Chapter Text
“Dean, get off me!”
“Fine, fine,” Dean stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. “But when your tie is crooked in all the pictures, don’t complain to me.”
Sam quickly turned to find a mirror and frowned when he realized Dean was correct. “You’re such a mother hen, Dean,” he teased as he fixed his tie.
“Well, you only watch your little brother graduate once, what can I say,” Dean shrugged in an attempt of nonchalance.
“Liar, you watched Clint graduate just last year, and I still have at least one more grad ceremony to go to. If, you know, I graduate college.” Sam continued to stare in the mirror, trying to flatten his hair and missing the slight wince of his brother.
Sam had been accepted to Stanford early admissions, which meant that the younger man (no longer a boy, much to his parents and sibling’s dismay,) was leaving for school in only a few weeks to the complete other side of the country.
“I’m sure you’ll do wonders, college boy,” Dean assured him, masking his distaste for the situation with a well-practiced smile. “If Thor could graduate with a fucking doctorate while playing football, I’m sure your nerd brain will make it through.”
Sam sighed. “That’s another thing,” he turned to look at Dean. “Everyone else went to school in New York for their undergrad, are you sure I’m doing the right thing leaving like this?”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Woah, where did this come from? I thought you were all gung-ho about going to California? Ivy league school, remember?”
“I know,” the younger man fell back onto his bed. “I know this is a huge opportunity but...I mean, I’ve never really been away from here for too long and…”
“Sam,” Dean interrupted. “If there’s anyone in this fucked up family that can make it on their own, it’s Natasha. Closely followed by you.”
Dean smiled when he heard Sam chuckle.
“You’re gonna be amazing, Sammy,” he continued, sitting beside him on the bed. “Besides, what is Pop’s money good for other than flying a private jet across the country to visit my kid brother on a whim?”
“Please don’t,” Sam sat up, now wearing a small smile. “I don’t want Papa to give you a lecture on frivolous spending.”
“Me? Pops was the one who bought out Disney World for Clint’s eighteenth. Now, come on, we don’t wanna be late for your own grad,” Dean grunted as he stood up, and-
“Сэрээрэй, новш минь,” a voice shouted as a boot collided with Dean’s ribs. (Wake up, you piece of shit.)
“Fuck off, I don’t even know what you’re fucking saying,” Dean murmured as he fought through the pain in his ribs to sit upright. That earned him another swift kick to the thigh.
God, I miss Sam. The thought made him actively squeeze his eyes together to try not to cry. Sure, this was far from the first time he’d been beaten and stuck in a dark, cramped place, but it was the first so far away from his little brother, not to mention in an active war zone.
He felt a small nudge in his arm and looked over to see another man in matching army fatigues.
“You can’t show emotions like that right now, brother,” the man whispered, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “Once they leave, you can be human, but until then, gotta keep it locked up tight.”
Dean nodded and followed the other man’s lead, forcing the tears down and looking straight ahead.
The men holding guns shouted a few more things, pointing their weapons and kicking at the occasional soldier, before leaving and slamming the door shut. Dean saw all the men in the makeshift prison sigh in relief.
“You can relax now, brother,” the man next to him said as he tilted his head back against the wall.
Dean followed suit and dropped his head back, sighing and choking on a small sob as the motion jarred his ribs. The man turned at the noise and studied how Dean was clutching at his side.
“That wasn’t from the guards, was it?”
Dean shook his head, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Where am I?”
The man sighed, before looking around, then swearing softly. “We don’t got no medic in here with us today. Guess you’re gonna have to deal with me.”
He shifted around so he was facing Dean and helped the man take his shirt off to see the layers of bruises underneath.
“Well, that’s gotta hurt like the sun after a night a drinkin’,” the man muttered.
Dean choked on a laugh, then groaned at the pain.
“Sorry, brother. But good news is, I don’t think them ribs are cracked, bruised to all hell, but no breaks. They’ll still be a pain till they heal, though.”
Dean nodded before doing up his shirt again. “I’ve had worse, I’ll be fine,” he forced out. “I’m Dean, by the way.”
The man extended his hand and shook Dean’s. “The name’s Benny. And boy am I sorry to be the one telling you that you’re here.”
“Where’s ‘here’?”
“The others, they call it purgatory,” Benny grunted as he moved back to rest against the wall again. “But the bottom line is, welcome to being a prisoner of war.”