((Supernatural Wincestiel Big Bang)) Something Worth Protecting (Part IX)
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Dean.
Dean's almost certain that he's going mad when Sam's voice floats into the cell from far off in the darkness, but that doesn't stop him from throwing himself against the barred window and staring out into the shadowy nothingness that lies beyond. He can't see a thing, no matter how hard he strains his eyes, and it feels completely futile when he calls out Sam's name into the dark, but he tries none the less, his voice hoarse and sore. His head still aches, but it's tolerable; his limbs feel too heavy for his body, but he ignores the exhaustion; the metal on his wrist is rubbing his skin raw, but he doesn't pay it any mind.
A halfhearted tug on his chain is the only think that makes him fall silent, pulling away from the bars. “Sorry,” he rasps as he leans against the wall. “Didn't hurt you, did I?”
“No,” Faith says in a small voice. “I heard you yelling...I wanted to make sure you're-” She stops, because the word “okay” doesn't even begin to describe a single thing about this place, and she knows it.
“Think I might be losing it,” Dean admits as he rests his forehead against the wall. The cool kiss of stone on his skin should feel soothing to his aching head, but it only makes him more uneasy. To his surprise, Faith laughs bitterly, sadly.
“Funny?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at the chain.
“No,” Faith says. “I just...when you said you thought you were losing it, it made me think. I mean, I'm still not even sure you're real. Maybe I'm just imagining you.”
Dean surprises himself further when he laughs too.
“I'm real,” he says. “But I guess I'd say that even if I weren't, so maybe it doesn't really help.” He casts another long glance out into the dark, listening for Sam's voice again. He's not sure if it's comforting or not; he doubts very much that it's real, and the prospect of going insane so quickly in this place causes a weight to pull down on his stomach. But like the hallucination (if it had been a hallucination at all) before, it had felt so real...like Sam was trying to reach out to him from somewhere far off.
“For what it's worth, I kinda think the same thing about you,” he says, sitting against the wall again because his legs refuse to cooperate. The chain scuffs and drags against the stone with every movement.
“Sam is your brother, right?” Faith asks tentatively after what feels like a very prolonged silence.
“Yeah,” Dean answers with a fond chuckle.
“Your baby brother...”
Dean's voice is far-off, almost wistful as he says again, “Yeah...” He wonders fleetingly how Faith knows that, thinks that it's either just a lucky guess or all in his head anyway and that it's really kind of pointless to be wondering anything about this place when he doubts he's going to get any answers anytime soon.
“You in my head or something?” he finds himself asking, clearing his throat of the ache that had set itself there at the mention of Sammy. “You a mind-reader? Psychic?”
“No,” Faith replies, sounding a little bemused by the question. “I just...I just kind of know things about you, but I'm not sure how. It's weird...”
“Are there other people here?” Dean dares to ask.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Lots. But I've only talked to a few...and they stop talking after a little while.”
Everything about her reply makes Dean's blood run cold. There are others in this awful, unearthly place, resigned to the same fate as he is - whatever that is. And what's more, they don't last long. What happens to them, Dean doesn't know, and he certainly doesn't want to find out for himself.
“You know anything about them?” he asks.
“Bits and pieces. But I don't remember them.”
A question aches in Dean's chest to be asked, but he doesn't want to voice it. Faith gives him a reason to remain silent a bit longer when she asks, “Who's Castiel?” and it catches him by surprise.
“Castiel?” he repeats, and he can almost hear her nod. “He's...You know what, I don't even think you'd believe me. I don't even think I believe me, even though I know it's true.”
“I think I'd believe you,” she says softly, and Dean sighs.
“He's a...he's my...guardian angel,” Dean forces out, even now the words tasting bitter on his tongue. If Castiel is his guardian, where the hell is he now? He pulled him out of Hell, so why can't he reach him here?
Dean is stunned into silence when Faith says, awestruck: “You have one too?” He blinks, once, twice, tries to speak, but finds his mouth has gone dry.
“You've got to be kidding,” he finally says.
“People never really believed me,” Faith continues, laughing meekly. “Always smiled like they would to a child...But I could feel her, all the time. I knew she was out there, watching over me. I could feel her in my bones.”
“Her?” Dean questions. Somehow he's sure Faith is nodding, even though he can't see. He senses her gathering her thoughts as she prepares to speak again.
“I never spoke to her face to face. Never met her, really. But one night I was driving home, and this truck...it just came out of nowhere. It should have killed me, Dean. I should have died. But I didn't. It's all kind of a blur, but when I looked back, she was standing there, right under the traffic light, staring at me. And then she was gone, but I knew what she was...I just knew.”
“Did...did ah...she have a name?”
“Anna,” Faith replies fondly. “Her name was Anna...” She trails off, suddenly sounding forlorn.
“Where is she now?” Dean hazards, and Faith lets out a breath that sounds like it's dangerously close to turning into a sob.
Her voice, however, is steady when she says, “I don't know. I can't...I can't feel her anymore in this place...I think she might be dead.”
Dean is silent for a very long time before he finally manages to say, “Well, I don't know all that much about angels, but they seem pretty resilient to me.” He's not even sure if it's possible to kill an angel. Somehow, he doubts it, but the tone of Faith's voice makes him uneasy, like she just might be right.
They both become quiet, and the silence is almost halfway comfortable. Dean rests his head back against the cool wall, closing his eyes and wondering if Castiel is searching for him. If the guy pulled him from Hell, maybe he would be just stubborn enough to try, but Dean doesn't have any idea where he is or even if he's alive at all. What if Castiel is dead too?
The absolute sadness that floods him at that thought is sudden and overwhelming, and it leaves him reeling in shock. Why would he be so distraught over the mere thought of an angel he's only known for a matter of days dying for him? It makes no sense, and yet the feeling continues to roil and writhe within him like a swarm of angry bees.
There's something there, something in the back of his mind, dusty and worn with age: a memory that he'd forgotten existed. It's full of fire and heat and fear, and suddenly, as he reaches for it, he's back in Lawrence, Kansas, in their old house, the flames reaching up around him. Sammy is a baby in his arms, and he's running, running with everything he's got, his father's words echoing in his head:
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Dean, go!”
The heat is so intense he almost can't stand it, and his little heart is pounding as adrenaline floods through his veins. Everything is happening so fast that he can't process it, doesn't understand what's going on, only understands one thing and one thing only: Get Sammy safe. Keep Sammy safe. Keep your baby brother safe.
He trips on the stairs.
He hasn't ever remembered that part until now. The fact that he tripped on the stairs.
The feel of the memory is so real, the feel of himself lurching forward, plunging down, and suddenly he's being lifted up, carried down, placed at the bottom of the stairs and pushed forward out the front door, to safety, Sammy curled up in his arms, both of them alive.
But he tripped. He knows he tripped. And something - someone - caught him.
“Dean?” Faith's voice breaks through the haze that surrounds his mind, and he starts, suddenly aware that his eyes are burning with salty tears. Geez, he's been crying way too much lately; he can't make a pattern of this. He quickly rubs them away.
“Never remembered that part before,” he muses, still feeling somewhat foggy, like he's been put under and is just now coming out of it. “I tripped...”
“But you didn't fall,” finishes Faith, and Dean nods.
But it's impossible...he hadn't met Castiel before he was pulled out of the Pit.
“You really have known him a long time, I guess,” says Faith.
Dean says nothing. But something within him, a tiny, timid flame of a feeling, hopes beyond hope that Castiel is still alive.
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