The Fearless Leader

He started to approach the tree, leaning against it from the other side, just slightly out of sight from the human, blocked by the tree itself. That was the one, unfortunate thing about actually climbing it; there were blind spots Lucifer could put to use. Half-hidden in shadows, arms crossed over his chest, he glanced up and watched the hunter. 

Dean tensed just a little and his fingers tightened around the hilt of the machete. He sat still but his eyes scanned the trees and ground around him. Dean hadn't heard something, not exactly, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut and it might just be hunger or paranoia but it would be moronic of him to ignore it. The scan revealed nothing out of the ordinary but Dean trusted his gut more than his eyes.

He started when someone started speaking, much closer than Dean had anticipated. Turning around as much as he could without falling off the branch, Dean looked down as saw a siluette at the base of the tree.

"So you noticed the arsenal and you still decided to sneak up on the armed man in the tree? Doesn't seem like such a smart move to make for someone who values to remain breathing." Dean looked down with a raised eyebrow at the figure, unsure whether or not the other could see Dean better than Dean could see him. 

"Ah, you don’t like me anymore?" Pam feigned a pout ala’ Brigitte Bardot. "All relationships have problems, honey. You wouldn’t let my…condition put a damper on things, would you?" He hadn’t run away. Hadn’t tried to hack her head off at the initial realization of what she was. Pam was even more intrigued, more impressed with this human than any she had met in a long, long time. She noticed his hand move to his weapon, she raised a brow at him that seemed to say "…really? seriously?" without uttering a singled word.

Dean had to smile at the pout. He didn't buy the act for one second. The look in her eyes was too sharp and clever for him to believe that his reaction came as a surprise to her.

"This ain't A Walk to Remember. Your condition will most likely put a damper on things. You want a male lead for your romantic drama then I'm not it. I don't do well around sick people, let alone dead ones."

He shrugged, noticing the way her gaze traveled down to the machete in an unimpressed manner. Perhaps not that kind of vampire then? Maybe he'd be better off with the silver bullets? He'd brought those too.

It was all just falling apart too quickly for him to put back together.  Just one thing after another, every little disaster piling on top of each other, mounting up to something almost insurmountable.  And no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to keep a hold of them all.  Like shiftings sands, slipping between his fingers, a broken hourglass with those grains scattering, blowing away in the breeze.

It wasn’t like they weren’t good hands.  Strong hands.  But it didn’t seem to matter.

And right now, Dean was just silent.

Probably digesting everything Sam had just said.  it didn’t help that he couldn’t see his brother’s face, couldn’t tell which way those cogs were turning.  Didn’t know if there was about to be another outburst or eruption or if he was just going to sit there.

Sam was trying to digest a few things of his own too — namely the ‘I didn’t say yes’.  That part wouldn’t settle, and he was trying to put it down to Dean’s disorientation, being out of it for so long.  Or maybe he just didn’t remember doing it.  He did want to believe his brother — he really did — but on top of everything else, Sam just wasn’t sure he could deal with the implications of that.  So it’s something he tries to shove into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind.  A place where all of those doubts and uncertainties and fears live.  A place where they’re still free to roam though, unable to put them on complete lockdown and prone to crop up at the most in opportune of moments.  

So when Dean finally speaks it’s with a sense of relief, Sam pulling back and getting one hand on the floor, ready to push up and find a way out — hopefully there was a failsafe and they’d be able to find a door now that there were two consciousnesses awake in the room — -

    - — And that’s when he hears his brother falter again.

There wasn’t much left, but there was enough for him to orient to the sound, to move as quick as he could — not quick enough to catch him though — and Sam cursed under his breath at the lack of visual signals once more.  

Breath hitching, blinking blearily, face wet and stained with tears and eyes red rimmed.  Tired, worn and hurting — tired of being tired.  

”Dean…”  He said his brother’s name like a prayer, like it was his last hope - salvation personified - or perhaps that was just in Sam’s mind — because the word came out like he was choking on it.  Like it was just one more rock jammed in his throat, scratchy and broken.  One hand moved to press against Dean’s face, feeling the sharp scratch of stubble beneath his palm.  His hand shifted, joined by the second, pawing at Dean, his neck, his shoulders, traveling down both arms, each touch a little firmer, trying to check that things were okay.  There was no smell of blood — other than his own, and the small 'I'm fine' really didn’t do a lot to reassure, but it’s all he had right now.  Finally tightening his grip and shifting his weight enough to help Dean back to his feet for the briefest moment it took to get him back to the bed in the room.  

"C’mon, man.   You’ve been through a lot.  Just… Sit, sleep if you want to… Rest up for a bit.  M’sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed.  W-we can wait till you’re ready."

However long that was.  It’d been days already.  Stuck in this poky little room, buried deep underground.  Not that it stopped the bleeds when the sun was up, or the inevitable darkness that landed.  

So he guided himself by the edge of the bed, turned and sat on the floor with his back pressed against the hard angle of the base, pulled his knees up again and rested his arms on the top.  He’d sleep when they got back to camp. When Dean was feeling better and didn’t need a constant vigil.  When he could see Hanna and Eric again.  When he could hopefully scrounge a blood bag from the med tent for something to soothe the burning that was raging in his gut, the itching in his jaw… Hungry.  Starving.  Tried to shut down the thunder of his brother’s heartbeat in his ears.

And for someone who’d never really had a place to set down any kind of roots before before — Sam was anxious, craving the small comfort of a shabby wooden cabin.  To be out of this place and back with the people he loved.  The rest of his bizarre little family.  

"It's okay," he said, giving in because he couldn't not say anything, and he reached up to wipe some of the blood away because he couldn't bear to look at it. "I'm okay, I just...feel a little odd." That was the truth, his body did feel a little off, like it hadn't completely woken up yet. "Some rest would be good... for both of us. Hate to break it to ya, but right now you're not quite the pretty pincess you usually are, Sammy. I think a nap would do you good as well" You more than me, I've already slept for god knows how long. You look like you haven't slept in weeks. It hadn't escaped Dean's notice that there seemed to be a shortage on beds in the bunker and something told him that Sam hadn't snuggled up next to him on the bed to get some shuteye while Dean was unconscious. Which meant that either he'd slept on the floor, sitting up or he really hadn't slept at all. Dean could pretty much guess which option was the most likely and he didn't like it.

He allowed Sam to pull him to his feet, helping as much as he could but when his brother began steering him back towards the bed, Dean protested.

"Chair. I'd rather sit up, if you don't mind. Been spending way too much time being horizontal...something I never thought I'd complain about but it might have something to do with the distinct lack of women." Another joke, to show he was fine. He'd already gotten what he wanted with the two of them staying to get some rest, there was absolutely no reason to make Sammy worry more than he already had.

Dean grit his teeth when he watched Sam slide down to sit on the floor. Stubborn even when he wasn't being aware of it.

Every vessel needs its moment to be… worked in. This one was no different, and Lucifer took the opportunity when all was quiet was one night to leave the hospital, needing to clear his mind of the constant pleas of demons that had occurred throughout the day. 

The night was dark; midnight had since been reached, and the stars sheltered behind heavy clouds. It happened more often than not, the archangel had come to realize—the hiding of the stars, the moon, behind plumes of smoke or thick clouds or whatever else this world chose. 

Nature suffered because of this… all of this. 

But it was necessary. It was always necessary. 

He wouldn’t have allowed it to continue, wouldn’t have tried to start the process all those years ago, otherwise. 

The trunk was cold and uncomfortable against his back but it beat resting on the ground where he would be a much easier target to spot and attack. This at least gave him the advantage of height.

The machete was resting loosely over his lap, ready to be swung at a moment's notice. He had a gun tucked into the holster on his thigh and two other knives hidden on him. He kept his fingers crossed he wouldn't need to use any of them. Not tonight at least, not while he was resting.

     So…  it’d been a rocky few months.  Devil’s traps and holy water worked on all demons, even the ones with white eyes.  

     So for the last few months, she was being tortured for information she didn’t have.  That’s…  cool…  she guessed.  Well, actually it was pretty shitty.  Super fuckin’ shitty.  You summon a Knight of Hell one time and suddenly everyone wants to kill you!

     Her offenders had vanished into thin air, of course…  so she was stuck.  And had been stuck.  And would continue to be stuck had it not been for the stranger that had entered the building.  She couldn’t exactly threaten them into helping her — not really…  the pesky little trap she was sitting on, and the rope tied around her wrists, prevented her from doing much of anything other than sit there.

But he couldn't just sit back and do nothing. Building the new cabins was a distraction but it wasn't nearly enough when his skin was crawling with the urge to get revenge on those responsible. No matter how much he worked and how much he tried to exhaust himself with physical labor it did very little to calm the voice in his head that told him that he needed to find a way to make up for not being there when the attack happened. He needed to find some way of making sure that nothing happened to his friends and family again. 

It started small, quick hunts in the areas surrounding the camp, a vamp here and a ghoul there. Nothing too big and nothing he couldn't handle on his own. It felt good. It felt freakin' awesome, to be perfectly honest. It was different than the neverending supply runs and Dean hadn't realized just how much he'd missed chasing after the monsters instead of running from them and trying to avoid them. This was what he'd been brought up to do and it felt so good to be back in the game! 

As time passed, he ventured further and further from camp but he always made sure to tell someone if not where he went and what he was going to do then at least when he estimated he'd be back. It was a necessary precaution.

On this particular trek into the woods, Dean had come across a small cottage of sorts that he didn't recognize. It wasn't what he was looking for but even he knew that it would be idiotic to ignore it. There might be food or other necessities in there that they could use so Dean's little hunt could wait. Sneaking up to the cottage he tried to peek in through the windows to see whether or not there was anybody in there. It was dark in there and it seemed like the cottage was abandoned. Then his eyes landed on a shape on the floor, a distinctly human-shaped lump. Pressing his face against the window, but making sure he could duck at the first sight of movement from the lump, Dean tried to get a better look at the figure on the ground.

"...you gotta be kidding me," he mumbled when it suddenly dawned on him just who he was looking at. Pulling away from the window, he moved to the door. It was unlocked and he carefully opened it just as Meg's voice was heard from inside.

Not that she could actually drink from him the way she wanted to, he being the brother of her maker’s lover. Eric would never approve, and that was putting it lightly.

Upstairs brain, Dean, the little voice in his head, who always sounded remarkably like Sam, scoffed and Dean had to admit that this time maybe it had a point. He'd been about to invite a creature along for dinner, unaware that he would have ended up being the dinner. That was bad and Dean was better than that. Backing up a step, his hand went to the machete at his side.

"Well this sure puts a damper on things. I think we have slightly different opinions on what that dinner would entitle, sweetheart, so I'm gonna have to withdraw my offer. I prefer not to become someone's snack," Dean told her. His voice was still kept light but his eyes were sharp and cautious as he watched her. 

At least people are safe.

Not all of them.

There was no movement for a moment and even the hand that he could feel on his knee was little comfort, his own moving to pinch at the bridge of his nose and fight back the emotion which was dangerously close to bubbling up and out of his throat along with a swathe of bloody tears.  He didn’t need to be doing this now.

       The slightest shake of his head, hand falling away then, “It was too sudden… Too quick.  They were on us and in the camp before we knew it.  We had to fight to… Had to get out… People ran.  Scattered… Some are still… Missing.  Even with the angel there… He couldn’t stop them all.”

            “…Couldn’t… Save them all.”

   Just the slightest tremble on the last part, then another breath to try to steady himself, “They aren’t here.  They’re back at camp.  They’ve been coming back, slowly.  I’ve been looking for them too…”  It had been chaos, and the aftermath was no less unpleasant than the original bloodbath.  Picking up bodies, or… Bits of them.  Trying to figure out who was who from the charred or shredded remains.  The little dragon had taken care of most of them — some kind of crazy lizard fire to burn up the remains.

    But he’d held it together this long.  Wasn’t about to lose it now.  ”Apparently when the angel jumped ship, Crowley was with you.  The bunker is his.  As far as I know, it’s just us.  Camp is getting fixed up.  There was enough damage to make some of the cabins inhabitable, but it shouldn’t take too long to repair things.  The front gate was wrecked though, so new towers, and we’ll need to find more lights and…”  Just rambling now, sticking to the practicalities, because that’s what they did.  People died.  Every fucking day.  And maybe you could save them today only for them to die tomorrow.  Didn’t make it right.  Didn’t make it fair.  Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less.

       Then Dean’s words were cutting through his own, bringing him up short.  Head lifting again — even if he couldn’t see, it was a reaction to turn towards the sound anyway…

I didn’t say yes, Sammy.

 He doesn’t know what to say to that.  

          Not something he can fully process in the split second it takes for the words to arrive at his ears and filter into his brain.  Slamming against any other thought processes with the force of being hit by a semi-truck.  Of course he’d said ‘yes’.  There was no other way it could have happened.  Angels couldn’t ram themselves into flesh bodies without concession — those were the rules.  No breaking them or bending them or…

       And then he went on with that same self-flagellation and Sam wanted to punch him for it.  Wanted to grab him again and this time shake his brother until some sense managed to seep into his stupid thick skull — that it wasn’t his fault.  None of it was.  They were inexorably tied into a war that neither of them wanted and there was no choice in the matter — deigned for a battle they hadn’t chosen, by simple fluke of genetics.  The war had started without them and the battle had been stopped ( postponed, delayed )… But there was no way — vessel or not — that Sam would allow Dean to shoulder all of this.  To take the blame for making his own choice and saying ‘fuck you' to fate.

           Right now though, there was no need to start another war. And he wasn’t entirely sure he was over the glitching in his brain from the ‘I didn’t say yes’… Maybe there was still a bit of lagging amnesia… Or something.  because the semi-truck was busy reversing and getting ready to take another run up at the logic that Sam had built his little mental defences around.  A horrible conflict between wanting to believe his brother and knowing ( please, God ) that it wasn’t possible.

     But Dean was dropping the subject and moving on and that was probably a good thing, because maybe then his hands might stop shaking and he could choke down the fear that was mixing with the overbearing grief and threatening to rattle him apart from the inside out.

      “N-no…”  Clearing his throat and trying again.  ”No.  Not a spell.  Something else.  Not sure how reliable the lead is, but it’s the only one I’ve got.  And right now, I don’t know if it can be stopped or reversed or — I need to head out to Bobby’s place.  Check to see if there are any books left in the panic room that might have survived.  Going to take a trip over to the Campbell compound too — I figure if there’s something about this thing — these… Aethyrs…”  Sam let the word drop out, still not sure of the sound of it on his own tongue, “…Then that’s as good a place as any to start.  I don’t even know what they are of if this is connected. But… I have to try to find out.”

   ”My eyes… And… Eric, he just walked out of the fire in camp.  Had Hanna in his arms and it didn’t touch him…  And Hanna… She’s… She’s like…”  Stopping himself before he blurted it out and his brother thought he’d skipped a couple of years instead of a couple of weeks, “She aged… Really quickly.  One minute she was a couple of months old… Now she’s like… Toddler sized… She’s walking, talking… She…”  

           And that was it… That was pretty much as far as Sam could get right then before his face finally crumpled and he dropped his head again, feeling the first thick, hot drops of blood begin to roll down his cheek.  Because he could deal with the blind.  And Eric could deal with the fire.  The camp would be rebuilt and they could find the people who were still out there.  Dean was back… What he couldn’t deal with was the thought that at any moment, his daughter might make another jump, might lose years of her life in moments… That it might happen again and again.  And while it wasn’t much of a world to grow up in, it was the only one they had.

Dean sat still, waiting for an explanation and feeling the worry grow in his chest again with each passing moment. Sam was still too for a couple of moments before he raised his hand to pinch his the bridge of his nose. It probably wasn't more than a few seconds before he started speaking but it was too long and another second and Dean would have demanded Sam just spit it out already. Then a headshake and Dean tensed.

“It was too sudden… Too quick.  They were on us and in the camp before we knew it.  We had to fight to… Had to get out… People ran.  Scattered… Some are still… Missing.  Even with the angel there… He couldn’t stop them all…Couldn’t… Save them all.”

Dean pictured it in his mind. Whether he wanted to or not, he could see the whole thing unfold, with people running and screaming, people dying, each face a familiar one. There was a buzzing noise in his ears, growing louder. How many had fallen? How many were dead and missing? How many were hurt? And how come the archangel hadn't helped them? Surely he could've...right? Dean might not have hung out with - or gotten along with - all people living in their Camp but he cared about them and it had been his job to care for them. And he'd done a good job of it, had tried his very best to keep them all safe from the terrors of this world. He'd been there, walking around camp with a surly disposition and making sure they stayed safe from the everyday dangers  but when they'd actually needed him, needed a leader to take charge and help them fight back the attack, then Dean Winchester had been nowhere to be found. He could only imagine the thoughts that would have gone through their heads as they realized he wasn't coming. Had they thought he'd abandoned them? Had they thought that despite all his grand words about sticking together and fighting 'til the last breath he'd taken off to save his own skin as soon as he felt the enemy had too much of an advantage? Dean knew that the purpose of a leader wasn't just another gun or soldier to the ranks. He had watched enough movies back in the day to know that it wasn't so much about what the leader did to the enemy as it was what he did to his own soldiers. In the face of fear and almost certain death it was the leader's job to give them the courage to stay strong and to make them remember why they were fighting. Without a leader, the battle might as well have been over before it began.

Dean should have been there. Maybe if he had been there then....

Dean looked up at Sam, feeling glad that his brother couldn't look him in the eye right now and glad that it was only the two of them here. Because how could he ever meet the eye of anyone who'd noticed his absence on the battlefield. However valid his excuses were that didn't matter. What mattered was that they had needed him and he hadn't been there. Dean remembered the stinging words from a man passing through camp many months ago.

"Dean Winchester, you have failed this camp." He hadn't, back then, but now... now he had. 

Sam spoke of people coming back to rebuild the camp. Dean wasn't sure if that was the best thing to do. Of course it was good that all the inhabitants of camp hadn't been killed or scattered to the wind but it had taken them years to build up the security around camp and that had been knocked over like it was nothing, if Sam's descriptions were anything to go by. So now they were not only defenseless but their location had been exposed to all - not just Satan, whom Dean suspected had already known for a long time. If the monsters knew where they were, there was going to be more attacks and Dean didn't know how many fighters were left or if they could handle something like that. He needed to get back. He needed to get back - pray he wasn't shot on sight for being a deserter - and survey the damage, get the people to regroup, consider the pros and cons and let them all make a decision on whether or not they could stay in Camp Chitaqua or if the time had come to move on?

Sam is silent next to him again and Dean doesn't know if it's due to the attack on camp or what Dean just revealed about the angels. He's looking at Dean - Dean's right ear, to be precise - and he looks scared and angry and confused and sad. Dean doesn't know what to say to comfort him, doesn't know what he could possibly say to make it better. "It's okay" doesn't cut it because the words sound hollow even to Dean's own ears. He will find a way to make it okay, to make sure Sam is okay, but he doesn't know how yet and he can't find the right words to tell Sam this.

His brother seems to find a small measure of composure in explaining about the lead - not a spell it seems but something called Aethyrs, that Dean's never heard of - but the composure is short-lived and as Sam tells him about Hanna's rapid aging Dean watches him crumple, tears of blood welling up in his eyes before he looks down, maybe to hide his face from Dean behind the curtain of hair. There's no comfort Dean can give him besides the hug, no safety he can give him besides shielding him from the outside world with his own body. So that's what he does. He pretends that Sam is five again, pretends that what is causing his brother to cry is something Dean can easily fix and he straightens his back, making him seem bigger than Sam.

He holds his brother - hoping to be able to soak up all the pain that's making him cry - until Sam starts speaking again.

”W-we should head back… If you’re feeling up to it?”

Dean thinks it sounds like a good idea up until he meets Sam's un-seeing gaze. Dean doesn't know exactly how long Sam's had to get used to being blind but he looks like a wreck, gaunt and still shaking, and there's no way in Hell Dean's willingly gonna let him out in the real world looking like this. He opens his mouth to say as much but then he closes it again. Sam would protest. So instead Dean says "Yeah, sure" but when he moves to stand up he deliberately stumbles, thudding back onto the floor again with a quiet groan and a weak-sounding "I'm fine."

When you’ve seen as many as I have, you tend not to let it spoil your appetite. 

Dean very much doubted he smelled delicious. People very rarely did, nowadays. They might smell tolerable or clean if you were lucky, but delicious...no, not so much. Dean had been trudging through wilderness for a good couple of hours along with Sam and while the weather wasn't warm enough to make him sweat too much, there had been a fair amount of slipping, sliding and climbing on their trek so he probably smelled like dirt and forrest at least. But Dean would take compliments where he found them so he grinned back at the woman, who looked like she'd fallen straight out of one of his more pleasant dreams.

Throwing a quick look over his shoulder and then he returned focus to her again. Sam had recently stomped off on a detour north to check an abandoned building - only after having argued that Dean should come with, reluctant to listen to his older brother's voice of reason telling him that it was just plain stupid to waste all the time it would take for Dean to walk there when Sam could make the trip much much faster on his own - and Dean had been on his own when he stumbled upon a woman standing before him.