Work Text:
“I wanted to keep things strictly business between us.”
oOo
“Here’s a tip -- next time, try to be powered by the word of God.”
Dean went flying as Metatron kicked him in the chest. He collided with the wall, letting out a grunt of pain, actually feeling his ribs crack as he slid to the floor. Before he could recover, Metatron was standing right in front of him, and commenced punching his face.
His muscles and flesh gave way under the overpowered angel’s fists, the single thread of life that he was struggling to hold onto also threatening to give away as well, but after a blow pushing his face to side made him catch sight of the blade, Dean held on.
He had one last duty, and Dean would be damned if he didn’t at least manage to get this one thing right.
He stretched out his hand, fingers reaching for the blade.
The blade moved, inching forward.
Metatron must have seen it, because he suddenly reached back, hand going towards something gleaming silver.
“Dean!” From the side, he could distantly hear his brother’s voice, wondering for a second if he was hallucinating before the worry started to seep in.
Lightning erupted, and everyone froze as Metatron’s head jerked up, eyes widening.
“ No!”
And the next second, he was gone, leaving Dean to slump to the ground.
“Dean, hey, hey, hey.” His brother appeared in his vision out of the blue, black spots obscuring most of his sasquatch of a brother’s form, huge hands cupping Dean’s face gently.
“Sammy, you gotta get out of here before he comes back.” Dean managed to wheeze out, weakly going along with his brother’s movements anyway as Sam lugged him upright.
“Just, shut up, okay?” Sam groaned, heaving Dean up. With a groan of his own, Dean reluctantly let his brother pull him to his feet, before starting to sway forward as his vision blacked out completely for too long of a second. Thankfully, Sam was still there to catch him. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Dean highly doubted it. But as even his hearing started to disappear, he let himself believe Sammy’s words for the time being.
oOo
He woke up feeling muggy. As much as Dean was all too familiar with the feeling, that never meant he’d ever get used to it.
And yet, he still pushed himself up, but not without some difficulty. With a wince, he got to his feet, managing to take the few steps he needed to before his legs threatened to give out, just as he reached his desk.
Placing his hands on the flat surface, Dean took a moment to take a few deep breaths, before he opened his eyes again. He wasn’t even aware that he had closed them in the first place, but then again, well.
His hands groped for his cell, only inches away from his fingers. Daring to let go of the table, he straightened, fumbling around as he tried to turn his cellphone on.
Messages from Cas stared back at him.
He slid his thumb across the phone.
‘The Angel Tablet is broken.’
‘Metatron has been imprisoned and is secured in Heaven’s confines.’
And then a brief break in between the messages before the next one.
‘Sam told me what happened.’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘I hope you’re safe, Dean.’
Dean’s hand tightened on his phone.
He exhaled.
oOo
He was nursing a glass of whiskey. That was usually Dean’s MO, but for the life of him, Sam couldn’t get himself to stand up right now, to get out the books, and start reading up the damn Mark that still tainted his brother’s arm.
He was still sitting there -- brooding, as Dean would say -- when Dean himself walked in, a duffel slung over his shoulder.
Sam bolted upright in his chair, staring wide eyed as his brother actually walked across the hall, on his own two feet, managing not to stumble even once despite his stiff gait. The sight was a little disorienting, to be honest, to see his brother up and about after having to bandage almost every part of his body, continuously checking for a pulse whenever it seemed like Dean had given up on breathing entirely.
And then the sight in front of Sam actually registered.
“Where are you going?” He stood up, the whiskey completely forgotten on the table as the chair slid back with his abrupt movement.
Dean paused, but he didn’t turn around. “Out.”
Yeah, because that was exactly what Sam was blanking out on.
“Okay, where?” It was a wonder how he still managed to sound calm and patient, despite feeling anything but.
Dean shrugged. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve got my own… business, to attend to.”
Sam stared. “What the hell do you mean?”
And now Dean turned around, but only enough to be able to look at Sam from the corner of his eyes.
“I meant what I said.”
Sam could feel his eyebrows go up, while his patience was running out. “Yeah, I got that. Fine.” Sam paused, his mouth clamping shut as he took a moment to take a deep breath, trying to rein in his worry. “Why is it not my business, Dean?”
And now Dean was staring right at him. “Because I said so. See, for it to be your business? That would require me enlisting your help. Or, you know, if we were brothers. But we’re just business partners , right? Well. Contract’s over. I’ve got some other business to attend to.”
And just like that, he turned around, and continued walking, going so far as to get his hand on the staircase railing before Sam managed to recover enough to stumble forward, trying to remember how to breathe as he desperately tried to get his brother to stop.
“Wait, wait, wait.” He managed to get past the tables when Dean finally halted again, and as if his own strings had been cut, Sam came to a halt too. “Contract’s over? Seriously, Dean? So you’re just going to go off?”
Dean glanced back at him. “Abaddon’s dead. Metatron’s tucked away in the cloudy cells. Yeah, Sam. I’m pretty sure our contract is over.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam shot back, his back straightening. “What about the Mark?”
And Dean’s back stiffened. He still wasn’t meeting Sam’s eyes, but Sam could tell they had darkened. “What about the Mark?” He repeated.
“We still haven’t taken care of that.” Sam tried to reason. “And you know we can’t just leave it on you like this. It’s changing you man, and you can’t tell me that even you can’t notice it--”
“I have it taken care of.” Dean cut in, his voice low and threatening. “So no need to get your little panties in a twist.” He started climbing the stairs.
“Dean, stop! C’mon man, I--” Sam paused, his voice faltering.
But Dean merely waved a hand over his shoulder, as he kept on going, before the bunker door finally shut behind him with a loud clang as Dean disappeared beyond it.
oOo
Crowley was waiting for him, exactly where he’d promised he’d be, at their agreed time.
It was nice to see that for once, Dean could depend on someone at least.
Even if that someone happened to be the King of Hell.
“Squirrel.” Crowley acknowledged, as Dean came to stand beside him. They wordlessly stared at the brick wall in front of them for a while, before Dean finally spoke. “Everything’s in order?”
Crowley hummed. “You sure you still want to do this?”
Dean grit his teeth. “Don’t think I really have any other option. You know that just as well as anyone else.”
From the corner of his eye, he could see Crowley nod, seemingly acquiescing before opening his mouth and then closing it again. Crowley huffed. “Alright then.”
He nodded, stepped forward, and tapped on the brick wall.
The wall melted away.
Dean kept his eyes on the sight in front of him. “Guess this is it, then?”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” Crowley tried.
But Dean just shook his head.
“Nice knowing you buddy.”
And he stepped into purgatory, letting Crowley close up the portal again behind him.
oOo
It’d been two days since he’d seen Dean, and frankly, Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned.
But the fact was, he was out of food, and he really needed to stock up. Amazing, how he’d run out of food already, and Sam couldn’t help but wonder how Dean managed it.
Talking about Dean…
Sam checked his cell phone for the third time since he’d gotten to the little supermarket off a little way from the bunker. And this was him restraining himself. He pretended he didn’t notice how he was still looking for Dean over the aisles, as if his brother would happen to magically appear in the same market as Sam, so close to the bunker, and especially after the kind of conversation they last had…
“Hello, Moose.”
Sam had unsheathed the blade before he was even aware of his actions, whirling around and dropping the shopping basket so as to free his hands in order to pin Crowley against the refrigerators, barely any air between the demon blade and Crowley’s neck.
“What are you doing here?” Sam said, his voice low, but keeping his ears open in case some innocent bystander happened to walk by. Not that he’d be letting go, but better to be on alert, just in case.
“Woah, woah, woah!” Crowley immediately raised his hands in a placating gesture, his eyes darting to the knife that he could barely see under his chin, not really daring to move his head to try to get it in his sight, however. “I come in peace, Moose.” Sam raised his eyebrows, skeptical, but still slackened his grip on Crowley’s collar anyway, albeit begrudgingly. He didn’t bother moving the blade too far yet, however.
“What do you want?” Sam snarled.
“Straight to the point.” Crowley grumbled, before rolling his eyes. “Come to deliver a package, actually. Because apparently, the King of Hell has been reduced to a mere courier. The things I do for you Winchesters.” He said, a scowl on his face, but even the disdain didn’t seem to strike Sam as genuine. Which was a lot, considering that it was, as Crowley put it, the King of Hell they were talking about here.
Sam stared at Crowley, speculating, before finally letting go, taking a step back to put some distance between the two of them. The knife remained in his hand, and well within Crowley’s line of view, as Sam made sure that Crowley noticed it. “What package?”
Crowley inhaled, sharply tugging the lapels of his ever present coat, straightening out the wrinkles from it, before reaching into his pocket. Still keeping a wary eye on the demon, Sam’s sharp eyes tracked Crowley’s movements as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, formed into a fist as he outstretched it to Sam…
And held out a keyring with several keys attached to it.
It didn’t take very long for Sam to recognize it.
His hands shook as he reached for the keys.
It wasn’t until the cold metal was firmly grasped within his hold that Sam managed to shake himself out of disbelief, because there was no other way that these were anything but Dean’s keys. To the bunker, some lockers, but especially the Impala.
“What the hell did you do to my brother?” And this time, the refrigerator visibly rattled, a few of the products within shaking as Crowley was pinned to it again. A drop of blood dripping onto the blade held against his neck, and Crowley hissed as the knife continued to drag a fiery path in its wake before Sam regained enough control to stop himself before he killed the demon completely.
“I didn’t do anything!” Crowley was quick to reply, but for obvious reasons, Sam wasn’t convinced. He merely pushed the blade tighter, and Crowley practically wheezed at the force.
“I’m bloody serious! Your brother gave it to me himself, all fine and dandy, and if you could take the blade away from my precious meatsuit, we could have a properly civilized conversation as I tell you everything. Alright?”
oOo
There were so many pages in front of him. Resource after resource, anything and everything that Sam could find. On the Mark of Cain. On Purgatory.
There was also a bottle of vodka to the side that Sam hadn’t really been on intent on drinking. But every damn time Crowley’s words ran through Sam’s head again, he found himself taking a drink. And another. And another. And a few more.
His vision was severely blurry by this point. That didn’t stop him from attempting to make more progress on researching the stuff he already either knew by heart or read anyway. Or taking another drink, apparently his subconscious self was intent on killing his liver.
If dying was what it took to get his brother back, though…
Sam shook the thought of his head. He may have been mad at his brother, and he may be trying to get over it, but there was no way he was letting another angel with the thought of possessing him anywhere near him.
“--gave the keys to you, no use driving in Purgatory--”
Refill.
“--give the Mark full reign--”
The bottle was completely empty.
“Didn’t want to hurt anyone else--”
Drink.
“--too tired--”
Swallow.
“Said he was done with it all.”
The glass exploded into millions of tiny shards as Sam slammed it too hard against the table.
He bent over, practically collapsing over the back of a chair, holding onto it desperately as sobs started to wreck through his body.
oOo
Whistling.
Follow the yellow brick roads--follow the whistling, more like.
With a grin, Dean silently crept closer, and then pounced.
Benny spun around, his blade coming down on Dean’s shoulder, and would have damn near torn the limb off completely if Dean hadn’t lifted the First Blade in the knick of time, blocking Benny’s attack.
Their weapons met with a harsh yet muted clang, the force making Dean’s arm vibrate even as he stood firm. Benny himself took a stumbled step backwards, surprise etched on his features as he reoriented himself, eyes pinned to Dean the entire time.
“Brother?” He said, his voice disbelieving. And then his eyes trailed downwards, gaze landing on the First Blade. “What in fresh living hell--”
Dean grinned wryly. “Looks like we’ve got a lot to catch up on, brother.”
Benny stared, still looking uncertainly at Dean even as he took a step forward, and then another.
And then they both simultaneously struck out their arms, clasping each other at the elbows, and pulling each other in a firm hug.
“Man, can’t say I’m glad to see you, but damn right we probably have some catching up to do.” Benny said, as he took a step back again.
Dean didn’t miss how his eyes automatically went right back to the First Blade again.