Through the Dirt

Chapter 1: Well It Was All Good

Written by OpheliacAngel

Pairings: Dean/Gabriel, Dean/Loki (There may be more pairings if you squint & I may add more as the story progresses)

Genre: Romance/Horror

Rating: NC-17 (Language, Violence)

Summary: Who is the man lingering in his nightmares? Why such fierce interest in him and why the disappearing act? And who is the man who so much resembles him but is not him? Is his want to trust misplaced, is it a wrong moment for love, for just a mere taste?

(Very Long) A/N: This is an alternative take to S7. It's dark and very angst ridden in some parts, but not throughout the entire story. Loki is the Shadowman and is the dark side to this story, Gabriel is the other half of Loki, the half that loves and is generally good. I am in no way Loki bashing, I am fascinated with him and have really wanted to write something including him for a while.

I have been extremely hesitant to upload this, been working on it since May. I originally wasn't planning on uploading until February, but I've been on this amazing site for a year (yay!), and I really wanted to upload something special for New Years.

This story is my heart and soul, something I've dreamed of writing for so long. It's very descriptive, but it's getting me such a great opportunity to work on characters, imagery (my passion), as well as dialogue. This is the start of something new for me in writing, a chance for me to really better myself. Dabriel is my beloved OTP and I really wanted to show them off here, so I sincerely hope you enjoy this and happy New Years!

Songs Featured: My title is taken from a line in Tristania's "Shadowman". I heard "Shadowman" and have wanted to write a Dabriel story for a while, something a little dark, so I finally decided this would be the perfect time. Title of the chapter is from Cold's "It's All Good" and so are the lyrics.

X9X9X9X9X9X9X9X9

~Let all the love inside the world

Belong to you

Well I can't understand just why

You went away

Too young to feel the pain and

Bitterness of love~

X9X9X9X9X9X9X9X9

There are three things Dean Winchester hates most in this world: someone refusing to get him some pie, people who mess with his Sammy, and not to mention… nightmares. They creep up on him in the dead of night, beckon him into sleep when he is restless and would honestly rather be restless than be forced to face them, and they take hold of him with such force it's a wonder he's even able to make it back to consciousness.

Sam doesn't notice, doesn't care, and even if one of those two prominent things were to occur, he'd still be lost in his own little world of life after hell. Sometimes Dean wants to shake him hard and remind him that he went to hell too, experienced the same torment and fears and blood lust. But Sam won't get it, he is cut off from everything around him. He is even more lost than Dean is.

So the eldest Winchester keeps these things to himself, hides them inside a cold dark shell that is now his withered soul. He feels so much but these nightmares are numbing him more and more night after torturous night. He does not know how long he can last, wonders if he should warn Sammy before it's too late.

Maybe it is already too late.

Castiel is gone, perished after consuming numerous souls. He is not deceased but might as well be for the toll these souls have taken on him. And Dean has not just lost an ally, he has lost a friend, a brother, maybe even someone who cared about him even more than his brother does. Now it's all gone and nothing more than a mere memory. That is much of what Dean Winchester's life consists of, countless memory after countless memory. Most of them too unbearable to hold onto and remember.

He lies in bed most nights, remembering, when Sam is asleep and he is waiting for the nightmares to take him. He calls out to Castiel as he remembers him, reminisces upon what happened to him a little less than a year ago. It didn't last long, after the soul consuming the angel only lasted a few months before too much was too much. He nearly exploded, would have if not releasing the souls in time.

It is habit for Dean to call out to him, he has done it many a time and doubt he will ever stop. He still likes to believe Castiel can hear him, and the thought of that, even if he doesn't care about his charge anymore, gets Dean through the worst of the nights, makes him take a deep breath and relax just a little bit more than previously.

The nightmares must only last for six hours, for that is all the sleep he gets, though it feels like much less. Sam once told him it's technically not sleep, being tormented by things that aren't real weighs heavily on the mind, even now, when Sam has bags under his eyes nearly constantly. He stares at him, at how strong he has become despite his own lack of sleep. He ponders whether hell made his little brother stronger, smarter, wiser. Dean doesn't think about this much though, truthfully it terrifies him. Truthfully, Sam terrifies him.

Winchester life just isn't the same as it used to be.

They still hunt, not as much as they used to, staying longer at motels than healthy and going their separate ways during the day and through the night. Dean's too out of it to care most of the time, a large part of him wants to buckle down, live that apple pie life he never did think he truly deserved. A part of him wants to keep hunting too, so he balances it, somewhat, hoping he'll feel better in the end. He doesn't.

They're not together anymore, not talking and not interacting more than a few words here and there. They don't whisper reassurances anymore when someone gets hurt, don't have each other's backs like they should. In a way they've fallen away, Castiel and the monotony and never-ending misery of life ripping who they were from their hearts and minds. Dean stares at Sam when he's not looking, silently begs him to help his brother fix things between them. Sam doesn't look, Sam doesn't care, it's all a lost cause and Dean accepts it. Has to accept it, otherwise he'll lose his sanity.

It's not like the eldest hasn't tried, to get through to Sam, to make his life mean something again. The two only hunt monsters and the like for things to do, not to save people, not to justify their harsh and unusual lifestyle. The life they grew up in, the only life they've ever known.

Dean has changed, he doesn't look at himself much in the mirror anymore. All he will see are bags under his eyes nearly identical to Sam's, a body so unlike him now that he hasn't been eating much the last few months. He can't, every stare, every bite, every swallow makes him sick to his stomach. It's strange because the Winchester roles have been reversed, Sam now eats more than the both of them, gaining muscle not weight. It's clear Sam could take him any day, Dean would likely end up in a bloody and useless pile of flesh on the floor. Dean can't look, he only glances away.

When he looks, his own failure to sustain himself smacks him hard in the face.

TDTDTD

"You gonna eat that?"

He looks up from where he's been picking at his cheeseburger at his brother, staring at him like there's nothing wrong, having already engulfed two burgers already.

Dean swallows the bite off the fork he had just placed inside his mouth, feels his stomach rumble and looks back down at his neglected meal. Might as well not let it go to waste, at the rate he's going he won't get anything eaten. So of course, he shakes his head, pushes the plate away from him, and looks down at the empty place on the table where his plate used to be.

He clears his throat, "Sam?"

His brother doesn't even look up from Dean's plate, well, his plate now, "What?"

Dean stares down at his hands, looks up again to find Sam still not paying attention.

"Nothing", he gets up and leaves their room, heading off into the chilly night.

It was nothing important anyway.

Dean doesn't remember eating after that, can't remember doing anything much after that for the next few days. Maybe it's been a week, maybe it hasn't, he doesn't really know. They haven't been on a hunt since last month, which is pretty much the only thing that gives Dean a small amount of sanity. He supposes he sleeps most of the days away, drifting in and out of lucid nightmares of hell and all the things he's done wrong, all the people he's failed. Primarily Castiel.

He wakes up half the time to find Sam gone, a box of leftovers the only trace of him ever having been there. He stares out the window, looks at his reflection in the little mirror in the bathroom, takes achingly hot showers. Despite the heat experienced in his nightmares, he feels cold the majority of the time, shivering no matter how many sheets he throws on himself, no matter how many showers he takes, no matter how many clothes he wears. He is so cold, all of the time.

There is nothing left in his life but cold.

He throws up on and off for a few hours, his not eating food lately revolting against him. He feels so fucking tired, but he only manages a half hour before his stomach wakes him up and makes him shake and moan in agony as he leans back over the toilet for the millionth time.

He's practically down for the count when he blurrily sees Sam in the doorway. The sight of him is too much, causing him to lean over and dry heave again. Sam waits for him to finish, leaning against the door frame.

"When's the last time you ate?"

Dean shrugs as well as he is able, "Last week."

Another fit comes over him and minutes later, wiping his mouth on his sleeve sloppily, he crashes onto the cold tile floor, too exhausted to pay any attention to his brother. He feels a blanket across his shoulders a few moments later, tucked around him hastily by warm hands which depart far too soon.

He tries to remember where it all went wrong, the day Sam stopped effectively taking care of him. The day he stopped taking care of himself. Oh yeah, Castiel.

"Thanks, Sammy", he whispers hoarsely as he slips away almost happily, if not waiting for the nightmares to make his life a living hell.

There is no answer, only the howling wind outside.

TDTDTD

Dean wakes up to find Sam's hoodie lying on his bed, appearing so nice and warm, waiting for him. He slips it on and breathes in its scent, Sammy, nice warm Sammy. His Sammy.

The hoodie engulfs him, makes him feel warm and content. He wraps himself in it as much as possible and smiles as he places the hood over his head.

Unlike many days, there is also a note waiting for him on the desk adorning Sam's laptop.

It reads: Be back at noon, getting us something to eat.

Us. The word seems foreign to the eldest, usually Sam will simply use me or just 'getting something to eat'. Not us, never us.

An hour later Dean is thinking of Castiel, so lost inside his own head he doesn't hear Sam walk in, but he does jump when feeling the hand on his shoulder.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Yeah", he rubs a hand over his face, "m' fine."

"Come on, I've got the food. Let's eat."

He follows Sam over to the table and watches him unwrap and prepare the food. Staring at it makes him want to run to the bathroom, even though he hasn't eaten anything in so long.

He must be staring at it for too long, Sam shows his impatience, "Come on, Dean. It's not like it's dirt."

Dean looks up at him, "I can't."

"Why?"

"I just… can't."

Sam just stares at him like he's the village idiot, "What happened to you? You used to love pizza."

Dean shrugs, "People change."

Sam shakes his head in certainty, "Not you. My big brother would rather die than change."

"I'm just not hungry, Sam. Okay?"

He starts to walk away, unable to look at what he once loved before everything went so wrong. Sam grabs his arm and forces him to turn around before he can even react.

"Dean", he grits out through his teeth, "sit down and eat. Don't make me make you."

The eldest is amazed at how much he wants to hold his ground. He isn't stupid though, he knows he won't last long. Not with Sam. Though he decides to try anyway, if not to test how worried and pissed off Sam is, than maybe because he feels he can't put a single morsel in his mouth. Just thinking about food is making his stomach lurch.

"Then make me."

Dean turns away again and Sam grabs him forcefully, throwing him to the ground and leaning over him, inches away from his face so as if to intimidate. And he's doing a pretty good job as far as Dean's concerned. The look on Sam's face is full of nothing but determination and for a brief moment, only for a nanosecond the eldest's heart swells in pride at the hope that his Sammy finally has come back to him, has started caring once more.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean asks shakily in his failed attempt to put more bravado behind his voice.

Sam's hand is on Dean's stomach, which is nothing much but a pile of skin really, to which Sam notices moments later and looks down at carefully and soon with horror.

"How much do you even weigh?"

"Sam…" His voice nearly cracks at the hopelessness and shock he hears in his baby brother's voice.

And he's the one who caused it.

"No", Sam states forcefully, hand holding onto Dean's stomach just a little tighter and almost, Dean dares to think, protectively, "answer me."

"Dunno", Dean tries, "now let me go."

His little brother lifts up his hoodie a little angrily but mostly gently, as if Dean is more fragile than he had previously realized. Dean jumps at the feel of Sam's fingers violating him, desperately wants to move away to avoid this humiliation but Sam is still pinning him down, forcing Dean to watch just how much he let his little brother down. Sam quickly moves on to the three layers of shirts, staring sadly at each one momentarily, Dean shaking a little from the sudden cold, until his stomach is revealed in full.

His pathetic skinny little belly.

"Oh my god."

Dean tries to pull away but Sam holds him firmly, fingers gently brushing the painfully flat skin of his stomach and it causes Dean to whimper in panic a little before answering, "It's nothing, Sam. Just lemme go."

The look of horror on Sam's face is too much for him to deal with, of how he failed both his brother and his body, of how truly worried Sam is about him, which he should only feel happy about but doesn't. He just wants to curl up in a ball and hide, crawl over to a corner and cry his eyes out. Just wants to make Sam forget that this even happened, so he doesn't have to see that look anymore.

He squirms, fights, but his entire body screams at him to stop so he does.

"How can you call this nothing?" Sam demands, staring down at Dean with such disbelief the eldest shrinks away.

"You're gonna eat", he continues, pulling his clothes back down then pulling Dean up and supporting him till he can feel his legs again, after Sam crushed them, "whether I have to shove the food down your throat. You're gonna eat."

Sam shoves Dean down in a chair and hands him a fork, pushing a plate towards him, "Eat. Now."

He knows this is Sam's way of saying that he does care, doesn't want Dean to wither away and die after all. And as much as the eldest hates this, he knows this is the only way, that Sam is left with such a difficult decision and he's made his choice. No going back now.

Dean nods uneasily, taking bite after painful bite for eternity before his eyes and stomach plead Sam for no more. Sam gets the hint and takes it back, finishing it himself, watching Dean very carefully. It's an understatement to say that Dean is uncomfortable. But at least Sam cares, at least his not so little Sammy is back.

"If you throw that up, you're dead."

Dean swallows the last bite and nods, crawls into bed and doesn't even protest when Sam tucks him in, pulling the blanket up to his chin and even tucking the sheets under the bed as if preventing his predictable escape. Truth is, Dean isn't going anywhere, he's far too exhausted and will be able to rest easy now that he knows Sam is watching over him carefully and with concern.

"Now get some sleep", Sam whispers, brushing his brother's forehead lightly before heading out of the room.

He figures he has to be controlled, otherwise he'll slip away. For real and for forever.

TDTDTD

"Why the change of heart, Sam?"

Sam looks up from his morning bagel, "What are you talking about?"

"What, you suddenly care about what happens to me?"

"Uh, don't I always?"

"Not lately. Why last night, of all nights? You know, my not eating didn't just happen all at once, it's been gradual. Unless you've completely forgotten about the necessity of eating."

"So I haven't been paying attention lately. You can't say that hasn't happened to you, Dean."

He wants to break through to Sam, needs it. He just isn't sure how to yet.

"What happened to us, Sam?"

"Dean", he stares at him in absolute disbelief, crossing his arms and shaking his head, "what the hell is with you lately?"

"Half the time you're not even here, Sammy. We haven't been talking, haven't been hunting. It's like...", he runs a hand through his hair, "…it's like we're not even brothers anymore."

Sam just stares at him and Dean goes on, "You never pay attention to what's going on with us anymore, you're off in your own little world and you might as well not be here at all considering how much we talk face to face."

"So according to you drowning in nightmares is being here?"

"Fuck you, Sam."

"Oh that's real cute, Dean. And what about you", he leans forward in his chair, "all you do is sleep and lie around and think about how much worse I am compared to your mistakes. What's your excuse?"

Dean clenches and unclenches his fists, stands up from the table and starts to walk away, Sam shouting after him before he can make it out the door.

"You can't even take care of yourself! How can you expect me to want to live with you?"

TDTDTD

It's the same thing all over again the next few days. Sam rages at him, finding nothing else better to do, and it ends up in either one of them leaving. Dean doesn't have the heart to argue after that first day, he takes the blunt of Sam's destructive nature towards him. He takes the punches, accepts the words and insults, swallows back the tears and walks away before anything worse can happen.

"Fine, if you don't want me to take care of you, then I won't!"

Sam slams the door and Dean can feel something mysteriously wet dripping down his face. He wipes the clear and sticky moisture away from his eyes, stares at the door for much longer than he should.

What can he really do?

Because it's true, what can he really do? There's no knowing when or if Sam will stop. There's no telling how much more he can handle. He's breaking, his eating slipping up again, and his sleep habits are like some sick acid trip he can't escape. The figure in the mirror shrinks more and more each day, until he's hardly there at all.

Sam doesn't do it the next day though, instead he lays off of Dean and the eldest can tell straight away something's eating away at him. Sam keeps on looking at him warily as if he's afraid Dean will crack at the seams or something. Which isn't altogether unlikely. Dean eventually can't take anymore, and is about to ask before Sam speaks.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Sam."

No hesitation, it isn't something he needs to hesitate for.

"No, I had no right to treat you like that, to say those things", he turns towards Dean on the couch, "you're right, I haven't all been there lately. Especially for you. And I'm sorry, but things are going to change now. I'm not gonna let you slip up again, Dean."

He sips the soup Sam made for him a little while ago, a huge improvement in his eating habits because at least he's enjoying it. And he nods, believes his little brother's every word because he loves him. And because he's right, Dean is to blame. It is his fault. Because if he can't take care of himself, how would he take care of Sam?

How would he be able to keep them together?

TDTDTD

It's been about a month now, if you were to ask when he came into his dreams. The hooded figure, the darkened silhouette…

The Shadowman…

It wasn't always like this, Dean's dreams were once only of hell, of demons and Alistair and tortured souls. Blood blood blood. Dark red and on fire.

And now there is a form that has been taking him away from the blood and pain, into the darkness. The darkness is nearly as worse, if not for the creature just out of his reach whose presence makes him feel so safe. He has never been able to touch this figure, has never seen it turn around, has never heard its voice and never held its stare. He wonders what it wants, what it could possibly want with him. Because if it wants him, why is Dean left waiting around for the creature to pounce? Why is he given no answers, no explanations, no clue as to why he is now in the shadows of someplace he does not know, someplace that scares him, but that is definitely not hell?

He's talked to it a few times, asked it what its name is and what it thinks it's doing dragging him here and then hanging just at the edge of his reach, silent and still. He shivers when he even imagines the figure turn around and face him.

Dean doesn't know when he started calling him the Shadowman. Perhaps the name was lodged deep inside his subconscious and then burst out, willing itself to stick inside his mind. And it has stuck, because he does call him the Shadowman now. And it is a fitting name, he just wish he knew its real name.

He starts hanging around the Shadowman for longer periods of time, he is whisked away from hell sooner and forced to stare at the cloaked figure's back for eternity. He does not know when it will end, he doesn't know if he wants it to end. Honestly, he's getting used to it.

After the first couple weeks, he notices a scent in the air that either wasn't there before or he had been too preoccupied to notice those earlier nights. It's something sweet, not like pie or cake but… candy. Caramel and chocolate and licorice and lollipops. It drives him insane at first, knowing the scent is coming from the creature instantly but not able to comprehend why. Why would the Shadowman smell like a candy store?

Despite his increasing frustration and growing number of prominent questions, Dean actually finds out he likes the scent. It's soothing and the figure continues to be calming. It's something Dean's rarely felt, and of course, it's something he hasn't felt for quite a long time.

He's not sure he wants it to go away anytime soon. Every time he wakes up in the morning he craves it, misses it. He wants it back, wants the darkness back as quickly as it disappears. Wants the Shadowman back to ignore him and drag him away from his own insane mind.

One night he is bold enough to ask again the question that's been on his mind for all these weeks of uncertainty. He swallows hard and focuses on the Shadowman, on the creature who has saved him countless times and yet wishes for Dean not to know what it is, wishes to receive no thanks face to face.

"Who are you?"

He replies a few moments later.

"Your possessor."

TDTDTD

It's the voice, more than the words, that causes Dean Winchester to scream. He's suddenly very afraid, extremely uncomfortable, feeling out of place in his own skin. He fears the shadows will harm him, and that the Shadowman is just some monster who likes to toy with him, drive him insane with uncertainty and then laugh when he finally feels in the mood to harm him. Dean doesn't enjoy games, they remind him of a certain someone who was killed a long time ago, one that lived off of trickery.

The voice sounds like thousands of knives scraped across walls, across bare flesh, and it's a voice that's mouth is meant to hold hundreds of silvery shiny teeth, preparing to chow down on the scarce meet on his bones in mere moments. He tries to run, but he slams into a wall and falls to the ground. The figure does not turn around, does not speak again, and the eldest only looks up at him, wanting to demand answers now but far too full of fear.

He gulps the pain of hearing that voice down and focuses once more on the hooded figure. His mind pleads for him to try to confront him, ask to be taken back, even to hell. For hell is surely better than this nightmare.

Dean closes his eyes and is about to become a far bolder man when he feels himself shift, and as he opens them again he finds he is back in his bedroom, panting heavily, sweat pouring down his hair, face and cheeks to pool into his neck. He checks the bed nearby to find Sam asleep and sighs.

He's not sure how many more curve balls he can take before he slips back into hell completely. Never to be seen again.

And as he lies there in his bed, continuing to hear the voice echoing throughout his mind, he wonders why he's been chosen, of all people. He contemplates why anyone would go out of his way to be his so called 'possessor'. Dean Winchester doesn't want to be a possession, or rather, refuses to be someone's pet. He'll fight his way through hell every single night to avoid that.

Somehow he thinks this won't be the last of the Shadowman he'll see. Somehow he thinks he's in for one hell of a big surprise the next time he dares to dream.

TDTDTD

Sam pays attention a lot more now than Dean likes. He stays up until his elder brother falls asleep, watches him to make sure he eats enough, keeps track of how much he sleeps and demands he eat or sleep more if it's what he wants. Dean almost wishes he hadn't tried to break through to Sam, to push his nerves so high. He wonders what the hell he even did to make Sam so worried, so scared.

Dean fears Sam even more now, that's why he eats when he's told, sleeps when Sam hints to him he should get some sleep, stays in the motel so Sam can better look after him. And as said before, his little brother is scared for some reason as well, whether it's Dean once deteriorating and now steadily improving condition, he doesn't know, only that he can sometimes see the concern in Sam's puppy dog eyes, and eventually chalks it up to Sam's fear of losing his big brother.

He turns over in bed to find Sam's eyes closing, once watching him but now pretending it never happened in order to not give anything away. Like that trick could ever work around a Winchester. He looks up from his small plate of food to find Sam frantically eat his own, noticing him look away at the last second from his endless task of counting the number of bites Dean takes, and of course keeping track of how long he stays in the bathroom, to make sure Dean's not throwing any of it up. He wakes up in the morning to find Sam always there, unless he's out buying breakfast, which Dean notices becomes earlier every morning, when he's out of consciousness and oblivious to Sam awakening.

There's a lot of tension between them still, Dean is uncomfortable and Sam hovers too near him, afraid to talk, seemingly content in just staring to make sure he can see with his own eyes that his brother's getting better, surviving, on the road to recovery. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

Dean doesn't feel anything all, he feels sick, exhausted, scared, miserable. And as much as he attempts to hide it from Sam, it is indeed a lost cause.

Sam knows he dreams, he must know he dreams, for some nights when he wakes up, a scream dying in his throat, he can see his brother breathing unevenly, secretly listening to Dean, making sure he's okay. He doesn't make it known that he knows, might as well give Sammy his peace of mind.

He feels better knowing that someone's taking care of him now, even if it is a little creepy, a little nerve-wracking. He likes someone bringing him his meals, making sure he eats them so he doesn't get sick again. Likes it when he wakes up and knows he's not alone, not the only one awake. He likes that he doesn't feel like he needs to stare at himself in the mirror, to see how far he's let himself go.

Dean doesn't shiver as much anymore either, which is nearly enough to make the whole 'Sammy is watching me 24/7' thing bearable. Sam comes back from wherever he's been with big, nice and warm hoodies in black, navy blue, and burgundy (not gray, never gray, Sam says it matches the pallor of Dean's skin too much), wraps his brother up in them without a word, pulls the hoods adorning them up and smiles a little, walking off to fix Dean dinner.

He wears the hoodies constantly, when he crawls under the covers, when he eats, when he simply sits around watching TV, surfing the web, cleaning his guns or sharpening his knives. They keep him calm, keep him warm and comfortable. And most of all they remind him of Sammy, because every single one is infused with his beautiful scent.

This is home now. Dean knows it better than anything. Sam is specifically home.

TDTDTD

The third night after the Shadowman speaks, Dean hears his voice again. Strangely, it's not as painful as the time before, doesn't sound like knives and doesn't fill him with unknown and dreaded fear. That's not to say he actually feels safe again, he doesn't know what he feels, doesn't know if hell is better than this or not. He only knows, feels that the darkness is not as deep since he had spoken. The silence is not so overwhelming and the candy scent is stronger than ever, not sickening, just bolder. He wishes to see his face more than anything now, wants to know who exactly owns that voice.

Who are you?

Your possessor.

He doesn't feel like he's owned, especially not to this creature. He feels normal, doesn't feel any different since the dreams of hell rapidly dwindled and then ceased entirely, doesn't think the darkness has any effect on him. He merely stands there and stares at his back, hears those words inside his head, begging him to say more and not back down like he wants to do. He needs to know otherwise these dreams will drive him insane.

Dean wonders how loud he'd have to scream to get Sam to hear him.

"What are you?"

The creature laughs and snaps his fingers, leading the shadows to diminish and he is bathed in a pale gray light. He still cannot see his face.

"Someone who has waited in the shadows to claim you. Who will not leave until you come to me."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

The Shadowman walks forward, but his face is miraculously blurred, even though his entire form is in the light now as he reaches Dean.

"Whatever you want it to mean, human."

He doesn't like being called that, it seems foreign, weird, selfish in a way. Suddenly he doesn't want to know this creature, and most certainly doesn't want to be his toy.

The Shadowman strokes his cheek and he shivers harder than he ever has before. And when he comes up with the guts to open his eyes, he sees someone who seems more than just familiar. Someone that made his life a living hell, someone who tricked him and killed him and someone who's supposed to be dead. Yet here he is now, in his dreams. His dreams. It's the last person, creature, he wants to see.

He's about to scream, for this to end, for Sam to come and save him from this hell worse than the actual hell. His throat closes up though, and his eyes widen as the figure grins at him, snaps his fingers again to cast them both back into shadow. Within moments he is back to his reality, hoodie damp with sweat, Sam turned towards him, eyes open, eyebrows knit in concern. He sits up, puts his head in his hands and hears his brother sit up as well.

"Dean? What's wrong?"

Loki…

Goddamn fucking Loki.

TDTDTD

They're on a hunt the next day, Sam seems to think it'll do them both some good, but he really just means the Winchester brother who can't seem to ever keep it together. Dean could barely keep down breakfast after last night, was hardly able to avoid Sam's worried stares and questions. And then Sam practically kicked him out the door after doing some research. Back in his baby, Dean sort of felt complete again. That is, if his mind didn't force him to see and hear Loki over and over like some nightmare tape loop of what went on yesterday.

His grin was everywhere, showed through the windshield, hovering over the trees and up in the sky every time he looked out the window at his place in the passenger seat. There was no escape, and maybe that was how Loki wanted it, wanted his human to see him, supposedly want him every second from now on.

Sam had no clue, Dean never wanted him to have a clue. How could he tell him anyway? Say, 'oh by the way, Loki's alive and kicking. And did I mention, he wants me, in a really fucked up way. Life's great ain't it?'

He wanted him to know though, and he wanted Sam to know without telling him. Wanted his brother to see him with his own eyes and swear to do everything to protect Dean, even if the chances of that weren't very likely.

More than anything he wanted Loki to go away. To not come again someday. What was so enticing about Dean Winchester? Why couldn't the killing and other past events have been enough?

He wasn't supposed to know about that, but Sam told him a little while back. The whole Mystery Spot incident that nearly tore Sam to shreds inside. Dean found himself thinking about it a lot, trying to experience what Sam must have felt, to think about all these different ways he could have been killed. Sam didn't go into depth at all, only told him it had been done millions of times, millions of Tuesdays (he thinks it was that day). And he's never asked Sam about it again, that sort of thing he knows is too painful to face more than once.

When they reach their destination, it's odd and a major relief to admit that he doesn't see Loki anymore, doesn't feel him. He gets out of the Impala and feels more focused than ever before. He can do this, hunt with Sam, like he hasn't done for a few months at best. He can kill this werewolf, is able to come back from the hunt unscathed.

All he has to do is keep his head in the game and hope he doesn't see Loki again to distract him.

They make their way slowly through the forest, the night already darkening and the limbs of the elm trees casting shadows on their determined faces. Their pistols are packed to the brim with silver bullets and they sneak like shadows, the word makes the eldest shiver, deep into the depths of the woods. The trees surround them, almost like monsters themselves. They swallow hard simultaneously and look over at each other, unsure how they should go about this. They know the beast lurks deep inside, but having no plan it's all on a whim from here on out.

Dean is scared but at least he is peacefully alone, besides Sammy of course.

They hear noises and hide behind different trees, guns at the ready and minds in full combat mode. A branch snaps behind Dean and he closes his eyes, throws the safety off his beloved silver pistol and takes a step to the side. As he turns around, pointing his only weapon straight at the monster behind him, he finds that he pulls the trigger too late. And soon he is flying, Sam screaming his name in the background, growing increasingly dimmer as he flies throughout the forest, slamming into a tree and dropping to the ground like lead.

The last thing he hears before his sight fades completely, like morning dew eradicated by an early morning sun, is his brother screaming.

TDTDTD

He drifts in and out for a while, knows he's still in the woods but that's about it. Someone hovers over him, someone whose fingers brush over him gently, so gently he feels something must be wrong with him.

He doesn't feel much, sweaty and sticky when his senses come back to him every few seconds, only to drift away again so as not to agonize him further. He knows there's blood, possibly quite a lot of it, which would explain the grace at which the blurred beyond belief figure exerts on him.

He knows he's on the ground, cold cold cold. And every time he closes his eyes there's a dull ache someplace on his head. It's growing stronger, and Dean certainly isn't ready to feel any pain yet. If he weren't numb now, he has no doubt he would be feeling a hell of a lot of brain frying, 'pray for death' pain. Dean Winchester can cope with pain, but he doesn't know about this.

About the billionth time he climbs his way up the ladder directed towards consciousness, he hears someone speak to him, the same person whose fingers hover over his face and curl up lightly in his hair. The voice is a little panicky, and it most certainly is not Sam's.

"Dean."

It's that voice from his dream again.

Can't be.

"Dean, stay with me. Your brother needs you."

It does sound a lot like him, but he's too tired to care, too tired to fight against it.

"Dean!" It's Sam now, and how beautiful he truly sounds, too beautiful to disobey by falling asleep.

But his body screams at him again, convinces him bliss is waiting for him. The one place he needs to be. And he accepts wholeheartedly.

TDTDTD

He wakes up three days later. At least, that's what Sam tells him, even though it feels more like three weeks. His eyes are crusty and his body and hair feels grimy, covered in cooled sweat and it's so disgusting he wants to puke.

Sam has his hand in his and squeezes it reassuringly as Dean fights to gain control of his surroundings. He's a little dizzy and a lot achy. He's afraid to move, but Winchester stubbornness is legendary. That's not to say when he does, that he doesn't nearly black out again from the pain both in his head and chest. It threatens to burn him away into nothing.

His brother leans forward in the chair at his bedside and grimaces, "Lie back down, Dean. You're still healing."

He's so sick of him telling him what to do, "I am fine. Now let go of me and let me take a shower."

Before Sam can protest, he only gets so far as to open his mouth, Dean pulls his hand out of Sam's grip and crawls quickly out of bed, not giving his body a chance to protest. He stands in the middle of the room a minute later, not entirely sure he did the right thing. And with Sam hovering inches away, it's just another reason why he simply cannot let himself collapse. Even if that is what he really wants to do.

He doesn't think he can make it to the bathroom, let alone stand up and effectively clean himself in the cramped shower, so he stands there, deciding he might as well get some answers, considering he hasn't been getting enough of them lately.

"What happened, Sam? I feel like I've been run over by a train."

"More like a werewolf. That thing was strong, threw you halfway across the forest before your body impacted into a tree. I wasn't even close enough to reach you."

Dean's frustrated, he doesn't remember a goddamn thing, "What about after that?"

Sam shakes his head and smiles a little, causing Dean to look at him closer as he wonders why something this misplaced is happening.

"You're not gonna believe it."

"Try me."

"Someone saved me while you were down for the count. I thought I was a goner, the werewolf was coming towards me like a bullet and I couldn't even get my gun ready in time before it flew at me. And then it just… I don't know, crashed to the ground and I looked up to find him there, standing over it, smiling."

"Who?"

"Gabriel."

Gabri…?

Dean's whole world freezes. He feels numb again, and his hearing and sight fades in and out. Sam continues talking but he only hears bits and pieces of what he's saying. When he comes back seconds later, he's on the verge of losing it.

"…I mean, I didn't know what the hell was going on. One second I thought I was dead and the next he was there. He helped me and I thought about killing him, but he had just saved my life. He headed over towards you, said he wanted to make sure you were okay. And I followed as soon as I could process what was going on. And then you… oh my god, Dean. You looked so terrible and Gabriel was trying to keep you awake and he didn't know what to do and I was panicking and then…"

"You're lying."

Sam breaks out of his thoughts and looks up, "What?"

"There's no way, Sam. He's dead."

"I'm telling you, Dean. He's alive."

He would rather believe that Sam was hallucinating rather than face the possibility that Gabriel is alive and kicking, that would spell out disaster for both of them. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. And even if Gabriel is alive, he definitely would not be wasting his time saving their sorry asses.

"Yeah right," Dean says, more to convince himself than his brother, "I'll believe it when I see it."

Sam only continues, "It's Gabriel, he saved you. And he saved me."

Anything that risks its life for and saves his Sammy is worthy in his book. But Gabriel is an entirely different story.

And as soon as the sentence is completed, as soon as his thought is finished, he shows up before their very eyes. Before his very eyes.

"Well well well, sleeping beauty decided to finally wake up."

Gabriel?

No way, has to be Loki.

"I know what you're thinking, Deano. And it is me, there's no doubt about that."

The eldest Winchester stares at Sam in disbelief, gulps heavily, and feels the cold overtake him again.

Sam watches him, starts to sense something is wrong and hovers even nearer to Dean, anticipating the worst.

Gabriel… it's hard to say what Gabriel's doing, what he feels, what he could possibly be thinking. He's grinning at him but there's something in his eyes, something he doesn't think he's ever seen before. He doesn't know how he feels about it either. Gabriel just stands there and looks at him, as if waiting for him to speak when he can't even get past the shock and panic running fierce in his veins.

The archangel seems to move closer to the eldest without walking. And he thinks he almost figures out what's inside those eyes before…

Dean faints.

To be continued…