Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Remember How It Used to Be

Sam:

Torment looms over the bunker, seeming inescapable. It feels suffocating, like a heavy weight pressing down on everything. The air is thick with tension. Sam and Cas stand in the kitchen, silently appreciating each other’s company. There’s a quiet comfort in the room, an unspoken understanding between them. They don’t need words to fill the silence. The two of them share a bond, rare and unique, where they find a sense of peace in simply being around each other. Their conversations are typically sparse, but the next words that leave Cas’s mouth make Sam’s head snap toward him.

“I’ve found a case,” he announces, his voice flat, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes.

“Seriously?” Sam’s ears perk up at the idea of a blissful distraction. It feels like a lifeline. A chance at normalcy.

Dealing with a demon brother is not something anyone can plan for. Dean, once his steady anchor, had cracked. His absence from their usual routine has created a rift that only seems to deepen each day. Dean was the constant in a world that never stopped spinning. Now, he’s distant, trapped in a haze of whiskey and isolation, holed up in his room, cleaning his guns, and watching Clint Eastwood reruns. His body was held prisoner by a demon, but it seems now his mind is a prisoner to his body. A case sounds like a promise—a way to ease the burden off his brother's shoulders.

“Topeka. Three doctors brutally murdered. Could be something,” Cas mutters.

“I really hope it’s something... I’m getting really tired of sitting here like this.” Sam’s eyes dart briefly to the door to Dean’s room, the unspoken weight of his brother’s silence pressing down on him. Sam fidgets with his hands and takes a deep breath to brace for impact.

His contact with his brother has been entirely through the oak door. The thick, solid wood seems to symbolize the emotional barricade Dean has built around himself. It feels unfair that Cas seems to have a key to unlock that door, to reach what Dean has buried so deep inside. Sam isn’t a jealous person, but sometimes it feels like Cas has an easier time reaching his brother than Sam does. This fact alone puzzles him. Cas isn’t even human, so how does he know how to handle Dean’s tender heart? They were a team. But now, with Dean withdrawn and distant, the trio feels like a child who broke his mother’s vase. And Sam is left trying to find a way to glue it back together.

Sam gets up, his footsteps light on the cold floor as he walks toward Dean’s door. He knocks once, then twice, his hand hovering over the knob, unsure. The door swings open before he can knock again. Dean stands in front of him, looking like hell. His face is drawn, pale—an empty shell of the man Sam once knew. To be fair, if anyone knows hell, it’s Dean. His time there has carved something indestructible into his soul, leaving him with a cold, impenetrable exterior. Emotions don’t reach him the way they do other people. Lack of sleep sags beneath his eyes. For someone who eats as much as he does, there’s an emaciated quality about him, like he’s withered from the inside out. The potent scent of whiskey clings to him. It seeps out of his pores. A clear sign of his coping mechanism. He peers around the ruins that are currently Dean’s room. A mess so grand, Sam feels overwhelmed just looking at it. Sam can feel the unease coil in his stomach at the sight of his brother, but he forces himself to keep his voice steady.

“Hey,” Sam’s tone is softer than usual, almost tentative.

“What?” Dean’s voice is rough and already tinged with annoyance.

“Well... Cas found a case,” Sam says carefully, hoping to spark even a flicker of interest.

“Cool. Have fun,” Dean mutters, already beginning to close the door in Sam’s face. Quick to react, Sam sticks his foot in the door, stopping him with a sharp jolt. A twinge of pain shoots through his foot. His face remains patient.

“I’m not letting you rot in here, man,” Sam says, his voice tight with frustration. “Look, I know you just went through something, but the least we can do is help people. You can’t keep hiding away.” Sam tried to sound confident, but his voice comes out weak.

Dean’s gaze flickers for a moment, but the door remains firmly between them. It feels like the distance is more than just physical. Sam braces himself, but he knows he has to push. He won’t let his brother fall apart alone. Not again.

---

Cas:

How Sam managed to wrangle a pissed-off Dean into the car is beyond him. It’s a miracle, really. Cas tries to be empathetic—he’s learning. He may not know much about being human, but he understands how hard it is. The effort it takes for them to just stay alive, to keep moving forward, is beyond anything he could comprehend. And that doesn’t even account for the complex emotions swirling inside them. Dean, though, doesn’t make it easy. The comfortable silence that had existed between Sam and Castiel this morning is long gone. Dean is like a storm that’s swept through, leaving only a trail of frustration in its wake.

Learning to be human is a lot harder than most people give him credit for. No one else has to learn how to be human. They just are.

Cas watches as Dean’s knuckles whiten over the leather steering wheel, the tension in his body radiating like heat. The stale scent of the car and the faded black leather surround him. He watches as Sam fiddles with the radio, and the sound of Foreigner floods the car, loud and familiar. The music does nothing to drown out the silence between them, only amplifying the thick discomfort that hangs in the air.

Memories forged with music trickle through Cas’ mind like a river. The stream of consciousness allows a soundtrack of memories to be reminisced upon. Music was new to Cas too. He loves it. He desperately wants to understand why Dean loves it so much. He wants to understand why the Winchesters like things.

“Dean?” Cas asks, his voice tense, but there’s an underlying note of genuine concern.

In retaliation, Dean turns the radio up higher, cranking the volume to the point where the words are nothing but a blur. This is going to be an insufferable two hours. The car feels small. Normally, the Impala feels homey, but there is a strangeness to it now.

Dealing with the recent return of his angelic powers has been difficult. Why Crowley, of all beings, chose to return his grace, Cas couldn’t fully understand. Perhaps even the King of Hell could show a semblance of empathy—though it was a strange thing to consider.

Cas’ struggle with God begins with the misnomer that demons don’t have the ability to show love. It’s much easier to digest an evil being when they aren’t capable of loving. The tricky part is that they are fully capable of love. That’s what makes sin so tempting. Morality isn’t always so black and white. Good vs. evil can coexist within the depths of love. This is what makes the concept of love so foreign to angels. Angels were created to serve, not to sin. In order to keep their father happy, they aren’t capable of expressing love.

Once Castiel took on his human form in the vessel that is Jimmy Novak, he understood sin. Sin isn’t always corrupt or inherently evil. His love for the Winchesters has caused him to sin more than he can comprehend. Is that so wrong? The holiness was stripped from his body the moment he first rescued Dean from hell. It left his nerves raw and unprotected. Castiel was doomed.

---

Dean:

Dean’s stomach growls, a low rumble that seems to echo in the cramped car. His thoughts are momentarily consumed by images of greasy diner food, of a warm meal that could wash away the emptiness. But his brief daydream is shattered when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder. His cravings for food fade, but the grip on his shoulder doesn’t. He shoots a glance over his shoulder at the rumpled angel in the backseat. If the juxtaposition of sorrow and strength could define a man, it would be Castiel. It seems tragedy has been carved out in his bones by God himself. If the angel that Mary claimed watched over him was anything like Cas, he would be so lucky. Dean knew better. Luck doesn’t follow the Winchesters and it never has. Misfortune is tangled in the air they breathe and intertwined in their blood. Dean follows suit by turning down the radio finally.

The soft hum of the car fills the silence. Fields and bland scenery whoosh past the tinted windows.

“What?” Dean prompts, his voice a little rougher than usual.

Cas hesitates, weighing his words carefully.

“How are you?” he asks, his tone measured, almost like he’s testing the waters. It’s not so much a question as it is an observation.

“Oh, can it, Cas. This isn’t a slumber party. We aren’t gonna talk about feelings and braid Sam’s hair.” Dean’s voice booms in the small space of the car, and it feels like his words hang in the air, too loud, too harsh. “Just because I don’t want to talk about this mushy crap doesn’t mean I’m off my rocker.” He adds to soften the blow of his delivery.

“Dean—” Cas starts, but Dean interrupts, cranking the radio back up. The sudden surge of noise drowns out any further attempt at conversation.

Sam and Cas both groan, but Dean grins for the first time in what feels like weeks. It’s not much of a smile, but it’s enough to remind them all that Dean is still in there somewhere, buried beneath the weight of his pain.

---

The wheels of the Impala screech to a halt in front of a cliché highway diner. Dean hasn’t eaten in what feels like forever, and his stomach growls in protest, a sharp reminder of the hunger gnawing at him. He can already taste the comforting diner food in his mind, and for a moment, he feels content.

The trio walks inside, the familiar sound of the bell above the door ringing as they enter. They slide into a booth—Dean and Cas on one side, Sam on the other. Their jeans stick to the sticky leather beneath them. For all the tragedy that’s weighed them down recently, at least they have this. The small comfort of a meal, of being together in this dingy diner, feels like a fleeting moment of normality in a world that’s anything but. The hunter life is an ass kicker, but it brings more value to the mundane.

“So, this case,” Dean starts, his voice heavy, as if trying to settle into a routine that doesn’t feel so foreign anymore.

“Three doctors were murdered at Liberty Hospital. Seemingly normal doctors, then found mutilated. Seems like a salt-and-burn case,” Cas delivers the information, his tone calm but no less serious.

At some point during Cas’s explanation, the food arrives—just in time. Dean doesn’t waste any time, diving into his burger without even a second thought. It’s the first food he’s had in days, and it’s like the floodgates open.

With a mouthful of food, Dean doesn’t miss a beat. “Grey’s Anatomy meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre, huh?”

“Dean, chew first,” Sam corrects, shaking his head with a faint smile despite the tension that still lingers.

---

Sam:

For the first time in weeks, Dean is back—at least a version of him that Sam can begin to recognize. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. It eases the constant pull between Sam’s eyebrows, the worry that’s been a permanent fixture in his face. Dean used to always say that if he didn’t chill out, his face would get stuck like that. As they pull up to the motel to change into their suits, the atmosphere feels slightly lighter, like the calm after a storm.

Cas looks, well, constipated. He’s been carrying a permanent look of disdain whenever he’s around Dean. Something happened between them, and Sam can’t put his finger on it. A few weeks ago, everything was normal, and now everything is off-kilter. Trios are tricky. Not that Sam’s ever really been part of one, but this one? This one’s a headache.

The lonely child inside him wants to force them to make amends. Growing up in isolation, never anywhere long enough for friends, forged a strong reliance on any permanent figure in his life. Sam may be the youngest, but Dean spent his entire childhood as an honorary parent. If Sam has to step up now and be the parent, then so be it. When childhood is taken from you, you never get it back. And sometimes, when you’ve missed out on the simple things—like growing up with the space to make mistakes—those old wounds don’t heal. They just fester, tangled in a web of unresolved emotions.

Dean never got to have that. And now he’s a big ball of feelings, constantly unraveling.

Chapter Text

Cas:

The three of them spent the morning at the hospital, interviewing staff, but the most useful thing they uncovered was a case all three doctors had worked on together. It didn’t take a professional hunter to recognize this as a lead. Cas observed Dean flirting with the nurses—something he did often. Cas had never understood humans' need to use petty compliments to get what they wanted. Cas’ eye twitched and he found another person to interview quickly.

Later, they returned to the murky motel. The rain pattered against the asphalt, its rhythmic drip echoing from the trees. As they walked in, their muddy boots left tracks on the floor, and water dripped from their hair, soaking into their shoulders. Dean squawked when he stepped inside. Cas looked over, intrigued by whatever had set him off.

“Dean, what is it?” Cas asked, though a small part of him was simply pleased to see Dean showing any emotion.

“Why are there only two beds? Sam, where is the couch for Cas?”

Sam shot Cas a look, bracing for the fallout. Dean was like a bomb, fragile and unpredictable, and it seemed they were cutting the wrong wire.

“I forgot to check for a couch for Cas. Sorry,” Sam started slowly.

Dean, never missing a beat, picked up on the condescending tone right away. His expression shifted, the wheels in his head already turning, deciding just how upset he should be.

“Great. Two grown men, sharing a bed. Real mature. I sure hope Pretty Woman is on tonight so we can all giggle together,” Dean jokes, but the tension is still hung in the air, and no one laughs. Dean jokes about everything, so it’s hard to tell how serious he is

“Dean, we can just share—” Castiel began, but the glare Dean shot him was lethal.

“What, no. I’m not sharing with you. An angel and an ex-demon sharing a bed? It’s not even satisfying making a joke about that. Me and Sammy will just bunk up,” Dean said, his tone firm.

Cas didn’t quite understand why it was such a big deal. It was just a place to sleep. Cas doesn’t even sleep. He just needs a place to patiently wait till they woke up.

“I don’t sleep, Dean. You can have my bed,” Castiel offered, his voice as neutral as ever. His face showed a twinge of annoyance ever so briefly.

~

The bed situation resolved in an unexpectedly simple way. Sam sat up in the dim light of the motel room, his face illuminated by the cold glow of his laptop. Cas, meanwhile, was perched on the bed, flipping through a worn book Sam had inexplicably kept in the trunk. Dean, after a long stretch without a proper shower, had finally decided to clean up. He hadn’t been taking care of himself lately. Sam had explained, in so many words, that when people were deeply depressed, basic self-care often fell to the wayside. Castiel had grasped it quickly, but the idea was still foreign to him.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, steam filling the room and the faint scent of cheap motel shampoo lingering in the air. Pjama pants and a v-neck already on. He dropped onto the bed and grabbed a file from Sam’s stack.

“Hey,” Sam protested, “That’s—”

“Unless you made a breakthrough in the five minutes I was gone, then you need help. Now be quiet. I’m focused,” Dean cut him off, settling into the file with a seriousness that only seemed to appear when there was no other choice.

The hours dragged on, and Sam’s eyes grew weary, but then a breakthrough came. He stopped, blinking at the file he’d been studying.

“Guys, I think I’ve figured it out. All three doctors worked on one case together. A delivery. The woman died during childbirth, but they managed to save the baby. Wait—why does the name Claire Stevens sound familiar?”

Dean looked up from his file, clearly disinterested.

“Hot nurse in the burn unit,” Dean chimed in, his usual smirk making a brief appearance.

“That’s her daughter. The woman who died. Claire works at the hospital where her mom passed. I think we need to go back tomorrow and ask her some more questions.”

~

Dean:

Dean lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, while Cas is perched on the end, watching some late-night garbage on TV. He turned his head into his pillow, willing himself to fall asleep. The room felt thick with the quiet, but even that wasn’t enough to calm him. His mind was a tangled mess, and no matter how hard he tried, sleep just wasn’t coming. He props himself on his elbow and looks at the angel who’s shed a few layers. Cas insists on smart casual no matter the circumstances, so seeing him in sweats and a shirt was like seeing a dog with human teeth.

“Dean? Are you awake?” The indifferent delivery directly contradicts the curiosity in his blindingly blue eyes. The light of the tv illuminating the high point on his face in a fuzzy blue haze.

“Jesus Cas don’t stare at me with those freaky eyes,” Dean mutters.

“I assure you Dean my eyes are perf-“ Cas starts but acts like he decided it’s not worth an explanation. “You can go to sleep, Dean. I can watch over you.”

Dean’s eyes squint. He knows Castiel doesn’t joke but this feel likes a set up. Dean struggles to not fight against his obvious state of weakness. He shuffles and turns a bit more. The shuffling loud enough Sam turns with an annoyed grunt.

“Fine. Just stop staring at me,” with that Dean tosses over and finally drifts off to sleep. Though he would never admit the comfort of the other two allows him to sleep for what feels like the first time in weeks.
~
Dean is being jostled awake. A frantic looking Sam hovers over him and is talking at a feverish pace.

“He’s gone. Dean wake up. Cas is gone. Again,” Sam speaks urgently. Dean groans but quickly escapes the covers.

“Damn it Sam. We just got him back,” he walks to the window leading to the parking lot. “He took baby!”

The parking spot outside the window where the impala should be is empty. The soft rain patters against the asphalt. Dean fishes around for his phone through the bedding. He pulls up Cas’ contact and calls immediately. The phone rings three times that he picks up.

“Hello?” Cas says in a calm and restrained tone.

“Where the hell are you,” Dean barks. He rubs the bridge of his nose relieved he at least picked up the phone. Whenever Cas disappears he always screens all of his calls. Everyone in the Winchester’s lives has disappear at one point or another. They began to expect it. Nonetheless, they never handle it calmly.

“I got doughnuts. Why, what’s the matter?” Cas says completely oblivious to the frenzy he had sent the brothers into.

After a brief scoalding, Dean hangs up. He explains the simple misunderstanding to Sam. The tension dissipates as quickly as it had formed.
~
Sam
Castiel returns with the Impala and a box of doughnuts and three black coffees. Sam explains that Castiel has lost the privilege of leaving without saying anything after he disappeared on them so recently. The boys quickly change into their suits. Loading salt guns into their side holster. Sam tucked a flask of holy water in his pocket where it bulged awkwardly.
~
A through investigation with nurse Stevens brought them a whole lot of nothing. She seemed perfectly normal. People always say beware of the things that seem too normal. It’s always the tiny towns where “everybody knows everybody” where the most chilling cases happen. The boys have learned never to trust normal. They decide to stick around the hospital waiting for her to slip up. In the mean time, Dean discreetly pulls out the EMF tracker. It seems to be a consistent abnormal buzz throughout the whole hospital. No point contained significantly more EMF than others. For a simple “salt-and-burn” case it was proving to be pretty damn tricky. The pungent bleach odor filled the sickly lit halls as the boys trekked on. They where gonna find whatever the hell was killing these doctors. They had too. Dean needed this. A distraction is only good if it proves more poignant that whatever required a distraction in the first place.
~
Night falls over the hospital but the business doesn’t slow. If not the amount of people in hospital has doubled. Sam was able to snag a schedule of surgery that day and realized two doctors from the original case where preforming a appendectomy together. The boys kept watch around the OR but weren’t allowed to move close to the actual room.

A blood curdling scream echoed through the west wing on the hospital. Though they weren’t on the NICU side, it sounded exactly like a furious baby. Everyone in the waiting room practically leapt out of their seats.

The boys bolted past the waiting room to the room the noise was coming from. A crew of doctors surrounded the door, blocking their entrance. They push past the fumbling nurses declaring their status as FBI. They eventually made their way into the OR. The patient was open and flatlined on the table. The room is painted with burgundy. Every surface covered in a spray of violence. The mutilated remains of the two doctors lay on the floor.
~
The boys loom over the body surrounded by the other police members who just arrived on the scene.

“I’ll stay here and head to the morgue in the hospital. They told me that they are keeping these bodies here. The sheriff said the other three bodies are being kept at M. A. Harper’s funeral home. Why don’t you and Cas go check this ones out and I’ll stay here.”

Dean looks like he might argue but recayeses due to the amount of distress in the hospital.

“Fine. Meet back at the motel after?” Dean says reluctantly.

“Sure,” Sam adds looking overwhelmed from the amount of people in the OR room.

“Bring back food, Sammy!” Dean announces on his way out of the room.

Chapter Text

Dean:

Dean and Cas slide back into the Impala, the stench of cleanliness sticking to their suits. Dean adjusts the radio, too tired to fiddle with the cassette player; the Kansas-area alt station mostly plays junk. “Ice Cream Man” by Van Halen starts playing softly, and Dean grins, turning it up, obviously approving of the song. He shoots Cas a look, the stress of recent weeks reflected in the scruff on his face, the lowering sun catching those mystifying eyes.

“You holding up?” Dean asks, unsure how to fill their silence.

Silence was uncommon between them. Cas wasn’t exactly a chatterbox, but he was a listener, while Dean was a talker—always had been. People underestimated Dean’s intelligence, but a certain level of wit was required to reach the levels of sarcasm he often delivered.

“It would be more appropriate for me to ask you that, Dean,” Cas replies, keeping his eyes on the road.

Dean hums in response. Both are tired. It seems easier to slip into silence than to continue this awkward conversation.

Things have been strange between them—always have been. Most people don’t meet their best friend when they’re being dragged out of Hell. Dean didn’t really have friends or anyone who meant more than a one-night-stand. He wasn’t completely the emotionally repressed man people thought him to be. However, this close friendship required a level of insight he wasn’t currently capable of.

Dean begins to hum along to the song, tapping the sticky leather of the steering wheel to the beat.

“I’m glad you’re back, Cas,” Dean says quietly.

“Thank you, Dean. I’m glad you’re not a demon anymore,” Cas replies, his bluntness slightly refreshing.

“I’ll try not to go full Exorcist in the future.”

“I would greatly appreciate that,” Cas says, mixing genuine fondness with a touch of sarcasm.

Dean looks over and catches Cas surveying his face. He returns the gaze, then quickly drops his eyes to focus on the road.

“What?” Dean asks, his face painted with self-consciousness.

“You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met, Dean. I haven’t been human for long, but I know you try to hide it.”

Dean scoffs awkwardly, unsure how to handle compliments.

“Thanks…” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. No witty comeback. No mocking insult. A genuine response to a compliment.

~

Cas:

Dean and Cas return to the motel, but Sam hasn’t returned yet. Dean collapses onto the bed, the springs groaning beneath him. He grabs the remote and starts channel surfing.

Cas joins him on his bed, sitting on the edge. His shoes and trench coat remain on.

“You gonna stay a while, Cas?”

Cas sheds his shoes and trench coat at the foot of the bed. He awkwardly shifts to sit more fully on the bed, looking over his shoulder at Dean and offering a half-smile.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Sam bursts through the door, the smell of cheap Chinese food filling the room. He grins like he knows something he shouldn’t, and the millions of jokes he wants to make flash through his mind.

“Hey,” Sam starts, but pauses when he spots the two sitting on the bed. “I’m not saying anything, but if you two start holding hands, I might need to leave the room.”

Dean gawks, and Castiel makes his iconic face—tilted head, furrowed brow, and lips pulled tight. The expression is already forming lines across his forehead.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean says, stepping out of the bed. He stumbles, almost falling, but scrambles back up and grabs a box of food, stabbing his chopsticks into the lo mein like it’s a vampire needing a stake in the heart.

~

Sam:

The boys are left with their noses in books, researching. Sam is intently reading a worn copy of a Southeastern Asian folklore book when he audibly gasps at his finding. Everyone in the room turns toward him.

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asks.

“I figured it out. This has to be a Pontianak. The book says, ‘The Pontianak is said to be the restless spirit of a woman who dies during childbirth, often due to complications or violent circumstances. In some versions, she may have been pregnant at the time of her death, while in others, her death could be linked to mistreatment or abuse during pregnancy, such as being abandoned or dying in childbirth alone. Her soul is unable to find peace, and as a result, she transforms into a vengeful spirit, bent on seeking revenge.’”

“So, this chick is haunting the doctors that killed her?” Dean asks.

“How do we stop it?” Castiel asks.

“I mean, it’s a ghost, right? Salt bullets and burn the body?” Dean adds slowly.

“Well, in theory, yes. It says that salt will work along with holy water. It also says, oh get this, ‘the Pontianak is repelled by the scent of the banana tree,’” Sam adds, as if it’s some fun fact and not a life-or-death matter.

“Where the hell are we gonna get a banana tree?” Dean asks.

Sam grimaces. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just stick with the salt bullets. We need to head back to the hospital.”