Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Sam was having a nightmare. Years of looking after the kid made Dean a light sleeper. He woke when Sam started twitching in his sleep. Short panting breaths brushed against his forehead and Dean struggled awake, the need to care for Sam outweighing everything else. Dean ignored his own weariness and held Sam in a bear hug so he wasn’t caught by flailing limbs. 

The clammy skin of his frightened little brother was cool under his hands and he had a deep furrow between his brows while he whimpered at whatever things his imagination tormented him with. Hissing Sam’s name, he woke with a yelp. His small chest heaving under Dean's locked arms while his arms jolted and would have resulted in an accidental punch to the jaw for Dean. 

Whispering words of comfort into Sam’s lengthy hair, Dean gently pulled them up to the headboard of the motel bed they shared. 

“Shh sh sh shhh. It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean reassured him. “I’m here. I gotcha. I’m always here. I’m not going anywhere.”

It was some time before Sam’s breathing calmed down and he slowly calmed from hyperventilating to choking out sobs. “Dee-ean.”

It broke his heart to hear Sam like this. Dean softly ran a hand up and down his shoulder. “What was it?”

Sniffling, Sam only said the one word, “Clowns.”

Sam had always been afraid of em. “Oh Sammy, it’s okay. You ‘member the Batman? Batman defeats the Joker clown? And we all know that I make an awesome batman, huh?”

Sam snorts a weak laugh in spite of the tears mixing with the trails of snot and spit. Dean pulled his sleeve up and wiped the mess away from little Sammy’s face. He would have to soak the sleeve to get the stuff off when it crusted over but that was something to deal with later. He held the little boy close, singing the song his mom always sang to him. It used to feel like a warm blanket was wrapped around him that could protect him from everything bad in the world. It worked on Sam just as well. 

“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. 

Take a sad song and make it better..”

By the time Dean made it through the rest of the first verse, Sam was pliant and relaxed. As Dean kept singing softly into the cold night air, Sam slipped back into a peaceful sleep. Dean let out a sigh and the excess tension washed out of his shoulders. He let himself melt into the mattress and enjoyed the split second of comfort. 

He snapped back to attention before he got too complacent. Dean kept his right arm from under Sammy so he could reach the silver blade under his pillow and made sure the shotgun was close by. Scared he was going to drift off when Sam needed him, Dean mentally ran through where all the weapons were hidden and the ammunition John left them. Nothing would hurt Sammy. 

For the rest of the night, he was on watch while rain lashed and wind raged outside the motel room. The door had slammed open to signal John’s return from a successful hunt and Sam unconsciously curled closer to Dean’s chest at the sound, pulling his shirt tightly into his fist. Dean had to gently extricate himself from his octopus of a brother so he could pack their stuff. It all fit into the one duffel bag while John took care of disassembling the defenses against the supernatural.

The next day, Dean made sure he kept alert. Valiantly ignoring the exhaustion dragging at him while he helped Sammy with his pancakes and wiped all the syrup from his face. When they got back to the car, Dean changed Sam out of his shirt. The syrup would ruin Baby’s leather. After they got back on the road, John ordered him to nap in the car so he could be effective in keeping Sam safe as they drove out of Alabama on the way to Atlanta. Dean had found a series of mysterious deaths that looked like a vengeful spirit. The hunt continued. 

Chapter Text

Water rushed beneath his dangling feet. A freefall to freedom. Dean almost choked out a strangled chuckle at the thought. The thick weight in his chest is pulling him towards it with all the force of gravity multiplied by the number of his sins, impatiently waiting to pull him under the torrential depths below.

He looks down at his upturned palms, dotted with the misty rain pitter pattering around him. They’re lined with the callouses of his hard work, they’re the hands of someone twice his eighteen years and he’s tired as hell. Dean isn’t really needed here, right? Nor is he wanted here. John isn’t going to stop drinking himself into a grave. Sammy’ll be fine, if he needs to then he can call Bobby. He’s already making noise about leaving all of this behind so what’s the point in Dean staying in this life? He’s exhausted and hungry, that kind of ‘haven’t eaten in days’ hungry that you learn to get used to. He wants it all to go away.

Dean pushes himself up off the railing, balancing his heels on the concrete lip and taking his hands away from the metal bannister, outstretched like a tightrope walker before they fall to his sides, weighing more than they’re worth. 

Rustling wings flutter, the sound almost immediately getting lost in the rain and rushing water. Dean pictures the owl they might belong to, a small earthy brown one with big curious eyes staring at everything. With that as his last thought, Dean steps forward.

Wind rips at his clothes and stings his eyes. Rain splattering with the river water he was so close to landing in. Hands roughly took hold of his left shoulder and his waist, like some fucked up waltz. A dance of Death.

Something snaps against the air and Dean’s stomach swoops. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and curls into the burning grip. They crash and slide on the muddy bank, mere feet away from the sweeping torrents. Dean lets his eyes sluggishly blink open, not bothering to move much farther. A body shifts behind him and he couldn’t care less as hands roll him onto his back. Sapphire eyes are staring down at him, glowing lighter like twin stars. Fingers press against his forehead and Dean feels comforting coolness trickle through him, slowly lifting some of the pressure weighing on his very soul. He doesn't question it, only hoping whatever is happening, they know how grateful he is for the almost heady relieved feeling before he falls unconscious. 

Comforting heat encases him and light flickers shadows behind his eyelids. Dean pries them open, finding himself facing a fireplace on a small nest of pillows and blankets. Dean rolls onto his back, staring up at bared wooden beams of a cabin. The door squealing open jerks his gaze and he finds himself looking up at those azure eyes again. Dean takes in the rest of him, plush chapped lips, messy dark hair that could be dark brown or black, broad shoulders under a trench coat, suit and tie. His oxfords were muddy, leaving small specks from where he stood in the doorway. The man breaks their gaze and takes the shoes off, lining them up at the door and moving further inside to set some branches beside the fireplace. 

Dean forces away the lead feeling in his limbs, shoving his arms under him and using the momentum to keep himself up. He swallows against a dry throat, “What am I doin’ here? I was about to hit the water.”

Those sapphire eyes turned hard as diamonds in the fire's light, glittering with upset rage, “I know.”

Confusion and frustration lends him some energy, frowning up at the man, “Then what the hell am I doing still alive?”

“I saved you.” He states, kneeling and stacking the wood beside the fireplace with angered precision. Something Dean knew quite well, doing things so meticulously so you don’t blow up at someone (John) and say something wrong (Get your ass beaten to hell and back). It makes him shrink back, prepared for a swing to head his way.

“I’m sorry.” Dean whispers hoarsly.

Long fingers halt above the branches and he twists to face Dean with a serious expression, “That won’t happen here, Dean. I’m not going to do that to you.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him, “What won’t-.. I never said my name.”

The man sighs, settling back on his haunches, “No, you did not. However, I'm an angel, Castiel. I know these things.”

“Excuse me?” Dean demands, incredulous. “What the hell is a supposed ‘angel’ doin’ with the likes of me? Either you’re lyin’ or the Boss upstairs fucked up.”

The man- Angel, stares at Dean. His gaze was piercing, warming Dean to the bone under its scrutiny. “After everything you’ve seen. All that you have been through, your trials, your tribulations, you do not believe you deserve to be saved.”

Dean scoffs at the statement and breaks his gaze, staring down at the puddle of blankets around his waist. “It doesn’t matter. I’m tired and I don’t want to keep going, that makes me selfish. I don’t deserve to be saved.” Dean spat the words out like poison. Glaring up at the man with green fire igniting in his eyes. "Suicide is a sin, 'a rejection of the gift of God'."

Castiel regards him with the same stare, baring him down to his soul. “Why do you want to die?”

The scoff escapes before Dean can wrangle it away, “No one wants to die.”

“And yet, you jumped off a bridge into waters that would have caused you to drown and die a painful death.” Castiel countered. 

It was true, but Dean knew he was still right. “I didn’t want to die. I wanted to feel.. I don’t know, peace for once. Just..” His eyes fluttered shut and he let himself get lost in what it must feel like, “There’s that theory that you finish this life and get reincarnated to the next. To live a normal life? Go to school, get told off for not doing my homework because I was doing what I wanted, getting a horrible job over the summer with crappy pay to buy a car that doesn’t have weapons outfitted in the trunk..”

He opens his eyes and lets the thoughts get shuttered away, back to where he shouldn’t let himself go. 

Castiel stares at him with a knowing look, “And you can have that, Dean. In this life.”

“How?” He asked, helplessness threatening to drown him. “I-.. how?”

Castiel stood, going back to his coat hanging by the door and pulling out a scrap of paper. His long tan fingers hold it between them and Dean stares at it like it’s a predator waiting to bite. “This is where you’ll start. It won’t be easy but it can be done.”

Hesitantly, Dean takes it and unfolds the torn corner of paper.

Bobby Steven Singer

+1 256-229-7180

Dean’s first instinct is to deny the chance in his hand. Things like that don’t just happen . Good things don’t fall into his lap and second chances are a faraway concept he’s barely gotten a glimpse at. He stares down at the little piece of paper and swipes his thumb across the digits. They don’t fade, they don’t disappear all of a sudden. 

Castiel is kneeling beside him, “The rest is up to you, Dean Winchester.”

With two fingers to his forehead, Dean is consumed by warm, welcoming darkness and his body falls backwards into an embrace. His mind is taken over by a dreamless, soothing sleep.

Chapter Text

The only thing telling him it happened at all is the mud streaked down the side of the clothes he had been wearing, which were folded on his dresser and lay inches from his nose with the small corner of paper tucked in the middle of the stack. 

On the motel bed behind him, Sam is muttering in his subconscious. Something he tends to do as his body wakes up. A glance at the clock tells Dean it’ll be soon and slides himself out of bed. He tries not to move too much so Sam stays asleep as long as possible and starts shuffling around to get them ready for the day, mulling over last night's events as he moves mechanically around the motel room. John wants to stay here another week, by then school break would start so at least Dean won’t have to immediately jump through the hoops of enrolling them in a school in a new town. 

When he’s dressed and pulling down the last of the lucky charms, Sam wakes up. He grouches his way into the bathroom and comes out after Dean’s swished a dribble of milk in a bowl to mimic his own breakfast. 

The kid munches his way through the cereal and doesn’t pay Dean’s silent brooding on the end of the bed any more mind aside from a furtive glance or two. Thoughts go round and round in Dean’s mind. He could get them both out of this life. He had that power now. The only thing left was to take advantage of it. Bobby would at least take Sam and look after him, he knows that, it’s only a question of Dean himself. Was Dean enough? He could hunt, if he had the time he could do the schoolwork, he knew how to look after Sam and he could get a job, but was that enough? 

They’re almost at the school, Dean trailing half a step behind and deep in thought when Sam speaks up. 

“Dean?” Sam squints up at him and nudges his shoulder, “Dean!”

The touch brings him out of his thoughts, finally. “Mm, yeah Sammy?”

Puppy dog eyes are staring level with him cause the kid’s grown into a mini giant for a thirteen-almost-fourteen year old, “Are you okay?”

Dean plasters on an indulgent grin, “Yeah Sammy I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Sam presses, slowing his steps until Dean stops. “You don’t seem okay.”

Weariness blows out of Dean in a sigh and he shakes his head. “I’m just thinking of some things. Tryin’ to make the right decision.”

“What kindsa things?” Sam questions. His young face scrunches with his furrowed brows. 

Dean presses his lips together, thumbing the edge of the paper in his pocket. “I want you to be honest with me right now, Sam. Okay?”

Big hazel eyes turn earnest and he nods, floppy hair dislodging from behind his ears. 

Dean rakes a hand through his hair, staring down at the ground. “Do you want to get out of this life? Hunting, moving around, all of it. Do you want to leave it all behind?”

The kid’s already nodding vehemently, “Well yeah. I mean, it could be worse but…”

“But it can also be better, yeah I know.” Dean finishes. He turns on his heel and Sam scrambles after him down the cracked footpath.

“Where are we going then?” He demands. 

Dean pulls the crinkled number from his pants pocket along with some change. “I’m gonna make a call, okay? Gimme two minutes.”

They stop at the phonebox they just passed and Dean shakily slots his change in while Sam is practically vibrating with curiosity at his side.

“Hello?”

Dean almost sobs at the familiar voice, it’s a near thing. He scrambles for the right words and only Bobby’s annoyed grunt has him talking before the old man hangs up, “Bobby?”

“..Dean? That you boy?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, giddy with relief. “Yeah it’s me. Look, I know you and John had that thing and I get if you don’t want to do me and Sammy any favors but-”

“Slow down, boy. Something wrong with your dad? Where are you?”

“No, John’s fine. He uh.. Well I don’t know actually. He hasn’t come back the last week or so but-”

“He what?” Bobby snaps out. “Where is he?”

Dean shrugs even though Bobby’s not there to see it, “I don't know. He said there’s a hunt down here but he didn’t give me any research to do or nothin’ so.. I don’t know. But I was hopin’ that offer you made to John the last time we saw you, for us to stay.. Is that still open?”

“It always was, Dean. I ain’t cuttin’ you boys out. Ever. John and I had our own thing but that wasn’t your’s or Sam’s fault. Where are you? I can come get you.”

Dean glances up at Sam, the kid already having put two and two together and looking like he’s about to break into song like some disney princess. A smile splits his own face and Dean almost struggles to talk around it and think rationally. 

“It’ll be better if we came to you or at least put some distance between us and here in case he comes back. We’re in Phoenix right now. I’m putting us on a bus to the next town over and we can hole up there. We’ll be at the greyhound station by the time you reach town.” Dean suggests rapidly.

“Alright kid. I got a call to make so I’ll be on my way in about a half an hour. I’ll see you before this time tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” Dean parrots, relief making him dizzy. “Okay, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dean hangs the phone up and turns to Sam, both of them wearing matching grins. Dean lets out a laugh before he lets his practical side take over. “Okay. We need to get back, pack up our stuff and go. We don’t know when John’s comin’ back.”

Sam’s look sobers up and he straightens with it. They walk in long strides, taking almost half the time to get to the motel than they did to leave it. Dean is quick in shoving the door open and snatching up his bag from the floor. He knows there isn’t any food left in the kitchenette cupboards but he searches anyway, only finding grimy shelves. 

They both pack their sparse clothes away and Sam is just zipping his bag up on the last of his books when a familiar truck rumbles into the lot, stopping outside their room. 

Fear ices over in Dean’s stomach at the sound and Sam is staring at the door like a damned deer in headlights. Dean yanks him into the bathroom, carrying their bags. It’s a tight fit but Dean squeezes their duffel bags out the window and pushes Sam through just as John starts to fumble with the door key. He finds relief in the metal scratching on metal as John’s likely drunk hands miss the keyhole. He only just manages to heft himself out the window when the door whines open and John's angry stomps fill the empty room. 

Dean doesn’t bother looking back, hauling Sam up by the back of his shirt and shoving him in front. Dean hurried them on, pushing him through the small garden and out onto the streets behind the motel.

They break into a sprint and don’t slow down until they reach a bus stop two blocks away, the bus itself lurching to a halt as they wait anxiously for the doors to open. Dean hands off some of the few precious bills they have left and nudges Sam to the back of the bus, ignoring the few curious looks they garner. By the time they fall into their seats with the bags squashed into their laps, they’ve somewhat caught their breath and Sam starts giggling. It’s contagious and Dean tries to stifle his chuckles with the back of his hand. 

The phone in his pocket starts ringing noisily and both of them stare at his vibrating pant leg like it’s going to bite them, laughter now forgotten. There’s no credit on the phone so it can only take calls, not make them and only John has the number. Once Dean doesn’t answer the man will be furious but they won’t be around to see it. 

Dean takes the phone out and it stops buzzing in his palm. The bus lurches to the next stop and Dean uses the pause in momentum to place it on the floor and slam his boot on the phone just as it lights up with another call. The plastic grates under the sole and Dean takes pleasure in twisting his foot and grinding it so bad the tracker inside doesn’t make it out alive. 

Sam’s gaze burns into the side of his face as he scoops up the ruined remains and he turns to face him. “What?”

Hazel eyes blink back at him for a drawn out second, “I just.. I never thought I’d see you defy him like that. I hoped but..”

“Yeah I get it.” Dean shrugs, shuffling back into his seat and eyeing the next stop they’re coming up to. “Wait here a sec.”

Dean wiggles out from under his bag and jogs to the head of the bus, reaching for the trash can on the street without taking his second foot off the bus so it doesn’t leave him behind. He has to give it a small toss but most if it makes it in and Dean heads back, sliding into his seat next to Sammy. They’re about to pull away from the stop when a truck cuts them off. 

A pissed off John storms up to the bus and Dean bundles Sam further against the window and down along the seat. The driver lets the door hiss open and they duck further behind the seat back in front of them. John stomps onto the bus, glaring around at the four other passengers with no sign of the boys. Even angrier, he stomps off, ignoring the spluttering driver, and climbs back into his truck while the boys breathe shaky sighs of relief. Dean waits until the bus starts up again before he lets them get back out of the footwell. They watch the truck drive off while the bus driver grumbles under his breath and Dean doesn’t dare count his blessings just yet.

The rest of the journey is uneventful, thank god. Dean gets them off of the bus at the Greyhound station and haggles two tickets for the price of one, needing to send Sam to get a drink from the vending machines across the way while he rushes through the payment. 

Sam doesn’t even bat an eye as he tells him he has to hit the head afterwards and comes out swiping his mouth, downing a quarter of the water as they get on the new bus. The rumble of the engine and warmth of Sam asleep at his side lulls him to a doze, still trying to stay awake enough to protect Sammy until they finally make it off in the next town over.