Chapter 59

Dean blinked at the angel. Couldn't he see that his hands were . . . and suddenly his right hand was free. He reached towards Castiel. When their hands touched, he felt a strange sort of tug, and Hell blinked out. One second he was in the dark, shifting light of Hell, the next he was in the warm glow of incandescent bulbs. One second his guts were being fought over by creatures that were less than demons, the next he was wrapped in a blanket with comforting arms around him. He shifted slightly, not sure he could believe in the reality of what he felt now.

"Dean?" It was Sam's voice right behind his head. He sounded faintly panicked.

"Sasquatch?"

The arms around him tightened their embrace. "Dean, thank God."

Dream, Dean thought. It must have been a dream, though Castiel stood nearby, his eyes intent on Dean's face. The way things had been lately, that was actually pretty normal. Why was Sam freaking out so hard? Ideas surfaced and skittered away before Dean could grasp them, but he didn't pursue them, not sure he wanted to know. Certain physical needs asserted themselves, and he felt like he hadn't dealt with them for hours. "Sam, I need to pee, man," he said.

"What?" Sam sounded confused. "Oh, yeah, right." Sam shifted behind him, and Dean tried to sit up. That was when he discovered that movement wasn't altogether comfortable. Every muscle and joint ached, like he'd been battered for hours in a spin dryer.

"What the hell happened to me?"

Sam let out a breath that almost sounded like a sob, and then he helped Dean sit up. "You don't remember?"

"Remember wh . . ." Dean trailed off as memories came back like a physical assault. Felix. Sex. Participating. He launched himself off the bed, stumbled down the steps from the platform, and slammed into the bathroom. Falling to his knees in front of the toilet, he retched till he couldn't see straight. The door opened, but Dean didn't look up. Sam didn't speak, he just came in, shut the door and squatted down beside him.

"How'd you find me?" Dean asked.

"Cas," Sam replied. "He saw the car in your head."

"So, you guys just swooped in and saved the day?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Felix . . . I don't know how much you remember."

Dean's hand went to the back of his neck. "He cut me, and then . . ." He shifted back in front of the toilet, but there was nothing for him to throw up. A couple of dry heaves shook though him before he could control himself, slumping back against the tub.

"It looks like that put you into a flashback, and then he did something that trapped you in it."

Dean shuddered. "Where is he?" he asked. Neither one felt the need to specify. Who else could they mean?

"Hell," Sam replied with a grin, and Dean's brows knit. Sam sobered instantly and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He's dead."

Dean closed his eyes, relief making him weak. He just wished . . . "I need a shower."

"I'm not leaving," Sam replied without a pause.

Dean couldn't begin to care. He hauled himself to his feet and started the water, only realizing when he went to get undressed that he didn't have a stitch on. "You found me naked?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah."

Dean grimaced. "So, did Ellen and . . ." He stopped, remembering their call and the ghostly threat to them. "Wait, how are Ellen and Jo? Are they okay?"

"It was all a diversion to split us up," Sam replied, squeezing his shoulder before letting go. "Take your shower, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "So, if they're okay, and they helped with the . . . with getting me out . . ." Sam nodded confirmation. "Then did they see me naked?"

"Does it matter?" Sam asked.

Dean had to admit, it probably didn't. That was when Dean noticed that Sam wasn't real thoroughly dressed himself. "Where's the rest of your clothes?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. He was wearing a pair of jeans, but that was it. "I was in bed with you, Dean. I wasn't wearing a lot of clothes."

"Dude, are you going commando?" Dean asked, eyes fixed on Sam's waistband. "You never go commando."

"Don't worry about it, Dean," Sam said.

He shrugged, then stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain across. There were new bruises, new bites, and the cut on his neck stung more than a little. He tried not to look at anything too close, really not wanting to think about it, but that alone was enough to send his panic resurging. He pulled the curtain aside and gazed anxiously at Sam. "He's really dead?"

Sam's eyes widened and warmed, and he put his hand out to touch Dean's shoulder. Dean felt the warmth, the comfort, the connection, and it made him shiver inside. He met his brother's gaze, and Sam spoke soberly, quietly. "I snapped his neck, Dean. He's dead."

Dean blinked at him, his heart thudding in his chest. "Oh." He withdrew into the shower again and stared at the smooth wall of the tub surround. Dead. Broken neck. Ancient witch. He slumped against the wall under the showerhead, his forehead pressed against the cool surface, his arms supporting him. He felt tears begin to course down his face, mingling with the water from the shower.

---

Sam grew worried when Dean just pulled the curtain closed again, and there wasn't a lot of movement on the other side for several moments. It reminded him too sharply of recent occurrences. He drew the curtain back and found his brother motionless, leaning against the wall of the shower with the water cascading down his back. Sam couldn't see his face, so he couldn't be sure Dean wasn't in a flashback, but the posture didn't suggest that.

Uncertainly, not sure of what his reception would be, he put his hand on Dean's back. That was when he felt the gentle jerks of the sobs the sound of the water overwhelmed. Without moving the hand on Dean, Sam reached down and turned off the water, then snagged a towel and wrapped it around him. Dean didn't fight when Sam pulled him into his arms, and that wasn't a real good sign. They wound up sitting on the side of the tub with Dean's face buried in Sam's neck. Taking care of Dean felt good and right. Sure, it was the reverse of the usual order of things, but that was what family was for. Why he couldn't have felt this last year, he didn't know.

Actually he did. Ruby had kept anxiously trying to mend fences between them, all the while insinuating that Dean was less of a brother than he should have been. That he was broken. And Sam had eaten it up, feeling superior to the big brother he'd always idolized even when he'd been annoyed with him.

Sam stroked his brother's back and held him, not sure if words would help or if they would just make Dean withdraw back into himself. Gradually, the sobbing eased, and Sam wondered how Dean would react once the emotional overload was gone. Dean tensed a moment later, and Sam had his answer. "It's okay, Dean, you're okay," Sam said.

"I'm not," Dean muttered, his voice rough. "I'm fucked up beyond belief." He pulled away and turned to face the wall over the bathtub, the one he'd cracked his head on.

"Fine, then you will be okay," Sam replied.

Dean thumped his face down into his hands. "Yeah, sure, right, flashbacks and everything – it's all good."

"Felix won't be coming after you again," Sam pointed out. "With the primary stimulus out of the way, that gives us time to get the flashback thing sorted out." Dean made a sort of noncommittal noise and leaned against Sam's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Dean, I swear."

Dean didn't respond at all, and Sam looked to see what his expression looked like. When Sam shifted, Dean started to slide, forcing Sam to catch his brother before he brained himself on the side of the tub. Sam couldn't believe his eyes, but Dean had actually fallen asleep. He supposed it wasn't shocking, but it did make things a little challenging. Yelling for help would probably wake him up, and Sam didn't want to disturb him. Hefting him into a fireman's carry would have the same effect, but Dean undoubtedly needed his sleep. Hours of being trapped in a flashback had to have taken a lot out of him. Finally, he sort of leaned Dean against the wall and went to the door. "Cas?"

The angel was immediately at his side, almost too fast to have walked. "Is something wrong?"

"Dean fell asleep," Sam said. "Can you help me get him back to bed?"

Apparently, Castiel interpreted 'help me' as 'do it for me.' Sam stepped back as the angel scooped Dean into his arms and carried him bodily back to the bed. They tucked him in, and Sam wished they had some kind of screen to provide him with a modicum of privacy.

His stomach rumbled, informing him that it had been a few too many hours since his last meal, and, little as he wanted to face the others, he headed over to the kitchen. There was a casserole on the counter, covered with tin foil. Sam peeled back the edge, and steam flowed out from where others had clearly dished some out. He scooped some into a paper bowl, recovered the glass dish, and turned to realize that only Cas and Bobby were still in the apartment.

"Where are Jo and Ellen?" he asked.

"Retrieving their car," Castiel said.

"Sit down and eat your lunch, boy," Bobby said gruffly.

"Lunch?" Sam glanced at the window and saw the gloomy daylight. "I have no idea what day it is, much less what time."

"It's Sunday, just past two in the afternoon."

Sam blinked. "I guess I've probably lost my job, then," he said, not sure how he felt about that. The only other official jobs he'd had, he'd quit properly with fair notice and everything. Actually, not the last one, but the circumstances had made that less unacceptable. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of being fired. He settled at the dining table and dug into the cheesy casserole.

"Nope," Bobby said. "I called Ted yesterday and had a long talk with him. Someone named Jeff is filling in tonight, and Ted's not expecting either of you back till Wednesday."

Sam stared at him. "How'd you manage that?"

"A judicious application of truth and falsehood," Bobby said with a shrug. "You're still sick, but Dean is having issues related to an assault that happened to him years ago. It coincided with Thanksgiving, so once we're in December, Dean will be fine, or so I told him. We'll cross the bridge later if Dean's not fine, but you two are both still gainfully employed. I gather that's your preference."

Sam shrugged. "Well, it's definitely Dean's preference, though I'm not sure how he'll feel about your cover story."

"I don't really care," Bobby said. "He's still got his job if that's what he wants."

Sam nodded and reapplied his attention to his food. This meant that Dean would have no excuse not to keep his appointment at the hospital, and they might just be able to find out what was wrong with him. He glanced over at his brother, under covers in the bed.

"You maybe want to put on a shirt, Sam?" Bobby suggested, and Sam looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of jeans that he'd skinned into when Dean had taken off across the apartment, but nothing else. He stood up, grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on. "Sorry, kid, but you were making me cold."

Sam shrugged. He looked at Dean again, making sure he was asleep, then he cleared his throat. "So, Cas, what exactly did you see in Felix's head?"

"For one thing, his name was not Felix," Castiel said.

"No kidding," Bobby replied sarcastically.

"No," Castiel said, his brows knitting briefly. Bobby rolled his eyes. "His name was Lu-Ninurta. He was once a priest of Na'ama."

"Na'ama?" Bobby repeated. "But she's Babylonian."

"Akkadian, actually," Castiel said.

"Whatever! She's from the frickin' cradle of civilization!"

"I do not believe they used cradles in Akkad –"

"Don't be so damned literal," Bobby interjected. "That makes him like four thousand years old."

"Yes."

Sam sank into his chair. "I killed a four-thousand-year-old witch?" he asked.

"You did."

Sam shook his head. "Okay, so . . what else? What did he do to Dean?"

"He used a powerful lust spell that overrode Dean's ability to resist," Castiel replied. "And then he attempted a binding spell, but it failed due to the flashback."

"Thank God for that," Bobby muttered.

"And he considered having sexual relations with you while Dean was catatonic."

Sam froze, the very idea making his blood run cold. He immediately felt immensely guilty. After everything that Dean had been though, everything that Felix had done to him, for Sam to freak out so bad over the fact that Felix thought about doing it with him was just crappy.

"Well, that's a charming thought," Bobby remarked. "Do gay guys fantasize about brothers?"

Remembering conversations he'd had with Dean, recalling the Doublemint twins from Dean's wish fulfillment year before Hell, Sam got really unpleasant, disturbing images. He shoved back from the table. "I need a shower," he announced, and he hurried off to the bathroom.