying to keep his brother steady without knocking him down completely in the process.
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean says, and he sounds exhausted.
Sam knows Dean's words are a lie.
"Ok," he replies anyway.
Dean doesn't fall asleep again, his body tense, jaw tight, and his eyes go dangerously dark as he stares at the road ahead. Sam divides his attention between his brother and the road, but Dean never shifts his attention. Sam can practically feel the tension radiating from Dean, fighting sleep and probably the Mark as well, evidenced by the tight grip he has around his arm again. It's a long nine hundred miles to the bunker, and Sam has to stop a couple of times. Dean's abused muscles stiffen during the drive and he grows more reluctant to leave the car during the breaks, and always there's the darkness in his eyes. Sam gives him more painkillers, more water, and Dean takes everything with a tense jaw and averted gaze. The sun's long up by the time they arrive at the bunker. Dean showers quickly, and Sam skips the shower and just changes his clothes, because he doesn't want to leave Dean alone for any longer than absolutely necessary. He makes coffee for his battered brother and he's still wondering what he should say. Dean hasn't relaxed at all, still wound tight.
"Dean, um, you know, what you did back there, it was incredible," Sam says, trying to be positive.
Dean blinks like he's just waking up, and squints up at Sam, his eyes glassy.
"You know," Sam continues softly, as he takes a seat across from his brother with his own cup of coffee, "If you can do that without losing yourself, that's cause for hope, even without a cure."
"Yeah," Dean says, his voice hoarse, "Maybe."
What'd he do to you, Dean? Sam's thinking of what to say next when Castiel appears in the doorway, and Dean's focus snaps to him.
"So, where's the Blade?"
Deceptively casual, even though Dean's jaw is tight.
"Somewhere safe," Castiel replies, not bothered by the intense gaze Dean has pinned on him.
He stares back at Dean just as intensely. Dean looks away first.
"Good," Dean says aloud, but everything else screams bad.
There's a pause.
"Well, i'you guys'll excuse me," Dean's suddenly slurring his words, and Sam doesn't miss the way his right hand curls into a fist, "I think 'm gonna go sleep for 'bout four days."
Sam nods, forces a smile as Dean stands up, still moving a little stiffly.
"Of course."
Dean pats Cas on the shoulder as he leaves the room, and Sam lets his smile drop. Dean's barely in control over the Mark and his craving for the Blade, Sam knows, and he's hiding it badly.
"How is he?" Castiel asks.
Sam feels a lump rising in his throat, born out of fear for his brother. He'd cured Dean, brought his brother back, but he couldn't remove the Mark. It's a slippery slope, all downhill, from here and that's where Dean is heading right now if Sam can't find a way to save him. Again.
"Sam?" Castiel's voice pulls him from his thoughts.
Sam draws in a shuddering breath, trying to control the emotions he's feeling. But his voice still shakes when he answers, and he can feel tears stinging his eyes.
"Cas... Dean's in trouble."
END
A/N: Let me know what you thought!
Characters: Sam and Dean, Castiel, and a small bit of Crowley
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1993
Warnings: Angst, I guess?
Summary: It's a long drive back to the bunker after the battle with Cain. Missing scene for 10x14 “The Executioner's Song.”
(Title is from Nickelback's song “Savin' Me.”)
A/N: Another fic for this episode! This one is sad, depressing stuff, even for me, but it wouldn't get out of my head until I wrote it, so here you go.
Say If It's Worth Saving Me
Sam doesn't realize he'd stopped breathing until Crowley disappears, and his brother turns slowly to meet his eyes. Dean's eyelids are heavy, and he's barely able to keep his head up. There's a flicker of a smile across Dean's face, and then it's gone and Sam steps forward just as Dean's knees give out, and it's only when his arms are around his brother that he breathes again.
"You did it," he murmurs, voice shaking, feeling Dean's muscles quivering, "Dean, you did it."
Dean doesn't respond, and Sam didn't expect him to. He never wants to let Dean go, but the hunter in him knows they need to keep going.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, not moving yet.
Dean doesn't answer.
"Dean, we gotta move, man," Sam says, voice soft.
There's a motion of Dean's head that Sam interprets as a nod, and he reluctantly releases Dean and takes up a position at his side, long arm reaching out to tuck his brother close. Cas slips in to take the forgotten knife from Dean's hand, and Sam gives a nod of thanks. A sharp noise of discomfort escapes Dean's lips as he tries to bring his own arm up to drape over Sam's shoulders, and Sam immediately freezes.
"Dean, you ok?"
Dean lifts his arm again, silent this time as he hooks it around the back of Sam's neck, and nods slowly.
"Ok. Let's go."
Dean's movements are slow, sluggish. It takes them longer that Sam would have liked to get back to the Impala. And there Dean pulls away, heading for the driver's door. He takes two wavering steps before Sam catches up with what he's doing, and grabs a fistful of Dean's jacket at the shoulder, both steadying him and restraining him.
"Whoa, Dean," he says, sharper that he intended, "You can't drive like this."
Dean doesn't resist when Sam carefully guides him towards the passenger side. He slumps limply into the seat, eyes downcast. Clenching his jaw, Sam closes the door and turns to Castiel.
"Get that thing out of here," he says tightly, gesturing to the First Blade still in Cas's hand.
Castiel nods.
"I will."
Sam nods back and gets in the car alongside his brother. Dean's shivering, left hand tight around his right forearm, jaw tight. His eyelids are drooping again.
"Ok, I think I saw a motel on-"
"No."
Dean's response is immediate, voice rough and weary.
"What?"
Dean swallows, his eyes sliding towards his brother.
"Wanna go home, Sammy."
He sounds so much younger than he is - broken, drained. Sam bites his lip.
"The bunker's like, nine hundred miles away, Dean," he tries.
Dean holds his gaze, even though his eyes are barely visible.
"I gotta patch you up a bit first," Sam bargains, "We'll get a room just for a couple of hours, maybe, clean you up, and then we'll go... home."
His voice catches. Dean seems oblivious to it, just nodding and then his eyes drift away again. Sometime during the drive Dean loses consciousness completely, and when Sam returns to the car after checking into the nearest motel, he has to call his brother's name several times before Dean jolts awake, foggy eyes darting around wildly.
"Dean, hey, take it easy," Sam soothes, hands up in placation, "It's just us here. Dean, are you with me?"
Dean's eyes finally clear as they land on Sam's face, and he looks relieved.
"Where are we?" he asks hoarsely.
"Motel," Sam replies, "C'mon, let's get you inside."
Dean gets out of the car stiffly, steadies himself with a hand on the Impala's roof, and pushes Sam's hands away.
"'m good, Sammy," he says, but he doesn't move away from the car.
Sam takes the first aid kit into the room and when he returns, Dean's still leaning heavily on the Impala, his head lowered.
"Dean?"
Dean looks up, and for a second his walls are down and Sam's breath catches at the grief on his brother's face. And then it's gone, just exhausted eyes staring back at him from a bruised and bloodied face. Sam swallows, his hands curling into fists. There's more going on with Dean than the physical effects of the fight and the way using the Blade always messed him up. What had Cain done to him?
"You coming in?" Sam asks, voice gentle, in contrast to the turmoil inside.
Dean nods slowly, and reluctantly leaves the Impala. He's limping, still unsteady, and Sam's hands hover ready to support him if he stumbles. He doesn't, and he makes it to the first bed on his own. Dean goes still and quiet again as Sam cleans the blood off his face. Sam feels a strange twist in his gut, remembering the aftermath of another solo battle with a powerful enemy. He'd cleaned Dean up after that too, carried him to his bed and stared at closed eyelids thinking over all the what ifs. Sam swallows hard, steadies the slight shake in his hands. Dean's alive now, and he's human, and they can handle everything else. There are tiny cuts over one side of Dean's face, and when Sam looks closer he can see the glint of embedded glass in several of them. He wonders how, and then shakes his head to banish the thoughts. He'd heard the noise, the thumping and crashing and sometimes indistinct shouting, and his heart had been racing wildly the entire time. He doesn't need to think about that now.
"You've got some glass in here, Dean," he says now, quietly, reaching for the tweezers.
Dean barely reacts to his touch, the only signs he's feeling anything the ripple of muscle along his jawline and the hitch in his breathing. Sam keeps up a soft murmur of reassurances, letting Dean know every move he's going to make.
"Ok, I got 'em. What about your hands, Dean?"
Sam gently takes one of Dean's hands and examines the knuckles.
"Gotta clean them out."
Both hands are bloodied and bruised. Sam takes his time, making sure he gets all the dirt and grime out of the grazes.
"Dean, you need to get that jacket off so I can check your shoulder."
Dean lets Sam manhandle the dusty jacket off him, and then his red shirt. Without the protective layers, Sam can see bruises on Dean's arms, and his jaw tightens. His fingers are gentle though as he feels Dean's shoulder.
"Everything feels ok," he says, "Nothing out of place. You hurt anywhere else?"
"Nothin' bad," Dean replies, words slightly slurred.
Sam puts it down to exhaustion. He fills a cup from the tap and when he turns, he's struck by how small and lost his big brother looks. Dean's shivering again, and his hands are gripping the edge of the mattress. Sam hands him the water.
"Here, take these," he says firmly and holds out the pills.
Dean takes them without protest, washing them down with the water. He's too subdued, too compliant, and worry flutters again in Sam's gut.
"We done?" Dean asks, breaking the silence with a rough voice.
Sam nods, takes the cup from Dean's hand.
"Yeah, we're done."
Dean winces as he slowly stands, puts on his red shirt and the jacket, while Sam repacks the kit. They leave the room dark and empty, Dean slumping into the passenger seat with a grunt of discomfort. Sam drops into the seat beside him. He glances over at his brother, leaning heavily against the door, his hand once again tight over the Mark on his arm. He wonders if he should say something, but he doesn't know what to say. So instead he shoves a tape into the player and lets the music cover the silence as the Impala's tyres eat up the miles. It doesn't take long before Dean lets out a soft sigh, his grip on his right arm relaxing as he loses consciousness. And it's not much longer after that when Dean starts to shift restlessly in the seat, muttering, breathing faster. Sam's just about to call his name to wake him, when Dean flinches and his eyes fly open, straightening up with a strangled yell he quickly clamps down on as he escapes from the nightmare.
"Dean, you ok?" Sam asks carefully.
Dean's panting, but he nods and slumps down again, and Sam can tell it's an effort for him to steady his breathing. He's avoiding Sam's eyes.
"Dean?" Sam pushes, knowing he's treading on unstable ground.
Dean's unstable, has been for a while now, and Sam's walking a fine line trying to keep his brother steady without knocking him down completely in the process.
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean says, and he sounds exhausted.
Sam knows Dean's words are a lie.
"Ok," he replies anyway.
Dean doesn't fall asleep again, his body tense, jaw tight, and his eyes go dangerously dark as he stares at the road ahead. Sam divides his attention between his brother and the road, but Dean never shifts his attention. Sam can practically feel the tension radiating from Dean, fighting sleep and probably the Mark as well, evidenced by the tight grip he has around his arm again. It's a long nine hundred miles to the bunker, and Sam has to stop a couple of times. Dean's abused muscles stiffen during the drive and he grows more reluctant to leave the car during the breaks, and always there's the darkness in his eyes. Sam gives him more painkillers, more water, and Dean takes everything with a tense jaw and averted gaze. The sun's long up by the time they arrive at the bunker. Dean showers quickly, and Sam skips the shower and just changes his clothes, because he doesn't want to leave Dean alone for any longer than absolutely necessary. He makes coffee for his battered brother and he's still wondering what he should say. Dean hasn't relaxed at all, still wound tight.
"Dean, um, you know, what you did back there, it was incredible," Sam says, trying to be positive.
Dean blinks like he's just waking up, and squints up at Sam, his eyes glassy.
"You know," Sam continues softly, as he takes a seat across from his brother with his own cup of coffee, "If you can do that without losing yourself, that's cause for hope, even without a cure."
"Yeah," Dean says, his voice hoarse, "Maybe."
What'd he do to you, Dean? Sam's thinking of what to say next when Castiel appears in the doorway, and Dean's focus snaps to him.
"So, where's the Blade?"
Deceptively casual, even though Dean's jaw is tight.
"Somewhere safe," Castiel replies, not bothered by the intense gaze Dean has pinned on him.
He stares back at Dean just as intensely. Dean looks away first.
"Good," Dean says aloud, but everything else screams bad.
There's a pause.
"Well, i'you guys'll excuse me," Dean's suddenly slurring his words, and Sam doesn't miss the way his right hand curls into a fist, "I think 'm gonna go sleep for 'bout four days."
Sam nods, forces a smile as Dean stands up, still moving a little stiffly.
"Of course."
Dean pats Cas on the shoulder as he leaves the room, and Sam lets his smile drop. Dean's barely in control over the Mark and his craving for the Blade, Sam knows, and he's hiding it badly.
"How is he?" Castiel asks.
Sam feels a lump rising in his throat, born out of fear for his brother. He'd cured Dean, brought his brother back, but he couldn't remove the Mark. It's a slippery slope, all downhill, from here and that's where Dean is heading right now if Sam can't find a way to save him. Again.
"Sam?" Castiel's voice pulls him from his thoughts.
Sam draws in a shuddering breath, trying to control the emotions he's feeling. But his voice still shakes when he answers, and he can feel tears stinging his eyes.
"Cas... Dean's in trouble."
END
A/N: Let me know what you thought!