Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and Warner Bros. All Rights Reserved.
A/N: My far from first SPN fic, but my first published one. No Wincest. No Des. But you can easily view it either way if you want to. Dean's POV 'cause… just 'cause.
It wasn't like they don't deal with demons. They were hunters, dealing with demons was a big part of the screwed up job description. And because of the apocalypse threatening to put the lights out sometime in the near future, demons have begun springing from holes in the ground, a bit too literally as it turned out.
And since it was him and Sam that started the whole damn thing in the first place, and what's more, being the vessels of the two angels who're going to tear the world apart, they seem to be dealing with more demons than every hunter in the planet put together, not to mention the friggin' angels, but that wasn't quite relevant to the situation at hand.
"I don't get it man. Grindylows usually drag children from water's edge, not teenage girls from pools" Sam remarked, his eyes on his computer, his forehead crinkling in confusion.
"Usually being the key word there, Sammy" Dean loaded the shot gun with iron rounds. Pull clip. Safety on. Safety off. The usual drill.
Grindylows. Water demons. Like they couldn't get enough of regular everyday demons and the freakin' creator of demons. They get ones with the elements tagged to them as well.
Not like it was anything they couldn't handle. It was just that this job seemed small fry compared to pretty much everything else they were dealing with these days.
"Originated from the folklore of Yorkshire and Lancaster" He read from the screen before looking up "That's in England, Dean. Last I checked, we were still in America"
"Demons migrating?" Dean shrugged. "It'd be one of the less crazy things happening these days"
Sam inclined his head in agreement as he closed his laptop and stood up. Dean chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.
But they had no new leads, no way of icing the devil, no knowing where the devil is, and knowing where the devil was really didn't help without a way to ice him. Cas was still on his mission to find God. And while the Dean had told the angel not to give up, it didn't mean he wanted to take a more active role in the God hunt.
"So, what, flare gun? Flame thrower?" Sam took a seat on the bed opposite the one Dean was on. The covers were the same blue as the wallpaper.
Dean shrugged, picking up another gun to clean and load. Fire takes out water, but slower than water taking out fire. Something occurred to him.
"What about Ruby's knife?" He mused.
Sam considered it.
"It should work. I mean, they're still demons, right? It works on horsemen-that is, it killed one-" Sam stopped, and Dean was glad because neither of them wanted to go into how the second one was killed.
He unloaded the gun clip by clip.
"Dean, is now a good time to talk?"
Okay, so he was the only one who didn't want to go into how the second one was killed.
"Sammy-" he started.
"Look Dean, I know this whole deal with Famine-"
"It's over, Sam" Dean said in a clipped tone "Over. Done. Finished. Forgotten-"
Dean sighed again, finding the gun in his hands suddenly very interesting.
"There's nothing to forgive, Sam"
"I let Famine get to me. I let you down" Dean shook his head at that.
"Famine got to everyone Sam. I mean, Cas practically inhaled hamburgers, for crying out loud!"
"Big difference between hamburgers and demon blood, Dean" Sam pointed out quietly.
"Hey, to each their own. My point is that every freakin' person in the whole freakin' town was affected."
"You weren't" Dean's eyes were still on the gun, wondering whether he could shoot himself to avoid this one conversation. But no his brother would probably summon his dead, spiritual ass and demand they talk about it. He looked up to meet his own green eyes mirrored in his brother's face.
Sam was looking at him like he could read his mind, sorta like the way Cas does, except that Dean suspected the angel probably could, while his brother could only guess, very creepily accurately guess.
"Dean, I'm so sorry-"
Dean abruptly dropped the gun on the bed and stood up. No way in hell he was gonna sit here and listen to his brother apologize for something that wasn't even his fault.
"Dean" Sam sighed "Where're you going?"
"Shower. Wanna come?" Dean threw over his shoulder, before slamming the bathroom door on Sam's frustrated face.
The shower cubicle had glass walls. The top and bottom were transparent but the middle was not so, for obvious and good reasons. The bathroom was about as blue as the bedroom, along with the sink, tiles and pretty much everything else. And more importantly, it was clean. Dean had to admit, they'd holed up in a halfway decent place this time.
Dean closed his eyes, cocooned in the almost stifling warmth of the shower, pushing everything to the very back of his mind that he was surprised it didn't just fall off. Surprised, and somewhat disappointed.
He opened his eyes and sighed, his breath misting the glass in front of him in cloudy puffs.
Dean wasn't sure if Sam wanted to talk about Famine's effect on himself, or his effect, or lack thereof, on Dean. It didn't really matter either way, seeing as he wanted to talk about neither.
He ran his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. They didn't bother buying shampoo as most places they stay at usually stockpile them, but every once in a while they'll have to do without. He slid his hands down to his shoulders and then across his chest.
Water had been pooling around his feet for awhile now, but when it starting to rise above his ankles, he frowned down.
He cautiously dug his toe at the drain, and was met with a flood of cold water.
What the hell?
Hunting instincts taking over, he reached his hand towards the metal handle, the only part of the shower cubicle that wasn't glass.
The handle didn't turn under his hand.
An unfamiliar burst of claustrophobia shot through him as he realized he was trapped in a rapidly filling fish tank, and he wasn't a fish, he had no gills, so he was gonna drown.
He tried the handle again, this time with more force. The metal handle dug into his palm, cold and inert.
Already knee deep in water, he slammed his shoulder against the glass door. Panic coursed through his body as he did it again and again with no result.
"Sam!" He screamed desperately, his fists pounding against the glass "SAM!"
No more than a second passed before the door burst open and Sam came in. Dean banged against the glass wall for a good measure to let his brother know what was going on.
A beat and then Sam sprang into action. Looking around him, he lifted the metal chair by the sink and slammed it against the glass wall. Dean threw his hands in front of his face and squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the glass to shatter on impact. But opening his eyes, he couldn't see even a dent.
He sighed. He really, really hated it when demons did that. He hated demons doing anything, period, since it usually meant either one or both of them were gonna die.
Dean's panic was reflected Sam's face as he drove the chair again and again against the glass. Dean stopped recoiling after the fourth or fifth take.
Now he was up to his shoulder in water. He was starting to shiver from the cold, amongst other things. He wondered why he couldn't at least drown in warm water. But then again, demons aren't exactly known to be considerate.
Sam dropped the chair, and it fell to the tiled floor with a clang. Dean was finding it hard take in air, even though the water hadn't closed in on his airways yet. He wondered what Sam would do next. He knew he wouldn't use a gun because of Dean, but he still doubted it would change anything.
The water was now rising steadily over his chin. He considered standing on his toes, but dismissed that idea as soon as it had come. It wouldn't buy him more than a few seconds.
He took a deep breath just as the water covered his mouth and nose. He supposed he could hold his breath for a little over a minute, which was not much considering.
"Hold on! De-Just hold on-!" Sam scrambled out of the bathroom, leaving the door open. Dean had a sudden déjà vu of that time, where when Sam couldn't find the hex bag killing Dean, he ran out of the motel room to stop the witches.
The water rose over his eyes, stinging the back of his lids, blurring his vision, picking up his tears even before they had completely formed. Then everything became blue.
Blue. Like Cas' eyes or his stupid tie. Not Cas', Jimmy Novak's, he reminded himself. But in Dean's view, they were parts of Cas. Even though they didn't belong to him, they suited him.
He wondered about Cas, where he was, what he was doing. The last time Dean heard from him, he had been in some hole-in-the-wall village in Egypt, trying to get spooky God vibes from Dean's amulet-okay so those were his words, not Cas'.
The blue cleared up and for a moment there he couldn't guess that he was really under water. There was pressure against his ears. Somehow the panic died out with it, and he felt calm, calmer than he had felt in a really long time.
He was relieved it wasn't Sam that was gonna die. But he was worried about what will happen to Sam after he died. Because the last time Dean died, Sam had taken grieving to a new extreme, and they were still dealing with the aftermath of it.
His lungs burned and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold his breath for much longer.
He couldn't just leave his brother alone here to watch the world burn. He couldn't leave him to deal with it all the crap coming his way. He couldn't leave him to say yes to the devil. But Cas'll look after him. He will. He will because he knows that's what Dean would want him to. Must be the mind-reading thing. Or maybe not. Maybe he just did know Dean that well.
He wished Cas was here. He didn't want to die alone.
His eyes were filling up, the hot tears blending with the cold water.
Dean didn't want to die alone. But he didn't want Sammy to watch him die either.
His lips felt parched even though he was under water. Dean blinked at that thought. He had bigger problems than dry lips, he couldn't… he couldn't breathe, dammit!
He'd always known he wouldn't live for too long. He'd always known he'd die on the job, in fact he'd hoped it. But he'd imagined it to be more heroic actually, saving some damsel in distress, saving the world, fighting side by side with Sammy, rather than drowning in the shower.
His whole body was on edge and he was starting to feel dizzy due to the lack of oxygen. His whole body screamed at for air. His body apparently didn't get the message his brain was screaming, that opening his airways wouldn't grant access to air. Bodies were stupid like that.
Unable to fight it any longer, took in a choking swallow of water. His body protested against is, trying to force the water out. But it only resulted in more water being ingested. His throat was burning, even though the water was cold.
He barely noticed Sammy had come back into the bathroom.
He barely heard his brother calling his name, telling him to hold on, telling him that help was on the way. Dean doubted whatever fire brigade Sam called will have better success with getting him out of here, that's to assume they'll even get here in time.
The bathroom was spinning around him. He wanted to close his eyes, but he'd rather see Sammy as the last thing before he died rather than the back of his lids.
Sammy. Sammy, I love you, little brother, he wanted to say, he needed to say, he needed his brother to know that, after all the crap he refused to talk about earlier, but he couldn't talk through all the water. He couldn't breathe through the water.
Arms suddenly wrapped themselves around him waist and torso, and he was pulled, just pulled through time and space.
He felt himself hit the ground, not hard though because hands gripped his arms and supported his back, easing him on to the tiled floor. Which was great, but Dean still couldn't breathe. Having air around him didn't help so much when there was water inside him.
Falling onto his knees, Dean coughed and choked, his body trying to force the water out his lungs and stomach. There was a warm pressure on his stomach, and then he felt the water rising up his throat, he reflexively gagged, and water spurted out his mouth and nose. He leaned over till he was practically on all fours
A hesitant hand was placed on his back, alongside the other, which Dean had no problem recognizing as Sam's due to the blood vessel bursting grip.
"Cas" he gasped, somewhere between the first spurt of water and the second. Sweat dripped down the side of his face. His throat ached. His eyes watered.
"It's me" the angel confirmed. Not that Dean needed any confirmation; no one could be more awkward in human gestures, not to mention the small matters of zapping him out of the shower, and the water out of his body.
He half turned to look at Cas, but another bout of coughing forced him to come dangerously close to kissing the floor. Both hands on his back tightened simultaneously, and Dean took comfort from the warm contact.
When he was sure it was over, he straightened up, breathing hard and shivering. Sam grabbed the towel Dean had placed earlier on the washbasin and draped it over Dean's waist, for which Dean was grateful for. Sam had seen everything there is to see, but with Cas it's another story.
The towel had no effect on the shivering however. Cas must've realized this too, for he pressed down harder against Dean's back and warmth radiated from there throughout his entire body. He exhaled and turned to look at his savior.
Cas was, as usual, uniformed in his tan trench coat, now dripping wet, along with the rest of him, looking at Dean like… well, like he always looked at Dean. Sammy was staring at him like he did after that Tuesday-no, Wednesday, after he'd died a hundred times and then some. Dean gritted his teeth. It made him mad to think that demons, monsters and all things evil, still believed Sam hasn't taken the full tour of hell yet.
Well, he knew one thing though; that demon was dead! And another thing-
He slammed his fist on the tiled floor, startling both his brother and his angel-his angel? Where the hell had that come from?
"Dammit! Do I look like a teenage girl or a freakin' child!"
"No" Cas informed him "Though you do exhibit certain characteristics that tend to associate with-"
Dean groaned, and slumped back on the tiled floor as Sam let out a relieved laugh and Cas tilted his head in confusion.
Just another day in life.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Inspired by a very vivid image of Cas with his arms around Dean in the shower. This fic probably doesn't do justice to that vision but, hey, that's what subtext is for.
Thanks so much for reading! Leave me some love in form of reviews 333