Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean has hidden a lot of things from Sam, things that to him, are way too embarrassing to admit.

Like his fear of dogs. The animal is too close to hell hounds for him to not tense when he hears them bark.

The fact he craves touch like he was starving, and he knew that feeling well. It's embarrassing how comforted he feels when someone hugs him, gentle touches when he's so used to hurt. Thinking about it makes him scowl.

(It's why he constantly sleeps with people, though the sex is a bonus. He just needs someone to touch him longer than the claps on his back or a hand on his arm. To satiate that deep need for touch. It's not enough though, but he'll never admit it's because he needs someone he feels safe with.)

That he can barely sleep because he can never feel safe anymore.

He hates his dependency to alcohol.

How he eats and eats because he can't handle starving anymore. The starvation is too similar to how empty he feels sometimes.

Famine had mentioned that a long time ago. He hates how right the horseman was.

He hates how close to John he's becoming.

He hates that he couldn't save so many people he loved.

He hates the Mark of Cain continues to whisper in his ear, even if it's gone.

He hates how badly he wished he stayed dead when Cas first raised him.

God, he hates himself so bad. Everything he hates is what he is.

He desperately needs to hit something. To inflict pain, to himself or something else. He'd break a mirror but he doesn't want to wake Sam up.

God, he punches things so often Sam offers himself so Dean could calm down. 

He swore to protect Sam.

Yet he hurts him.

Dean rushes out of the bathroom of the stingy motel room he and his brother were staying in. Quickly writing a note to Sam saying he was going to hunt the damn ghost they were hunting.

They decided to look in the morning for the body to salt and burn it. When they were more rested and more sure of where it could be.

They had a feeling where the body was buried, in the walls of one of the rooms in the house. The guy was murdered and his body never found. But from the way some of the victims were found mauled and choked by the walls it's safe to assume the body probably is in there.

Especially with the damn stories the past owners made up.

Dean closes the door quietly as he leaves.

Should he wait for Sam?

Yes.

But it was also a simple ghost hunt. He's done hundreds alone while Sam was out at Stanford and John left him alone to hunt Azazel.

Dean could do it.

¤《☆》¤

The ghost can manipulate the old non iron gun in the house.

What the fuck?!

Dean curses as he ducks under a blast of bullets and old wood. Shooting his own salt shots at the ghost. 

Its actually so fucked up that the damn ghost can shoot a damn gun. It means Dean has to dodge the damn gun while looking for bones, dodge the ghost when it tries to get too close and to burn the gun with the body when he finds it.

Is now the time to retreat to wait for Sam?

Yes.

Absolutely.

Can he?

Hell no.

This ghost is starting to manipulate locks on the doors, jamming the fuckers shut. The window is too small and high up for him to completely access them, and he's stuck just breaking the walls to find the bones and to leave the rooms.

He should've burned the whole house down at this point.

Who has metal doors in a house anyway?

Dean curses as a shot grades his left shoulder.

“God dammit, why couldn't you have been a fucking normal ghost. Had to wield a damn gun!”

He's lucky he knocked all the walls downstairs.

Smashing through the last wall on the 2nd floor he sees it.

“Oh thank FUCK–” He gasped.

The fucker managed to get a clean shot through his right shoulder. Dean feels the blood seep through his shirt and jacket.

“Okay, you bastard.” He huffs, shooting the bastard and quickly grabbing a bottle of salt in his pocket, using lighter fluid in his pocket to soak the bones and lighting the room up.

The gun.

He scrambles for the gun but the ghost has already reformed taking aim for him. Ducking downward he aims his shotgun and shoots. The ghost disappears for a moment and flickers to try and come back quicker.

Dean grabs the gun as it clatters and shoves it into the fire and he hears a screech behind him. The ghost lights up like a Christmas tree.

Dean adds more fuel to fully burn the body and gun before staggering to his feet.

Sam is gonna be pissed at him.

Dean pants as he goes down the stairs and out the front door. He needs to get to Baby and get the hell outta here.

His arms both hurt like hell. He feels achy and shaky. His right arm continues to bleed sluggishly but the damp spot on his arm continues to grow.

The wound on his left shoulder does the same.

Why was he so exhausted? Weak feeling?

He hasn't lost that much blood.

“You ruined my fun boy.” 

Dean's head shoots up as he hears the voice.

“Do you know how hard it is to make a ghost able to manipulate a gun? Or to even find one strong enough to handle it?” A woman says. Black hair and a thin black gown. “It took me years to perfect that spell, you know? He was protecting my things.”

Dean collapses to the ground. Gasping as he lands on his right shoulder.

Oh dammit, there was a witch. A strong one by the looks of it.

He should've waited for Sam.

“Hmph, I'll just make sure the spells are strong enough to last for a while. You'll bleed to death soon enough.” She hums. “It's a shame, you're quite handsome. You'd make a fantastic guard. Too bad you burned down my lab.”

The woman begins to walk away. Going into the burning house as she leaves Dean. Dean's vision starts going fuzzy at the edges.

He hears rushing footsteps. Hears a yell of his name and feels a giant hand on his shoulder before he's being moved, and the sudden pain on both shoulders makes him black out and darkness fills his consciousness.

¤《☆》¤

When he returns to himself, he hears muttered curses.

“Couldn't wait for me… go out on your own… look at what happens.”

He groans when the voice pulls at the wound on his right arm. Trying to get away from the pain.

“Shh Dean, it's okay, it's just me.” the familiar voice comforts.

“...not…a girl…Sam…” he slurs.

Sam lets out a huff as he tugs again, probably closing the stitches on his arm. “You asshole, you really could wait for me to hunt the damn thing? Shit the wounds won't stop bleeding.” He grumbles as he packs gauze around the wounds as he wraps it.

“He was controlled by a witch apparently…the bitch cursed me.” He groans as he attempts to sit up.

“Lay back down, you lost a shit ton of blood Dean.” He says, forcing Dean down. “A witch? She cursed you? Do you know what curse she used?” He panics.

“Calm down, Samantha.” Dean mocks, rolling his eyes. “She didn't specify exactly but probably that I won't stop bleeding, but she said spells. I don't know what the hell the others could be.”

“Dammit Dean, you really couldn't have waited for me?” Sam walks across the room to gather some supplies from his duffle, checking to see anything that can be of use.

“Couldn't sleep, needed to hit something.” 

Sam huffs. “Can't exactly punch a ghost.”

“Punched walls to find the body, that counts.” He grunts, sitting up and trying to get off the shitty motel bed.

“Dean, lay the hell down!” What part of ‘lost a shit ton blood’ do you not understand!” Sam yells. “If your wounds are supposed to continue to bleed if you rip your stitches you'll bleed a fuck ton! It's like your on blood thinners!”

“I'm fine Sammy, think the spells made me faint and I won't tear stitches just by sitting up.” He huffs, surrendering on trying to stand but not on sitting up instead of laying down.

Sam just angrily passes Dean a couple pills for the pain and a gatorade. “I'm going to call Cas. We'll see if he can tell us what the other curses you have and help me hunt down that witch.”

“Isn't Cas across the damn country?” Dean says, swallowing the pills and a few sips of gatorade. “We should just try and get out and find the bitch.”

“And risk her killing you before we can kill her? Or for her to not have anything to reverse the spells she inflicted on you?” Sam shouts. “You're staying here and trying to find a way to reverse the curse we know she gave you.”

“She's probably far away from here already! Even if she isn't, it'll take days for Cas to get here!” He hisses. “We'd have a better chance at breaking the spells by going back to the bunker and looking through the damn library!”

That makes Sam freeze for a second. Oh Dean shouldn't have said that.

“After you sleep, we are going to the bunker. You're right, the witch is probably long gone from here and you'll tell me more when you're more lucid. We'll meet Cas there and figure it out from there.”

Dean groans before yawning. “Fucking bitch…”

“Jerk, now sleep.”

Dean sags and sleeps.

¤《☆》¤

He wakes up an undetermined amount of time later and Sam helps him up, shoving clothes at him when he stumbles to the bathroom.

“Get dressed, we start driving once you're out.”

Dean looks at the clothes in his hand. “Why the hell are you giving me the damn black hoodie? Why the hell do you still have it?! It doesn't even fit you anymore!”

Sam fidgets a bit, looking away. “You like wearing it when you're not feeling well.”

“The last time I wore this I was dying… from being shocked in the heart. It was like a couple hunts after we first started hunting together again, why the hell do you still have it!?”

“You looked comfortable wearing it, thought you'd wanna wear it sometimes. Tell me when you're done using the bathroom, I wanna check your wounds.” Sam walks away from the bathroom.

“You made me wear it in the first place!” He shouts. He didn't put the damn thing on when he was in the hospital, Sam practically forced it on him.

He won't tell Sam, but the hoodie is comfortable and makes him feel a hell of a lot better.

Dean curses Sam under his breath as he uses the bathroom and slips on the boxers and sweatpants (no jeans?).

Dean walks out, looking at the wounds on his shoulders. Small dots of blood litter the bandages over the wound, but they don't look saturated.

Sam says so much as he cleans and rewraps it. “I already checked us out and packed everything up. Let's go.”

Dean puts on the t-shirt and hoodie before walking towards Baby. “Who the hell says you drive?” He growls.

“Me, the guy who doesn't have stitches in both arms. Just get in Dean.” He rolls his eyes. “You can sleep the whole time I drive.”

Dean huffs as he gets in. Sam passes him a granola bar, pills and the unfinished gatorade from last night. “No actual food?” 

“If you want to get to the bunker quicker then you'll have to suck up the granola bars and other snacks in the car. We have jerky in the back if you want.”

Dean grumbles as Sam pulls out of the parking lot and sets onto the highway.

Dean falls asleep 30 minutes in the drive.

¤《☆》¤

Dean wakes up with a sharp, intense pain in his shoulders. He's only been asleep for around 4 hours Dean releases a shout, doubling over as his arms erupted in agony.

“Fuck! S-sam pull over.” He gasped out. Sam already had the idea because not even a second later he's parked on the side of the road and jumping out of the car.

Sam tears the jacket off, letting out a hiss as he stares at the blood seeping into the shirt. He quickly removes the shirt and bandages and Sam lets out a string of curses. “Dean, the stitches popped open. They, fuck!” Sam uses the ruined shirt to staunch the blood from the wound on his right shoulder.

“Hold it there Dean, I need to restitch them. Fuck, this might be one of the other curses…”

“To keep my wounds open..?” He grounds out.

“It's possible.” Sam hurries out. “The curse probably activates every 12 hours, but we'll know for sure after the next 12.” He grounds out, bringing out the suture kit and gets to work on Dean's arms.

Dean starts feeling fuzzy by the time he finishes the right arm. “We… gotta…” He slurs.

“Fuck, Dean try and stay awake for me, just a bit.”

“Tired…”

“I know, you lost too much blood in a short amount of time Dean. Once I finish your left arm you can sleep, okay? Drink some gatorade and eat a granola bar for me okay?” Sam rambles out.

Dean just hums as Sam lifts the gatorade bottle to his lips. Taking a few sips before Sam takes it away. He's too tired and in too much pain to pay much attention anymore. Dean closes his eyes and leans backwards into the seat, letting it take all his weight.

“Dean, you gotta eat something.” Sam says, forcing a granola bar in front of his lips. “You gotta replenish some blood man.”

“J'rky?”

“U-Uh, y-yeah, I can, yes.” Sam fumbles. Grabbing the jerky bag. “Eat a few, okay? I gotta stitch the graze on your left, think you can do it yourself?”

Dean hums and grunts as he shoves a few pieces of jerky in his mouth with his left before keeping it still for Sam.

“We'll sling your right arm once I finish wrapping your arms. Fuck Dean, we're gonna have to hurry to the bunker, I don't have enough stitches left if they burst again.” Sam's voice starts to sound farther and farther away.

“Have the need for speed.” He mumbles before he passes out.

¤《☆》¤

He wakes up being pulled from the car, arm looped around someone's shoulder. He grumbles something about not being a girl and chick flick moments before falling right back to sleep.

¤《☆》¤

He's in his bed.

Dean curses, the last thing he remembers is Sam trying to keep his stupid ass from bleeding all over the seats.

He can feel the new shirt Sam probably put him in and the damn hoodie wrapped around him.

Slowly, he weakly sits up from the bed. They're thankfully back at the bunker. He checks around the room and finds himself alone. Sam is probably doing something in the library, searching for a way to break the dumb curse he finds himself inflicted with.

Dean slowly sets his feet to the cold ground, slowly pushing himself upwards to stand and–

“Woah…” he mumbles out, placing his hand on the bed for support as dizziness spreads to his entire being. “Fuck…”

Slowly, with support of the walls and furniture, he gets out of his room. Stumbling down the hall, passing by different rooms to the library.

“...Cas, Dean only has another 2 hours before his stitches begin to pop open again. He's been out for 10 hours from the blood loss. Whatever that witch did– Dean? Give me a minute Cas.” Sam says, placing his phone down on the floor as he rushes to Dean.

“How long have you been up? What the hell are you doing standing?” Sam fusses over Dean, gently forcing him into a chair. “Are you hungry? Do you feel sick? C'mon man, you've been out for 10 hours.”

“I'm just dizzy, Sam. Calm your ass down. I don't know how much time has passed but I at least know you were somewhere around the bunker.”

Sam lets out a breath. “Right, I uh, broke a couple laws to get us here in less than 12 hours. It's been a little more than 10 since your stitches exploded.” He explains.

“And Cas?”

“Asked when he was going to get here and if he could bring a shit ton of medical supplies and food.” Sam grabs a canister off a table near a pile of books and forces it in front of Dean. “Drink.”

“The hell, Sam?!”

“You need to eat and drink something. So, soup.” He shrugs.

Dean groans as he uncaps the canister. “Dude did you–?”

“I bought chicken noodle from the dinner a bit away from here.” Sam interrupts, grabbing some of the books he's been carrying and puts it in a bag along with a giant first aid kit.

Dean raises an eyebrow at that. “Whats with the bag?”

“Im bringing it to your room so I can watch you.”

“I don't need–” Dean begins to hiss.

“Dude! We don't know what you've been cursed with and your stitches are going to tear in less than 2 hours! The second they do, you need to be laying down.” Sam grumbles.

Dean rolls his eyes as he finishes the soup. He does feel less dizzy than he did before. Sadly, Sam has a point. “You gonna continue talking to Cas?”

“Shit!” Sam says rushing back to his phone. “Sorry Cas, uh, Dean's fine, stupid and a bit weak, but otherwise fine.”

Sam continues talking to Cas and Dean tunes them out quickly.

He doesn't think Cas needs to rush to the bunker from his hunt. Sam should have a couple hours in between each stitch explosion to go out, but he probably would need help to look through the shit ton of witch books the library has.

Dean taps the chair he's sitting in. He wants a beer, maybe a hamburger if he's honest. He doubts he'd be able to even begin making it before falling asleep again.

Dean gets up, swaying where he stands, moving towards the door.

“Ah, Dean, wait!”

“I don't need help Sam! I'll be fine for the next hour!” He grumbles.

He shouldn't have to rely on his little brother to get to and from short distances. He already makes Sam put up with his stupid decision making skills of the last 24 hours.

Dean leans a bit on the wall as he enters his room. Sagging into his bed.

He's exhausted.

He usually would just blame it on the blood loss and his usual 4 hours of sleep, but it feels deeper ingrained in his being. He felt like this for a long time, it had gotten worse after hell, worse after purgatory. 

He just wants to sleep and not wake up for a while. Stop causing problems for Sam, stop saving the world from the next apocalypse, stop hurting.

Dean shakes his head with a scowl. Man, he's seriously depressing when he's not surrounded by people.

“God, I need a beer.” He doubts he could get up and grab one now. Sighing Dean just leans against the pillow, gently trying off the black hoodie and shirt. Ignoring the shiver his body produces, he looks at the bandages.

The bandages aren't just saturated with blood. A slightly orange glow shines through the bandage.

“What–”

A growl and howl echo through the room. Dean's eyes widened, his breathing becoming short panicked huffs.

He hears claws clicking on the tile, barking echoes throughout the room, circling the bed.

“No…No no no no no no…” he mutters over and over again. Body backing up towards the headboard. Hands clumsily wrapping around his midsection, protecting it. 

How did they get in? Why were they here?! What did they want?

Dean's throat locks up as he curls up further. The hounds get closer, he feels the bed shift and move and suddenly pressure is on his shoulders and Dean fights.

Dean pushes the weight weakly scrambling to try and get free. They can't take him back there. He can't take another year much less however long he'll be stuck there.

 He can't, he can't, he can't, he can't, he can't, he can't—

“Dean, stop! It's okay, it's just me, you gonna hurt yourself worse Dean, come on, come back to me” A voice says, restraining his wrist, shoving his body back and straddling his legs so he can't kick.

So he can't fight. He can't! Did they already drag him to hell?! Was Alistair–

“N-no, I was out, I was out. Cas got me out, I can't be here. I can't do it again.”

“Daddy's little girl only lasted 30. Couldn't even compare, your daddy tried so hard to turn you into the perfect weapon, all for nothing.” Alistair laughs.

Dean bucks in the person's grip, trying his best to break free. He feels a warm spot on his shoulder spreading down his back. Like the hooks in hell, spearing and stretching the skin and letting blood run down.

It's cold. One would think hell would be hot, but it wasn't, not where he was put. It was cold, they knew he could never handle the cold.

How hungry he was, how each meal and blanket he'd put towards Sam so he'd never be cold or hungry. The hunger made the cold so much worse.

“Shhh, come on Dean, calm down. I don't want to sedate you man, you gotta snap out of it.” The voice continues.

It's familiar, safe. Dean can trust it. No, he's been tricked before. How was he? Who was tricking him?

Sam? It sounds like Sam. What if it was Meg?! 

“Dean, come on your stitches tore, I need to get to them, come on brother, I'm right here. You're safe, I swear. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real.”

No, it wasn't Meg she was gone. What stitches…

The witch.

The curses.

The orange glow.

Dean let out gasp, after gasp. His mind fuzzily puts together he's in the bunker. There aren't hell hounds. He isn't about to be dragged back to hell.

He's with Sam.

“S-sammy.” He stutters out.

Sam gets off of him, gently lifting him into his arms and holding him. Rocking him gently. Like how he did when Sam first died… like when Sam got painful visions so long ago…

It feels so nice…

“Yes, it's me Dean, I've got you.” He says. “ Deep breaths for me Dean.” He kept a hold of Dean, maneuvering him so he was leaning a bit against the pillows and headboard.

Dean begins shaking, violent trembles ripping through his body. “S'cold…” he shivers out.

“Yeah, you lost too much blood Dean, I have to stitch you up, but you have to stay with me. You can't go and freak out on me okay?” Sam begs. “You gotta stay with me.”

Dean pathetically nods his head. He can't feel Sam shaking above him, not from the cold or fading adrenaline, but because Dean thoroughly freaked him out.

He can't believe he had such a major freak out. He doesn't even have any idea what caused it. The orange glow didn't remind him of anything that caused that level of freak out.

Was it… another curse..?

He barely feels Sam begin to stitch his shoulder, his body feels numb. Heavy. Cold. Tired. He tries his best to just keep calm, to steady his breathing.

He barely registers Sam finishing the last stitch. He does register Sam leaving.

“Look after Sam.” His father growled

“S-sam, you, you gott-ta s-s-stay here… got-tt-ta keep, k-keep you safe.” He panics. Hand blindly reaching for Sam's.

His instincts scream at him to try and keep Sam in his sights.

“Hey, I'm not going anywhere okay? I’m just getting a wet cloth to clean the blood off okay?” Sam is blurry, Dean can barely make him out.

He's gotta keep him safe. He's gotta do it, anything can be lurking through the vents, pipes, and drains.

“I-I..” he attempts to get up and he feels hands gently push him down.

“Dean! Don't get up, okay! It's okay! I… I already put up wards, salt and sigils to keep us safe, alright? It's safe, I'm safe, you're safe.”

Dean nods, dizzy. His body shivers as he hears Sam walk out of the room. A few minutes later, though it felt like eternity, Sam returns and leans Dean against him.

Dean flinches as Sam cleans the blood off his back. Sam keeps up a constant stream of ‘its okay’ ‘your safe’ ‘I'm here’. Trying to keep Dean calm.

Dean's brain barely understands anything other than the pain, the cold, the exhaustion deep in his bones and Sam's warmth in his side.

His eyes slowly drift shut. His body fully gave up after the amount of stress it went through. He feels Sam wrap the wound after it's cleaned of blood, feels the shirt and hoodie be put on and Sam laying Dean down on a dryer part of the bed.

Then he's gone.

Dean's eyes search the room, eyes flickering side to side before landing on him. “S-stay. Sammy, you gotta…”

Sam takes quick strides towards Dean. “Okay, but I've gotta move you, your bed is covered in blood. I just need to bring you to mine.” He says, gently.

If Dean was all there he would have never allowed Sam to pick him up, would definitely fight at being carried princess style. But he wasn't. 

¤《☆》¤

Sam gently gets Dean under the covers, getting in the bed next to him. When he had picked up Dean, his brother had all but fisted his shirt and used all his strength to hold on.

Dean's eyes watch him as he takes his shoes off and adjusts himself in the bed. Dean's eyes glow a faint orange. His wounds had done that as he was freaking out earlier.

Trapped in some fucked up illusion.

At least he was able to calm Dean down. Though, the only thing that seemed to keep Dean from getting up and continuously panicking was Sam as close to him as possible.

He feels Dean begin to shiver next to him, his body crashing from the blood loss and the extreme stress and adrenaline finally leaving his body. Sam curses as he completely forgot his brother was in shock territory.

Sam picks Dean up, gently dragging him close into his side. Rubbing up and down his back to try and get him a bit warmer. He feels Dean go fully limp before his breathing evens out. Asleep.

He had only seen Dean that freaked out once and he was barely there for the worst of it. Yellow Fever.

The witch must of casted a spell that had the same effects on Dean as Yellow Fever did.

Sam picks up his phone from his pocket, dialing Cas's number.

“Sam? How's Dean? You said he should've gone through the second tear by now?”

“He did, fuck Cas, it's bad. He started hallucinating a couple minutes before it was supposed to happen. I heard screaming and crashing coming from his room and I found him practically having a panic attack and freaking out.” Sam rambles.

“Hallucinations?” Cas says, urgently.

“Yeah, his eyes were glowing bright orange and his wounds had a faint orange glow too. It took me too long to bring him back enough to stitch them closed, he lost so much blood, Cas. He's asleep right now, but his eyes are still faintly glowing and he's in shock.”

“I'm almost to the bunker, Sam. I've got the supplies. I even managed to grab some blood to give to him for a transfusion.” Cas says seriously. “ The other curse sounds a lot like Yellow Fever.”

“That's what I thought… I think… I think Dean thought he was back in hell, maybe purgatory?” Sam mutters. “I… I don't know… Cas…” He's curious about how he got a blood transfusion, but he can't focus on that. He'll ask about the blood transfusion later.

“I know Sam. Get as much rest as you can, I'll be there in 5 hours and I'll wake you up once I've arrived.”

“Yeah, we're both in my room… thank you, Cas.”

“Of course, Sam.”

The call ends.

¤《☆》¤

“Sam.”

Sam wakes up to someone calling his name.

He jolts up, dragging the body next to him closer as he stares at the voice. The body next to him lets out a pained groan, curling up to protect themselves.

“Relax Sam, it's me.” Cas says.

Sam lets out a huff as he relaxes, shifting Dean to the side. “Crap, Cas.”

“I apologize, I didn't mean to startle you.” Cas says, moving closer to 2 of them, eyes squinting. “He doesn't look good.”

“No shit, Cas.” Sam snaps. “Shit, sorry Cas, I'm…”

“You're stressed and exhausted, I understand Sam.” Cas lifts up one of Dean's eyelids, studying his eyes. Dean groans before hiding his face in the pillow. Dean is pale, shivering slightly, but doesn't look as bad as he did after yesterday's tear.

 “It seems whatever was making him hallucinate earlier is over. His body is just too exhausted and weak to react like it usually would.” Cas mumbles. “Let me grab some of the supplies and set up the IV and transfusion.” He moves to the door but Sam snatches his arm.

“Hey, quick question, where did you get blood? Also, what type do you—”

“I managed to sneak some from a blood bank. It's O-, I know how the human body works, Sam.” He says walking away.

Sam lets out an exhausted sigh. Rubbing his face as he gently moves Dean so he could get out of the bed.

Dean's arms clumsily move to try and grab him again before he gives up and just curls up into the spot Sam abandoned.

It worries Sam how much Dean's turned weaker, mentally and physically. The Dean he knew would never reach out for physical touch like this. Would push Sam away after a flashback or if he needed help.

He's scared that they might not be able to find out what he's been cursed with. That they can't fix this.

He hears rolling coming from down the hall. Cas comes in with an IV stand, a newly stocked first aid kit and the IV and blood.

“You weren't lying about the IV…”

“No, help me set this up.” Cas walks past him, setting up the IV stand.

Soon, Dean has an IV set up in his arm, the black hoodie and t-shirt as been taken off so Cas could examine the wounds.

Dean shivers in his sleep.

Cas unwraps the bandages and his eyes widen.

“Cas..?”

“Sam! Hold him down!”

The wounds were slowly glowing into a bright orange. Dean slowly begins to move. Eyes flickering back and forth in a panic under his eyelids.

Sam jumps on the bed, straddling Dean to keep his legs in place and moves to grip his arms, to keep the IV safe and so he doesn't clock anybody.

“Cas—”

“It's a strong curse… an old one…”

Dean begins thrashing underneath him, trying his best to get free.

“N-no, I… Dad… please… I can't…” Dean gasped.

Sam freezes.

¤《☆》¤

“What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?! You let him out of your sight!” John screamed, looking at Dean.

“N-no, I, Dad! Sammy was in the motel room! I came back and he was—!” He tried to explain. 

“I don't give a damn Dean!” John leans in closer and angrily whispers, “That was your one job! To look after your brother and he's gone! He could be dead because of you!” Dean feels John punch him across the jaw.

“Wait! Dad, please! I can't! Dad! I can go back out and look for him just please!” He begged. John hit him again.

“You killed your brother Dean! You couldn't do your one job! I trained you up so you could protect Sam. You gone and fucked up so bad that nothing other than a demon could fix it.”

Dean just laid as John continued to hit him.

He deserves it.

He lost Sammy

He's so sorry Sammy.

¤《☆》¤

Dean continues to cry out to John.

He continues to cry out ‘what about Sammy?!’

And Sam feels sick.

Soon the orange glow dies, and disappears.

Dean quiets. His voice turned horse and tears streamed down his face.

Sam's face doesn't look much different.

Cas just stares mournfully at the both of them.

7 more hours until the next tear.

“Did he reopen his stitches?” Sam rasped.

“No, he did bleed a little bit, but nothing major. His IV?”

Sam shakes his head. “It's fine.”

“Go eat something Sam. I can watch him for a bit. Look at some of the books and papers I've found to see if we can figure out the curses.”

“Okay, I'll bring you something to eat and drink too, and something easy for Dean if he wakes.” Sam says.

Walking out of the room, all Sam can do is cry quietly as he walks to the kitchen.

¤《☆》¤

When Dean wakes up, everything aches, everything hurts and he feels so cold he thought a ghost was in the room.

“Dean?”

Dean lets out a groan, attempting to turn away from the voice to get warmer and sleep for a bit longer, before letting out a hiss as his arm protests the movement.

“Careful Dean, you have an IV in. Do you think you can drink something?”

“Cas?” He grunts. His throat feels like sandpaper and his mouth is dryer than the desert.

“Here, let me help you up.” Cas slips a hand behind Dean, gently pushing him up.

Dean weakly slaps his hand. “M'fine.” He didn't even do anything and feels exhausted.

Cas opens a water bottle for him. Pushing it to his lips. “You just had a second episode, Dean. You're far from fine.”

Dean takes a few gulps of water before pushing it away. “Episode?” He pants.

Cas tilts his head. “You hallucinated for the second time last night. Though, you were asleep for the second one. The first one happened before your stitches tore. Remember?”

“I…”

It's blurry… but it might have been about hell? Hell hounds and…

“Maybe… it's blurry…” Dean mutters. “Where's Sam?”

“I told him to eat something, he's making something for all of us.” Cas says. Moving to sit in a chair and read a book.

“What're you reading?”

“Witch spells. You have around 4 hours before your stitches rip again, so we're researching while we can.”

Dean nods, shivering a bit. “Alright…” looking around he realizes. “Are we in Sam's room?”

“Ah… your room isn't… suitable for anyone to reside in it for now.”

“What the hell happened!?”

“Your stitches tore during the first hallucination… it… took a while to get you to calm down.”

“Your room looks like a murder scene.” Sam says, entering the room.

Dean brings the tray on the bed. There were two plates of sandwiches, and one bowl of soup.

“Really? Soup, Again?” Dean grumbles as Sam passes food to Cas.

“Well, you need to both drink and eat something. It's easier on your stomach.”

“I'm not sick, Sam.” 

“No, but you're not exactly well either.”

Dean curses him as he eats.

¤《☆》¤

There's one hour before his stitches will tear for the third time.

Dean spent that entire time miserable.

He's cold as hell and he hurts everywhere.

“Hey…”

Dean groans as Sam comes in.

Sam and Cas both said they'd come in 30 minutes before his stitches popped open. Dean was thankful to spend his misery alone before that happened.

Apparently, Sam had other ideas.

“What, Sam?”

“I… uh… do you remember your second hallucination?”

It was a dream, technically. He'd have to be awake to have a hallucination.

It was a dream with John. Of the time they didn't have basic necessities and Dean had to go and steal some.

“Kind of hard to forget… y'know, cause it actually happened.” Dean says, hoping the conversation drops.

“Dean, I only heard bits and pieces but I've never heard you like that… not even the first time.” Sam says.

“Drop it, Sam.” 

“Dean—”

“I SAID DROP IT!” Dean shouts. “You know what happened, Sam! I told you in the car and that stupid motel!”

“What–”

“when you left, we thought you were dead! When he found out. That whenever I pissed him off too much he'd kick my ass out to the curb! And-”

“But I never knew what for! I thought you spent nights out! I didn't know he kicked you out till he told me! Now, I don't know why! You were screaming for him last night, Dean! I know he was an obsessed bastard—”

And all of a sudden, he's not yelling at Sam to drop the matter, he's staring at himself. In that fucked up room with the sun wall decoration.

“He dumped on me about protecting Sam.” He muttered to himself, watching as the Dean in front of him spoke exactly that. “That was his crap…”

A memory that stuck to him like glue. Something that his inner brain constantly told him whenever he thought about John.

“He was the one who couldn't protect his family… He wasn't there for Sam, I always was. It wasn't fair.”

He wasn't. He asked an impossible task. To be his defender, and to protect Sam. But he constantly hurt Sam. He couldn't both defend John, and protect Sam.

And the scene shifts, Dean didn't even notice the shift. Even if he did, he wouldn't recognize it. Well he knew the scene. Not this conversation. “I've given everything I ever had, and you're just gonna sit there and watch me die?” 

John sits in the hospital chair, looking right past Dean.

This is when he was apparently comatosed, when John gave his life for his.

“What the hell kind of father were you?!”

“Daddy's blunt little instrument.”

“He looked at me different, you know? Which was worse, not that I blame him.”

Dean grips his head, begging for those voices to stop. Yet all he can do is listen and repeat.

Because… they're true.

He raised Sam.

He was not John's son.

He was his tool.

He was the one trying to convince Sam that their father was good.

But he wasn't.

And he did a damn good job of slowly turning Dean into him.

Everything Dean liked was John's. His car, his clothes, his music, everything. 

Dean covers his ears as hard as he can, gasping for air as every stupid memory of his dad runs through his head.

From that stupid yellow eyed demon telling Dean he was ‘proud,’ that hospital where Dean was out of body, trying to tell Adam their childhood.

Every memory and he felt so sick. He didn't want to look anymore. He closed his eyes, curled up and just begged over and over for it to end.

He can't breathe, he can't think, he can't—

He black out.

¤《☆》¤

One minute he's yelling at Dean, the next Dean's eyes flash a brilliant orange and he's collapsing on the bed.

“Dean!” 

Sam rushes over to Dean, he hears Cas running down the halls but all he can focus on is Dean.

Dean who is muttering things he's never thought Dean would say.

Him muttering all of their fathers faults, yelling how horrible John always was. How Dean always stepped up.

He muttered things he heard him tell Adam. He muttered things he told his father when possessed by Azazel.

Unlike the last ones, Dean didn't thrash, he didn't even really move besides to fold inwards, covering his ears and keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He continues to mutter.

Soon the hour is almost up. 15 minutes before his stitches will rip open, Dean falls limp. His cheeks streaked with tears, his voice near non-existent.

Cas looks at him and asks him. “Do you think you said something to set him off?”

Sam just nods.

¤《☆》¤

Dean's stitches popped, there isn't as much blood as last time. That's one good thing.

Actually, the only good thing.

Because now, Dean sprouted a low grade fever.

Sam rubs his eyes tiredly. “Think you found it?”

He and Cas sit around the bed, books strewn across the floor along with scraps of pages. They'd given up sleep in hopes of finding the spells to break the curses or to find the damn witch to do so.

“I found one,” Cas says, “however, it's the one that stops his injuries from healing, it's why the stitches pop. It's also what's causing his blood to thin. Platelets help the blood clot, to help heal, therefore the spell forces them to drop.”

“At least he won't die from the blood loss.” Sam mumbles, exhausted.

“Hopefully, though we'll have to be careful. If he has another episode, he might tear the stitches himself instead. He won't have platelets for a long while Sam, his body needs time to replenish them.” 

Sam stands from the table. “Let's just do the spell first and see if it works. If it does, it means we aren't on a constant time limit anymore.”

Except, they are on one. Dean's got a fever, probably that orange spell that's overworking his brain to hell. They don't think there is an infection of his wounds, but they've been checking for any signs.

Cas nods. “The bunker has all the ingredients we'll need. Go sleep, Sam.”

“You need to sleep, Cas. You can't help Dean if you run yourself in the ground too.”

Cas just tilts his head with a small smile. “I'm not running in to the ground yet. I'll sleep once I finish the spell and check if Dean's okay.”

Sam smiles a bit and walks to Dean's room. 

Which is still covered in blood.

He should probably clean first.

¤《☆》¤

“Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy, Daddy, even Sam.”

She smiles.

“Ever wonder why? Maybe it's not them. Maybe it's you.”

Dean is easy to leave. Some of it wasn't anyone's fault. Mary, until she was brought back, but she died first and for the second time. Bobby didn't want to leave. Jo and Ellen didn't want to leave. Charlie, Kevin, Benny, Crowley… so many others.

Some chose to…

John left and didn't come until he needed something, not even when Dean was dying. Sam left for Stanford, Cas left to work for Crowley, left in purgatory. 

He doesn't blame them… he's gotten almost everybody he loves killed. He endangers everyone.

It's almost always him. He knows that's technically not true, but… Bobby, Jo, and Ellen were doing fine without him. Charlie might have been better off too. Cas might have not lost so many of his siblings, wouldn't have to suffer for choosing him.

What would have happened if he had left them alone?

Maybe they wouldn't have died.

He sees Charlie in that bathtub, Kevin on the floor with his eyes burned out, Bobby in that hospital bed, Jo and Ellen on that market floor. Cas walking in water covered in inky tar, Crowley lighting up after he stabbed himself for him. He sees Sam being stabbed in the back, unguarded because he saw Dean.

Dean knows he's crying.

Dad had been right to stay away unless he needed something. Dean killed everyone who stayed too close and he wasn't good enough to stay.

Wasn't good enough to protect Sam. Wasn't good enough to save and protect everyone he loved.

¤《☆》¤

He wakes up to see Cas leaving.

Before his brain can think he's fumbling for Cas's sleeve.

“Stay.” He pants, exhausted and weak. “Y-you gotta stay. Can't leave again.” He shakes with the effort, and the cold of the room and fever, to stay upright.

Cas gently takes his hand off his sleeve, and Dean mourns the thought that he's not enough for Cas to stay again, but Cas just holds his hand.

“I'm staying Dean, just cleaning up a bit before heading for bed.” He smiles gently.

“Can't leave, might not come back again.” Dean mumbles deliriously.

He isn't making much sense, but Cas seems to get it. His eyes widened before softening. “Okay Dean. Will it make you feel better if I lay with you?”

Dean usually would shove him away, make fun of the question by quoting something about chick flicks but Dean right now?

If Cas is close by, next to him. He can keep him from leaving. He can feel that Cas is alive. So Dean just tugs his hand closer.

And Cas just takes off his trench coat, his shoes and slides in next to Dean. Cas was always willing to do almost everything for Dean. (And Dean is so selfish to take advantage of it at every moment.)

And Dean hates that. He doesn't deserve it. But right now, he just curls up into Cas, who awkwardly wraps his arm around him and cries quietly in the side of his neck and falls back to sleep.

¤《☆》¤

Cas watches as Dean falls asleep, his eyes continuously glows with a faint orange.

He thinks the episodes go on for long periods. Dean sleeps for an hour, eyes still glowing, before Cas closes his eyes to sleep.

He wakes up a couple hours later and Dean's fever has definitely risen some. Cas had kept in mind to leave a thermometer on Sam's nightstand before heading to bed. (Though he didn't think he'd be in bed with Dean.)

Gently, he puts the thermometer in Dean's mouth, waits for the beep and reads it.

102.4°F ( 39.1°C for my non USA readers ♡)

A little higher, but not going into deadly territory yet.

Cas checks the clock and sees they've been asleep around 7 hours, which is decent for the both of them.

Cas moves to get up and Dean just tugs him closer.

Cas knows that Dean has had issues with abandonment. He knew since he had raised him from hell. Yet he had left time and time again. 

He knew it had to be done, he knew he should've told Dean at the very least instead of just up and leaving. He knew he would help, or understands slightly, that it would probably hurt less.

But what's done, is done and Cas can stay now. He'll try and never leave like that again.

¤《☆》¤

Cas had picked up a couple of the books on the floor to continue reading when Sam came in.

“I called Jack to check in and see how he's doing, and if he's heard anything about a witch. He said he hasn't but that'd he'd be on the look out.” 

Cas nods.

If he's honest everything has slowly begun to deteriorate the longer they live. Chuck truly just wanted them to suffer, and this was probably one of his attempts.

But it was torture. To Dean, reliving trauma in fucked up ways. To Sam, to learn and witness Dean and the things that even he didn't know. To Cas, to watch as Dean just devolved to the point that fear and desperation to override his personality.

He was so desperate, scared and distraught that he didn't have his bravado, didn't have his charm, his disgruntled jokes when Sam offered help.

It wasn't Dean. It hurt to see him so far from himself.

Cas knew he hid many sides of himself, to everyone. Cas had seen many of his sides while bringing him up from hell, he had understood Dean. He knew Dean had sides developed that even he didn't know.

But now, it was being shown, not by Dean, but by the curse. Against Dean's will. Not because Dean felt comfortable enough to ask, to show, but because he was too desperate for him to even think.

The curse was torture.

“Cas? You've got something?”

“Right, sorry. I think… this curse… it might be from only one book, it might even be a new spell created by the witch.” He says, unsure.

Sam nods his head. “Then we've got to search for them… Dean knows more about them than I do. I just know the witch is female and knows how to make a ghost wield an actual gun.”

Cas perks up a bit. “Gun? Is that how he got those wounds?”

Sam just shrugs. “We've seen ghosts use all kinds of weapons. This one just used its own energy to fire it so it can use its claws to tear at Dean.”

“It's unusual. Ghosts don't usually work like that, they have to get physical to interact with things.”

“Dean said the witch did it. From what we can tell, she’s pretty strong. Dean said he may have stumbled upon her hideout.”

Cas thinks for a moment before speaking. “When Dean has recovered more, it’s best we head over there and see for ourselves. Just because the witch wasn’t around doesn’t mean she didn’t leave something behind. We can use a spell to track her if she did.”

Sam nods before turning and walking out of the room, before he closes the door he says. “I’ll start getting things ready, I’m gonna run into town and get a couple of things before we leave. Do you want something while I’m out?”

“Just get food, when Dean wakes up I’m sure he’ll be hungry.”

Sam nods and leaves.

¤《☆》¤

Dean wakes up cold, achy, and raw. Emotionally and physically. He is exhausted. He is also starving, confused and has a killer headache. His arm aches from the IV in it.

The last thing he remembers was fuzzy memories of John and a couple of other people. That probably means he was lost in the midst of the curse.

Actually, everything kind of feels fuzzy right now. He feels fuzzy, achy and cold in a sick way. If he has a fever or infection he's going to kill someone.

Groaning Dean attempts to sit up, hissing at the pain in his shoulders. He feels movement at his side and he twists his head towards the movement, startled. He ignores the intense dizziness it causes to shout a flustered, “Cas?!”

“Hello Dean, I was wondering when you were going to wake up. Are you hungry?”

That is not the current issue right now. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?!”

“It's technically Sam's bed—”

“That doesn't matter! What are you doing!” Dean can feel his face heat up, god he must be so red right now.

“You didn't want me to leave and wouldn't let me go, and I was tired, so the next best option was to get in next to you. Are you hungry?” Cas smiles a bit mischievously.

Dean just pushes Cas to the side and nods his head. He cannot believe hallucinating Dean did that.

Cas gets up and brings a container of toast and cold scrambled eggs. “Sam got some food from the diner, it should be easy on your stomach if you're nauseous.”

He is, the nauseous kind of hungry though.

Dean scarfs down the entire thing. After he's finished he tries to get himself comfortable and adjusts his arm so it isn't tugging slightly on the IV.

Dean growls, annoyed. “Why the hell do I still have an IV?”

“You've been unconscious for nearly 11 hours. We wanted to wait till you woke up, ate and drank something consistently before removing it.”

“11 hours?! Shouldn't you be getting ready for my stitches to attempt to gank me by bleeding me like a pig?” Dean questions.

“We found the spell to break the curse.” Cas says.

“Oh thank god. What's with the fever then? Is one of the cuts infected?”

“No, I think you misunderstood, we broke one of your curses. The other one is still intact. The hallucinations are becoming more powerful. It's causing your brain to be overwhelmed.”

“Oh god fucking dammit.” Dean curses. He should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

“We can't find anything in the bunker to break it, we need to find the witch.”

“So? Let's go then!” Dean shouts. Why the hell are they still waiting?

“We're waiting for Sam to wake up from a nap and for your IV to finish. It's best we are more rested and prepared before we head out.”

“Prepared? Baby has everything we'd need!” 

Cas looks guilty to the side. “We have to be prepared for your hallucinations. So far, you've fought hysterically during two of them, and stayed still and collapsed for another. We don't know what the others will cause you to react. So we went and gathered things.”

“Like?” Dean asked. It better not be what he thinks it is.

Cas pulls out restraints and mittens, the type to stop patients from clawing at either the doctors or themselves.

Oh fuck no.

“What the hell. There is no way in hell I'd wear those.”

Cas sighs, like he expected this. “We can't have you fighting us Dean, if something happens and you fight us it could get you killed. We may have broken the curse, but you'll take weeks to fully recover” he explains.

“I'm still not wearing mittens! Are you kidding! I'm weak enough as it is! What if I do have to fight! You guys can't restrain me if I freak out?!”

“You have perfectly good legs, legs that are at less of a risk to rip your wounds open if you panic. Your legs are surprisingly strong despite your weakness. But, your blood is still thin, if you bleed it'll take too long to clot.”

Dean sighs and curses. “I don't need mittens… restraints are fine. But, I am not wearing those.” He growls.

Cas just sighs.

¤《☆》¤

They're getting into Baby, Cas helping Dean into the back, he's wearing that damn hoodie again, though he complains the whole time, Cas sitting beside him and Sam driving.

“We're heading to that house, we think the witch may have left something behind we can use to track her.”

“I burnt that place to the ground!” Dean yells, shivering. Dean is sure as hell that place is just ashes.

“The witch may have it in the basement or even a shed, the fire mostly burned the second floor and a bit of the first before it was put out.” Sam explains.

Dean looks skeptical, curling up in on himself to try and warm up. “She could've come back and gotten them, we've been gone for days!” 

“She wouldn't risk it, it was already compromised, she'd only take the important things before moving somewhere else.” Cas says. “You should rest till we get there.”

Cas hands him a blanket from under the seat and passes it to him. Dean takes it with a grumble. Cas sets his hand on his forehead before Dean could swat it away.

“Your fever has gone down.” He says.

Dean shoves him away, before he could lean into it. “Okay, that means, I'll be fine for a while! Now, please can we begin this 15 hour drive? My arms won't burst open, so we can just drive!”

He shouldn't have said that. He will not be fine for a while.

Whatever, he'll just sleep and hope nothing horrible happens.

¤《☆》¤

His brain is fuzzy and confused.

The vampire just gave him its blood, turning him. They can cure him, not the vampire is dead and gone, Dean killed him. They don't even have any ingredients to cure him.

If he was any more lucid, he'd know he 1.) Wasn't a vampire, 2.) The vampire is dead and therefore couldn't turn him at all and 3.) He's in general a dumbass and none of this makes sense.

He can hear a heartbeat filling his ear. Loud and obnoxious. Hear blood flowing as well.

He can't be a vampire, he can't hurt people. No, he can't be a vampire again. He can't be blood thirsty again. 

Kill

Kill

Kill

His arm burns and itches

He can feel the mark burn.

Being a vampire and having the mark is a disaster.

He has to do something about it. He needs to— he's in Baby. She has weapons everywhere. He can—

Dad had told him once that if Sam turned dark that he would have to kill him. Dean is sure it would work the other way as well. He refused to force Sam to kill him.

(Sam wouldn't want to kill him, instead find a way for him to continue living safely, or to find a cure.)

He won't put his baby brother through that.

Dean dives for something under the seat, pulling a blade he kept hidden, he ignores the scramble of hands on his shoulder, ignores the shouts of his name as he brings the knife up to his throat.

Dean digs it into his neck, feeling blood drip down, warm and sticky, before two arms grab him and drag it away from his neck. “N-no! You can't! I have to– I can't!” He gasped out. The Mark shouts for him to kill, fight and make them bleed.

There are shouts as Baby swerves to the side of the road, Dean loses the blade to the floor as the hands keep his arm restrained, Dean tries to get free but he's so exhausted he just sags into the seat.

He feels one hand move from his arm and press into the side of his neck. It hurts and his body screams to move to keep his neck safe and to stay still because the hand is safe.

Wait, safe?

The hands are familiar, calloused, warm and gentle.

His arm burns and itches still, distracting him from the hands and he moves his hand to start scratching at it as hard as he can to make the itch stop.

He feels the car door behind him open, a body drags him up and rips his hand from his arm in a flash. He can tell the person is talking, chest moving up and down and vibrating, though Dean can't hear it over the blood and heartbeat booming in his ear.

He takes gasping breaths as he tries to gain a small bit of energy.

He feels something poke at his neck, a needle, he thinks. Maybe to stitch the wound on his neck?

He feels dizzy.

His arm burns, he needs to scratch, focus the energy anywhere else other than the need to shed blood.

He tugs his hand in an attempt to do as much, but the hand on his wrist just tightens.

Dean's too weak to fight free. He knows the two sets of hands are safe, but he isn't. However, he is not a threat this weak.

He just closes his eyes and hopes sleep claims him quick.

It does.

¤《☆》¤

Dean was asleep 4 hours before he shot straight up, eyes glazed and glowing a bright orange, and leapt forward to grab something kept under the seat.

Cas scrambles to grab Dean's shoulders, trying to avoid the injuries on them, when Dean shoots up, moving away from Cas and lifting something fast into his throat and Cas sees its a blade.

Dean is trying to kill himself.

“Sam! Pull over! Now! Dean!” He panics, he almost never panics, Dean does that to him.

Dean digs the blade into his neck, blood already leaking from the wound like a waterfall. Cas leans all his weight onto Dean's body, using both his arms to grab and move the one that holds the blade. 

Sam serves hard and Dean drops the knife.

“What happened?!” Sam shouts.

“Dean, it's okay it's just me and Sam.” He tries speaking to Dean, to grab his focus, but his eyes are completely glazed over and orange. “He… he took a blade under the seat and tried to cut his head off.”

“What?! Is he–?!”

Dean sags in Cas's hold, and he takes the opportunity to move one of his hands to cover and press slightly on Dean's neck. “He's bleeding Sam, he needs stitches.” 

Sam hurries and parks the car, jumping out and getting the first aid kit in the trunk.

Dean's hoodie collar is saturated in blood and so is the rest of his neck. Dean's hand moves to his arm and begins scratching where the slight scar the Mark left behind sits.

Sam opens the door. “Grab his hands and sit him up.” Cas commands.

Sam passes the first aid kid over to Cas and drags Dean to lean back on his chest, grabbing Dean's wrist to stop him from damaging his arm.

Dean just continues to take gasping breaths, he's visibly exhausted.

“Come on Dean, I'm just going to stitch you up.” Dean doesn't flinch when he starts to stitch his neck, just tries to free his hand one more time before closing his eyes and passing out.

Sam is pale and shaking slightly by the end of it.

Cas is quiet as he finishes the stitching, taking some peroxide and cleaning the wound and the blood around it from Dean's neck. “Do you have an idea what that one was?” He asked quietly.

They both know part of it must have been the Mark, but the other part, Cas doesn't know. Dean has never once tried to cut off his head.

Sam grits his teeth as he moves Dean to take off the bloody sweatshirt. “I… when I was soulless he was turned into a vampire. He was cured but he was pretty messed up during it.”

Cas knew if Dean was a vampire he'd die before he could hurt someone, he'd do it himself or ask Sam to do it for him. Knowing soulless Sam, he probably would.

Dean's body shakes violently, bringing Cas's attention back to him. Cas brings the blanket that was knocked off during Dean's jump for the knife. The blanket was a bit thin.

Cas takes some fever reducers from the med kit Sam brought and helps Dean take them, massaging his throat, and then putting them in his pocket. Dean shivers miserablely still.

Cas hesitates for a moment before taking off his trench coat and putting it on Dean, who immediately curls into it. Cas then puts the blanket on top and hopes it's enough to keep him warm but also too light to raise his fever.

“We have to keep going.” Cas says to Sam.

“They're just going to get worse aren't they?”

“Yes, and we'll find out things we may never want to know. Things that Dean may not want us to know.”

They all kept secrets. That isn't new, but some of the things they found out that they already knew, just not the full story, were still upsetting. It was shocking, it was angering, it was upsetting.

Sam closes the door, gets in the car and they're on the road not a minute later.

¤《☆》¤

Dean ends up sleeping fitfully the rest of the way. His eyes glow orange sometimes under his eyelids but he makes no noise other than panic mumbles and groans.

Sam doesn't know if it's better or worse.

They pull up to the house, halfway burned to ash.

Cas steps out of Baby and looks around the seats and removes the weapons hidden about. “I'll put these in the back, it's safer if he can't get his hands on anything dangerous.”

Sam hates it, its like putting Dean in a suicide watch. Dean wouldn't kill himself. Except he is, except he just tried to a couple hours ago.

The more Sam looks, the more terrified he gets at the prospect he missed Dean's suicidal tendencies. God he was an idiot.

Dean will always put Sam first. He is terrified to know the extent of it that he doesn't know.

He needs to tell Dean that he needs him as much as Dean needs him. They were crazy codependent, kind of in an unhealthy way, but they fall apart when the other isn't around.

Dean sold his soul, Sam attempted to murder or he just yelled at multiple people, demons, angels and more.

“ —Sam?”

Sam jolts out of his thoughts at Cas's voice. “Uhm, sorry I was…”

Cas just nods in understanding. “I'm going to search around the property, can you search the basement?"

“Yeah, I can do that.” Search the basement. Find something to find the witch. Come on, Sam, focus.

They split off and Sam slowly makes his way down the basement stairs. Slowly, Sam reaches the bottom of the stairs, the room is completely dark and he has to bring out a flashlight.

Sam turns the flashlights on and immediately gasps at the sight.

The whole room is covered from wall to wall in ruins, sigils and symbols. Plants cover shelves and tables. Papers are crumbled and laying across the floor.

The place looks like a psych ward and a mad scientist being mashed together.

Sam goes up the stairs and calls for Cas.

As he makes it to the top, instead of being met with Cas, Sam is met with a pale figure with a floating old rusted but usable shotgun.

Oh shit.

BANG

¤《☆》¤

Dean hears a bang of a gunshot go off, before he even thinks he's awake and running out the car. “Sam!” 

Sam is on the ground, covering his side which is sluggishly bleeding, and quickly looks up at Dean approaching. Sam opens his mouth but Dean can't see it, can't hear it or anything of the sorts.

He's in a hospital, Sam was shot in the side, he was dead. He needs to… he needs to contact Billie. Needs to make a deal.

Dad said to protect Sam in any way he could. He has to.

He barely hears footsteps come to his side and Dean doesn't look at Michelle as she stands there. “...get the doctor if I die…” he mumbles out before fumbling with his pockets, not even realizing that it's not even his.

Dean hears the rattling of something in his pocket and grabs it quickly before Michelle grabs his wrist, her hand feels wrong, too calloused, too big.

“...no…Sam…need to make a deal… need to… Billie…” Dean collapses forward, knees buckling. Michelle helps Dean sit on the floor.

“Sam is fine, Dean, it's just a graze. You do not need to make a deal, Sam wouldn't want you to do that.” Michelle, voice rougher and deeper, says.

The hospital shifts enough for Dean to see Sam, standing up a little wobbly and moving to sit in front of Dean.

“How were you going to meet Billie, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice soft and scared, Dean only heard it when Sam was really scared and worried. He hated that voice.

“Mmmm, overdose, the… Michelle can go get the nurse to bring me back… have to make sure you don't die…”

Sam lets out a frustrated huff. “You wouldn't know that'd work, Dean!”

But it had… when he went to that doctor to make a deal with Death to get Sam's soul, when… he did overdose… that hospital… that was a couple years ago…

Dean must have said that out loud because Sam's face contorts into what could only be described as despair.

Michelle isn't here, the hand on his wrist, which shakes slightly, must be Cas. The hospital all but disappears and they're in front of that damn witch's house.

Cas… Sam… that damn curse…

“...fuck… Sam—”

“You killed yourself twice? To make a deal with death for me?” He sounds… wrecked… like he couldn't believe Dean would do that.

Dean feels so exhausted, so cold, so desperate to fix that look on his brother's face. “it's my job… to watch over my pain in the ass little brother…” Dean sags forward and rests his head on Sam's shoulder. Cas lets go of his wrist to allow the movement.

Sam wraps his hand around Dean and drags him close. “You keep doing that… killing yourself for me… I don't understand it, Dean.”

“You're my brother, why wouldn't I..? There'll be nothing I wouldn't put in front of you. I need you, Sammy. It's always just been us. The only constant…” Dean shivers and curls up a bit more into Sam's side, Sam just hugs him tighter.

“I need you too, Dean. You know I'm a mess without you. You… you've seen what happens when you're gone. Need is a two way street Dean, if you need me, I need you. You can't keep killing yourself Dean. You can't keep sacrificing yourself for me. I can't live like that…” Sam cries.

Dean laughs wetly. “We're like codependencies' final boss… I'll… try… I don't… I don't know if I can separate myself from this life like you can Sam.” Dean admits quietly. Sam makes a noise between a laugh and a sob.

“... you always wanted to be a firefighter, you’d still be saving people… you can also draw on the side… you're really good, Dean.” 

“...I'd like that…” Dean says with a small smile. He's tired, Sam probably wouldn't mind if he takes a nap real quick, but first… “ Where's Cas..?” He slurs tiredly, closing his eyes.

Sam jolts at that. “Fuck! The ghost—!”

“Dealt with.” Cas says somewhere behind Dean. “Apparently, the witch chose this place because an abundance of hunters ended up here before dying.” Cas must have looked at Sam because Sam begins rambling.

“The basement is filled with papers, plants and sigils. It's like a witches wet dream with the amount of things that are down there.”

“I'll gather things downstairs to start a tracking spell, you and Dean go back in the impala. Your wounds aren't deep enough for stitches but you must take care of it.”

Dean forgot Sam was shot, shit. Dean struggles to rise to his feet, stumbling to the side. His shoulders and neck ache like hell. “Fuck.”

“I've got ya, let's get to the impala okay?”

Dean grunts lifting his arm and to touch at his neck and he spots the sleeve he's wearing. “What the? Is this Cas's coat?”

Sam nods. “You, uh, got blood all over the hoodie. So we had to take it off. You were cold so Cas gave it to you.”

“Did my stitches pop open again?! I thought—!”

“They didn't! Just… you cut your neck pretty badly and your blood isn't clotting so…” Sam helps Dean sit in the back of the impala, getting in right after Dean and dragging the medkit from the floor. 

“Did I try and slit my fucking throat?!” Dean panics. Bringing his hand to trace the gauze and bandages on the side of his neck.

Sam opens the kit and shakes his head. “You thought you were a vampire again Dean, and you kept scratching your arm so you thought you had the mark again. You were panicky and weren't really making sense.”

Sam grabs some bandages and gauze and goes to treat his side before Dean takes it from him and begins to do it himself. “I…”

“You can't help it, Dean. The witch's curse is messing with you big time.” Sam hisses a bit when Dean begins to clean it.

They stay quiet as Dean finishes taking care of the wound. Once he finishes Sam goes to get out and Dean snatches Sam's hand on instinct.

Dean can see a light orange glow in Sam's eyes which means his eyes are probably glowing a bit, but he doesn't care. “I… uhm… sorry, that…”

Sam just shakes his head and drags Dean into the position they were in earlier before dragging themselves to the impala. “It's fine, Dean. You can ask, you know that ya jerk?” Sam places a cool hand on his forehead, mumbling something Dean couldn't quite make out.

Dean just curls up a bit and slurs out a “bitch” before falling asleep.

¤《☆》¤

Sam is worried about how clingy Dean is, but if he's honest Dean has always thrived on physical contact. Whenever Dean didn't feel well as a kid he'd curl up near Sam. When Sam felt sick Dean would pick Sam up and let him rest near him. Dean always leaned into any touch given. Dad probably beat it through Dean's skull that he shouldn't, because touch, contact in general, could be dangerous. However, Dean is absolutely touch starved.

Damn it Dad.

Sam changes his thoughts back to Dean, who sleeps soundly curled up in Sam's side, face hidden in Sam's neck in an attempt to get as close to Sam and get as warm as possible.

Sam felt Dean's fever earlier and it was definitely in the high 102s again, they checked earlier when Dean was asleep that it was at 101.3 (38.5°c). Sam checks Dean's temp and it falls at 102.9 (39.4°c).

Sam fidgets with his hand, pressing on the scar in the center. The curse is making the fever worse and quick. They need to solve this fast. Need to find this stupid witch and spell to break this curse quickly.

Cas opens the door of the impala and slides behind the wheel. “I've finished the spell, she's in a small town in Vermont.”

Sam furrows his brows. “That's over a 24 hour drive.”

Cas nods, though Sam can barely see it. “That's why we start now, we'll take shifts, I'll drive the first 12, try to sleep, Sam.” Cas begins driving off into the main road.

“You keep telling us to rest Cas, you should do the same too. We care for you too.” Maybe the curse is making them just a bit more open.

Cas gives a gentle smile Sam spots in the mirror. “I will, after the first 12 hours… Thank you, Sam.”

Sam smiles before closing his eyes, with the soft hum of the impalas engine and the warm weight of Dean near Sam's non-injuried side, Sam falls asleep quickly.

¤《☆》¤

Sam gets 12 hours of straight sleep, Dean sleeps through the night as well but his eyes glow under his eyelids and never fully dims. He mumbles as sleeps, small whimpers and cries being used as background music as Cas drives.

Cas can feel the exhaustion pulling on his body, begging it for a rest. Pulling off to the nearest gas station, Cas parks and gets out of the car, lightly knocking at the window to wake Sam up.

Sam jolts upward, jostling Dean who just mumbles and moves to curl up further in Sam’s side.

“Cas?” Sam slurs out, sleep still having a hold on the taller man. “Is it my turn to drive?” He yawns.

“Yes, it seems you really needed those 12 hours of sleep.” Cas says with a small smile.

Sam moves Dean off of him and gets up, stretching before moving towards the front as Cas gets into his spot. “Yeah, guess so. Do you think you can check Dean’s temperature? It was around 102.9 last I checked.” Sam says, grabbing a water bottle on the floor of the front seat. “See if you can get him to drink something too. I’m gonna use the bathroom and get something to eat.”

Cas nods. “Of course, Sam.” Grabbing the thermometer from the medkit.

Cas takes Dean temp, and his brows furrow at the readings. 103.2 (39.5℃). Cas hopes the dehydration is the cause of the higher temp. Cas shakes Dean lightly, he prefers if Dean woke up and was able to drink some water, but if he has to he’d give Dean another IV.

Reaching into his pocket he takes out the fever reducers, the ones he took from Dean, and pops a couple into his palm. Dean doesn’t wake, no matter the shaking or noise. Sighing, Cas sits Dean against his chest, opening his mouth and gently pops the pills into it and a small bit of water. Massaging Dean’s throat to make sure he swallows it.

Looks like an IV is needed if Dean won’t wake up. Cas moves to the trunk, taking out an IV line and a bag of saline and begins to set up. By the time Sam is back Dean is fully hooked up to the IV. Sam sits behind the wheel as Cas maneuvers Dean to lie comfortable against him and to not interfere with the IV in his arm.

“Couldn’t wake him up?” Sam worries.

“No, his temperature is at 103.2, I gave him a couple pills and a bit of water for him to swallow it, but giving him an IV seems to be a better choice. Hopefully, the water, fever reducers and the IV will lower his temperature.” Cas explains.

“Okay, get some sleep Cas, we’re gonna need it.” Sam says, driving off onto the main road.

Cas leans back and closes eyes and lets the darkness greet him.

¤《☆》¤

When Dean opens his eyes, Cas’s face is above him. His eyes cold and blank, Naomi’s control removing Cas’s love for humanity, his personality, and free will. Cas’s arm moves upward and Dean jumps back.

His body hurts all over, shaking from the pain and cold nipping at his body. Cas looks at him, hand extended. Reaching, capable of hurt, of pain.

“Cas… this isn’t you…” He gasped out, since when did it get hard to breathe? “ I… know you can hear me… Cas please… We’re family… we need you.. I need you… please…” 

Cas’s hand all but snatches back, far away from Dean. Dean continues to gasp out desperate pleas for Cas to recognize him, to come back, fight back, to hear him and be his family again.

Cas’s hand shakes as it touches Dean's shoulder, and Dean flinches and waits for the punch, for the blunt pain, the sharp sting of a knife.

But it doesn’t happen. Cas’s hand just gently moves to cradle his face. Hands capable of healing, of kindness, of love. Dean lets out a shudder of a breath before he just lets drops. Gripping at Cas’s sleeve, a way to keep him close, to protect himself in case it turns violent.

“Oh, Dean…” Cas murmurs. “Naomi is gone, she has no control over me. I will not hurt you. I’d never purposefully hurt you like that if I can help it.”

Dean wants to believe it. Wants to trust him, but his eyes are still cold and blank. Hand twitching against his face. Or are they shaking..? Dean isn’t sure anymore. All he knows is he can’t trust Cas going further, he has to be wary. He so badly wishes Cas was trust worthy, but his eyes weren’t his. That expressionless face that stared at Dean wasn’t the Cas he knew. 

Dad made sure Dean knew to be wary that whoever he's talking to could hurt him and Sam in any way, possessed or not. From simple words and expressions.

Like when Azazel used his dad's body to say he was “proud.”

So he knew.

That this wasn’t the Cas he’s come to know. The one whose face would screw up in confusion or disgust. Whose eyes would turn stormy in anger. Whose face would soften or upturn to a soft smile.

This wasn’t Cas.

Dean shifts away from Cas, towards the other end of the backseat of the impala, glaring warily at Cas.

Attempting to catch his breath from the near hyperventilating pace from earlier, Dean curls up a bit. An attempt to keep his organs safe and to keep himself warm, though his body seems to stay cold anyway, when was the last time he’d been warm..?

Cas moves in the corner of his eye, handing a blanket towards Dean. Dean hesitantly snatches it. He wraps the blanket around him and lays with his back to the door. He’s tired but what if Cas tries to attack him?

Sam was probably in the driver's seat. He wouldn’t let anything happen… right?

¤《☆》¤

Dean didn't trust him. Stuck inside some illusion of the past. His eyes glowing orange at a constant dim light.

It isn't good.

Cas doesn't know what to do.

Dean watches him like he could snap and hurt him at any moment.

Looking at him like at any moment he won't be Cas but something else entirely. Lucifer, the leviathans and Naomi, even if that was just mind control.

The amount of trauma that was accumulated just by someone possessing someone close was incredibly high. Sam was possessed 3 times, same with himself, John was possessed by Azazel. Dean was possessed by Micheal.

Having someone you trusted betray you, whether it was them or not made you hesitant to ever fully trust them, for the small chance it wasn't them.

Dean experienced it the most between the three of them.

It was only a matter of time before Dean would be stuck in a much worse memory.

Cas watches Dean as he shivers, meaning his fever is only rising.

They needed to hurry.

¤《☆》¤

Cas doesn't the rest of the way to Vermont. Sam wouldn't have been able to sleep if he was Cas either.

Dean also hasn't fallen asleep since walking up either, probably not feeling safe with… Cas so close.

Sam watches as they arrive closer to the intended destination. A wood cabin sits in the center of a clearing, no one else around. “Cas, we're here, she should be in that house over there.” 

He parks the impala and rushes outside to the trunk, Cas leaves beside him.

“Dean, we're gonna fix this okay? Whatever you do, stay in the impala.” He says. “We're going to fix this as fast as we can.”

Dean squints his eyes warily at them but otherwise nods. His eyes stay glowing.

Sam turns to Cas who just nods solemnly. “He isn't going to be able to get up, his mind and body are too weak and confused to tell what's real.”

“Then we kill this witch now.” Sam says grabbing his gun and the witch killing bullets, passing some to Cas. “Let's go.”

Entering the cabin, it seems abandoned. Not used in years. The room shows no signs of life, just emptiness.

Sam nods to Cas and they split up, Cas goes right, as he goes left.

Sam enters the left room, same as the basement, papers, plants and sigils are strewn across the room. Sam crosses the room, looking for either a spell book or the page that'll reverse Dean's curse.

“I wouldn't move if I were you.” A voice hisses.

“You-!”

Sam feels magic force its way on to his body and throws him to the wall, holding him in place. His gun clatters the floor before he can even grab it.

“You ruined years of my life's work! I have studied! Practiced! Evolved and created! For years! You and your idiotic brother ruin my work in one night! You couldn't have just left me be!”

“You were killing innocent people!” He chokes.

“Oh please! They trespassed on to my space!” She growled. She slams her fist into the wall next to her. A thud from behind her could be heard. “Do not think of it, angel.”

Cas collapsed on the ground, frozen in place.

The witch lifts her hand, magic sparking into flames as she drops it down onto the ground.

The flames spark to life. “You will die here. I do not need anything flashy to end you. You hunters are so predictable. So simple.”

Sam struggles the best he can to move, but all he can do is twitch on the wall.

“Your brother, he must be losing his mind, every horrible thing from every memory of his pathetic little life eating away at what's left of his sanity and soul!

And I see what's the first thing he truly remembers! Your poor mother, burning on that ceiling as your daddy begs him to take you and run!” She shouts. “He'll watch you two die the same!”

She moves the rush out the room.

BANG

¤《☆》¤

Dean sits in the impala, mind and body foggy and slow. Sam and Cas(?) left to kill the witch…

He doesn't remember clearly…

Everything is too much, too loud.

The hellhounds howl and growl outside. Alistair laughs somewhere in the back of his mind. He can sense everyone staring at him, sense the vampire that turned him, the Mark of Cain on his skin, he can feel, he can feel, HE CAN FEEL-

The cabin ignites into flames.

Sam… Sam is in there, he could be hurt, burning.

Mom-

Sam and Cas are in there and they haven't come out.

Dean stumbles out the door, ripping the IV out. The hellhounds snarl and growl, the sound of paws circling him. He ignores it.

He has to save Sammy. Protect him. His one purpose since he was 4 to now.

He ignores the sounds of Alistair's sneering, he ignores the flashes of every death he witnessed and grabs his gun and walks.

The bodies of innocent people and his family. People he killed and failed to save.

He passes the memories of every attempt Micheal made to drown him into nothingness.

Of each one of his deaths, attempts and all.

Of bearing the Mark of Cain and becoming a demon.

Of purgatory and being hunted every minute of every day.

Of Cas's betrayal and death to the leviathans.

Of Sam getting sent into the cage and Cas dying in front of him for the first time.

Of Sam's first death. Of the sight of Sam's heaven being one without him in it.

Walking into the burning house that happened almost 40 years ago. Walk into that house where everything began.

The start of hurt.

The start of… joy.

Holding Sammy for the first time and smiling at the small life that just started.

He stumbles through the pain and memory licking at his body.

He had gotten through all these memories once, he can do it again.

He lived through every failure, of every death and wound and even the ones who killed him he came back stronger.

His head throbs, for once he feels unbearably hot, instead of the freezing cold. He clenches his teeth and hand and he continues.

He can save them, get them out. He will not watch them die again.

He pushes through the building sees the witch yell at Sam, sees Cas lying still on the floor and-

Mom burning on the ceiling, dad giving him Sam-

The witch turns to leave.

The dogs growl and bark louder. The memories concentrate and he can't even see the witch, in front of him is his dad.

Looking at him like he was just a soldier. Daddy's little soldier boy. Sam all those years ago made peace that their father was and will never be a good person. 

That he would only hurt him more, let the pain of events years ago fester. Sam let go of every lesson that Dad tried to imprint on him and change them for the better.

His dad, the one who haunted each memory with messed up lessons, messed up ideas, messed up words and pain.

Dean, need to accept that. His father wasn't good, the first memory that hit him was exactly this. Dean closes his eyes.

And pulls the trigger.

¤《☆》¤

The witch collapses on to the ground. Bullet between the eyes.

Sam lets out a gasp as he falls on the ground, catching his breath. Cas stumbles to stand, turning to Dean, eyes wide. “Dean, you…”

Dean staggers forward, eyes rolling into the back of his head and collapses. Cas grabs Dean before he could hit the ground.

“Dean!” Sam shouts, rushing upwards from the ground towards the former angel and his brother.

“There isn't time!” Cas shouts. “We have to get out. Immediately.” 

Cas lifts Dean bridle style and Sam quickly follows him out the burning building towards the impala.

Cas sets Dean down on the ground in front of the car, searching his body.

Gently moving Dean's clothes to check the wounds on his shoulders and neck. They were only slightly irritated, but not infected.

Checking his forehead, he only had a slight fever, definitely lower than before.

“It seems he just exhausted himself. The closer he got to the witch the worse the memories became. It caused a great strain on both his mind and body. I think he just needs some time to rest and heal.”

Sam sighs in relief. “It's over… oh my… it's finally over.”

Cas nods. “Perhaps, we take a very, very long break from cases for the next few days… or weeks.”

Sam laughs. “Or months.”

¤《☆》¤

They arrive at Bunker with no issues, Dean sleeps the whole 24 hours peacefully. Resting on Cas and Sam when it was the others turn to drive.

They carry Dean inside, gently depositing him on the bed, still Sam's because they had no time to clean Dean's before they left.

Dean still has a low fever, but nowhere near dangerous.

They change Dean out of the clothes he's wearing, the one smelling of smoke and ash. Into something cleaner and comfortable.

Sam goes and showers, changing into something clean and practically collapses next to Dean.

Sue him, he needs Dean close to him. To know he really is okay and not dying in his sleep.

Dean gravitates to him, snuggling close and gripping onto Sam's shirt. Something Dean did when they were younger in case they needed to run or hide.

It evolved when they were older to Dean keeping an arm out, close to Sam in case he needed something.

If Sam was honest he missed how open Dean was to touches when they were younger, touches that weren't out of desperation or short time comfort.

Sam hugs Dean a bit closer, curling up a bit. Dean hugs him closer, mumbling a soft Sammy before settling.

They were safe.

No one was dying.

Everything was okay.

He hears Cas slowly open the door checking in. He's turned his head to see Cas downgraded to sleepwear, fidgeting a bit as he studies them.

Sam lifts his arm out, “c'mere.” He mumbles.

Cas tilts his head confused, walking a bit closer.

Sam grabs his arm and tugs him down into the bed, on the other side of Dean. “What–”

“Shhh, we're sleeping.”

“I have–”

“Let's just… stay close. The past couple days have been rough, stressful. I… want everyone nearby in case something happens.” He mumbles.

Cas's confusion fades into agreement. “I wouldn't be surprised if this brought back some memories for all of us. Perhaps, it is best to stay together for a bit. Just in case.”

Sam smiles, before letting the exhaustion carry him to sleep.

¤《☆》¤

Dean wakes up surrounded by comfortable warmth. Which is odd considering he was surrounded by a burning, unbearable heat that wasn't all that comfortable.

Opening his eyes shows him cuddling up to Sam, who currently had his arm around Dean's stomach keeping him close. A nice reminder of when he was a kid and would do the same.

Looking behind he saw Cas, sleeping on his back with his arm grabbing the back of his shirt, keeping him in place as well.

Dean's confused, hungry as hell, and his shoulder and neck throbbed in pain. But he doesn't feel weak, feel like a memory was about to assault him at any moment.

Sam and Cas were okay. They were safe. No one was after them. They were okay.

So, he just settles back down and happily goes to sleep.

(Part 2..? Maybe ;] )