Destined In Darkness- Endverse!Destiel

Chapter Two: Found in the Dark

Dean jumped as he got startled by the hand. His left hand quickly found the knife that was resting in front of him on the carpet where he had lost his grip on it when his left hand grabbed at his hair in the midst of his mental breakdown. He quickly flung his left arm back, feeling as his swing was blocked. His eyes were wide open now, and he caught a glimpse of long, light brown hair that was oddly familiar. He closed his eyes momentarily, refusing to admit it was who he thought it was. He brought his right hand back, his hand balling up into a fist as he brought it toward the face of the person across from him. He felt as a large hand grabbed his wrist. That's when he heard it. The one thing he had been dying to hear since the whole apocalypse started.
"Dean! Stop, it's me. It's Sam!" Dean slowly brought his head up from where his gaze was fixated on the faded brown on his boots. This was his first good look at the person across from him. He first noticed the hazel color of Sam's eyes. Then, the sad smile that was plastered across Sam's face. Before Dean could react in any acceptable way, Sam took a large step toward him and engulfed Dean in a large hug. Dean immediately brought his hands up and hugged him back.
"Sammy?" He whispered this, in fear that if he spoke too loud then the hallucination would end and he'd be all alone again. Dean's voice cracked as he muttered his name into Sam's ear. Dean felt as Sam let out a small sob into his shoulder after he said it. Dean began to cry again as well, closing his eyes and gripping the back of Sam's shirt harshly, pulling him closer. After a couple of minutes of silent sobs and desperate hugging, Sam placed his hands on Dean's shoulders, gripping them as he held Dean at an arm's length away. Dean was frightened that Sam was going to blame him, ask him what he was thinking, not saying yes.
"I thought you were dead, Dean. I really thought you were dead." Sam said, another tear escaping his eye as he wiped it against his shoulder. Dean was taken aback by his reaction. Why wasn't Sam upset or angry at him? Why didn't Sam hate him as much as he did himself? Dean didn't know what to say, or how to say it. So he only said one sentence.
"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean's voice was hoarse and deep. His eyes telling a million different stories all at once. Sam's face had a look of confusion. Dean let out a shaky breath as the sentence left his mouth. He had repeated it over and over again in his own head, sometimes even out loud to himself as he did the night before in the tent that was long gone in the backpack miles outside of Detroit. Dean realized then that Sam had asked a question. A question Dean hadn't listened to. He hummed at Sam, his way of asking for him to repeat the question.
"Why are you sorry?" Dean was caught off guard. His lower lip quivered slightly, another tear escaping his left eye. Sam had a pitiful look on his face. His eyebrows knitted together in an unnatural way. Dean's breath was extremely shaky. He couldn't voice his guilt, his blame. His vocal cords refused to move against each other. Sam seemed to understand his nonverbal thoughts, letting his right hand slide off of Dean's shoulder so that he could point at him with it.
"Dean, this isn't your fault." Sam's voice was unusually soft spoken. Usually he had sarcasm leaking from his mouth and meaningless insults ready to fire whenever Dean had thoughts like these. However, Sam took note of how particularly broken Dean was this time. Fragile like a box of glass plates. Dean only shook his head, attempting to shake the hallucination from his mind. Dean focused his eyes behind Sam, choosing to look through the open door, the orange and yellow flower wallpaper that made him question who chose it, and why. His eyes were also drawn to a picture of two little boys, one slightly older than the other. The younger one was in a tire swing that was hanging from a large tree, the older boy pushing him from behind, both of them smiling widely. Dean silently wondered to himself if those smiles were staged, or if the picture was taken at the perfect moment by a parent. Dean heard a sigh escape Sam's mouth, proving to him that Sam was indeed speaking while he was zoned out.
"Okay, Dean, you aren't all here right now. My stuff is upstairs in room 13, let's go up there and get some shut eye, it looks like it's been a while since you've gotten a proper night's rest. We'll talk more tomorrow after you've had time to adjust." Sam was rambling, he always tended to do this in situations regarding Dean's care. Dean thought it to be his way of convincing Dean to actually take care of himself and to push against Dean's stubbornness before it started. Dean only nodded slowly. Sam walked out of the room, stopping in the hallway and looking back at him, waiting for him to follow. The sun had gone down by now, the stained glass windows no longer reflecting onto the walls and floor. He peered up at the statue of Jesus, then at one that was on the side of the altar, an angel. He wasn't sure who it was, if it was supposed to be any specific angel, however seeing it only made him miss his angel best friend. He pushed this thought away, if Cas wanted to find him, he would have by now. So, Dean looked back at the ground, following after Sam.
The door to room 13 creaked loudly as Sam opened it. Dean brought his eyes up, looking around the room. Two queen sized beds, just like they always had. This brought a feeling of comfort to Dean. At least he wasn't the only one that got hotel rooms with two queen sized beds in case his brother were to show up unexpectedly. The covers on the bed were especially atrocious to look at. They had green swirls on them, the base color being brown. However unappealing they were to his eyes, he was desperate to feel a springy base to sleep on top of. He would sleep in the bed closest to the door, fully dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt, a red and black flannel, his leather jacket, and, of course the necklace his brother had gifted him strug from his neck. As he sat down on the bed, he removed the large boots that dragged his feet down. He placed them neatly at the end of the bed frame, ready to be slid on if any emergencies were to happen while they slept. As Dean's head hit the pillow, he smiled tiredly, a content feeling rushing through his nerves. He rummaged in his pocket for the picture of him and Sam, placing it on the nightstand next to his bed. Sam was standing next to his bed, the nightstand being to his right. He looked over at the movement, looking at the picture and smiling. Him and Dean only shared one last look before Sam turned off his flashlight and the room went pitch black. Dean fell asleep almost immediately, however, not before hearing a "Goodnight" from his younger brother.
The sun leaked through the window, the sudden light waking Dean up. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning loudly as he rubbed his right hand against his right eye. A large yawn escaped his mouth as he stretched across the bed. His eyes were swollen and felt sensitive due to the intense amount of emotion that he expressed the night before. He looked to his right, Sam's limp body laying on his back with his hands placed on his stomach. This was how Sam had always slept, in previous times, Dean had made fun of him for sleeping like a dead person, however, now it only brought relief to him to see his little brother comfortable. Dean sat up, yawning once more, getting out of bed and quietly walking over to the window and looking out to see the abandoned city below him. By how far up the sun was, he assumed it was around 9 AM, too late in the morning to worry about having to avoid the vibrant colors the sunrise had brought with it. He heard Sam groan, he turned around quickly to look at his shuffling figure on the bed.
"Dean? What are you doing?" Sam's voice was groggy. His morning voice deeper than his regular one.  Sam's longer hair was knotted, different parts of it sticking up in different directions. With that, Dean was officially convinced. This was Sammy, his baby brother. Not some hallucination that his brain was making up to pass the time. Dean wanted to go in for a hug, but they didn't hug often, and being that they just did yesterday, Dean didn't want to overdo it. So instead he brought his left hand up and gripped his necklace. Dean cleared his throat, responding nonchalantly.
"I was just making sure there weren't any groups outside. All clear." He gave a weak chuckle at the end of his sentence, turning back toward his bed and grabbing the picture from the nightstand, putting it safely back into his pocket. Dean was always good at covering up his emotions, he prided himself on it the majority of the time. However, Sam saw right through it, every time it seemed. Sam seemed slightly caught off guard that Dean actually answered, for he was basically nonverbal just last night. Sam quickly shook the surprised expression off of his face in fear that if he made it obvious, Dean would retreat back to not saying anything. Sam cleared his voice, nodding. Sam ran a hand through his hair as he sat up and looked around the room, yawning. Dean looked better than he did the night prior. Turns out that beauty sleep truly is a real art form.
"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, have you heard from Cas at all?" Sam asked as he stood from the bed, making his way to his bag and pulling out a hairbrush in order to begin the process of detangling his hair. Dean froze for a moment, his heart dropping at the mention of his friend. Dean quickly shook his head, turning back around to look at Sam.
"I prayed. He didn't answer." It was a simple answer, one that sparked Sam's attention as the brush was halfway through a strand of his hair. Sam's eyebrows knitted together and his eyes got darker. That was until he saw the look on Dean's face. The look of guilt. Then Sam's protective side took over.
"Look, Dean, you prayed. Cas heard it, but keep in mind that he carved all of those enochian symbols into our ribs, even with your prayers, Cas might not know where to find you. All phones are down, so he can't call either. Let's not get too upset until we know for sure that he's ignoring us." Sam's voice was adjusting from his morning voice into his normal one slowly, as he continued raking the brush through his hair. Dean answered quickly, without even thinking about it.
"Or dead." A simple statement. Yet, one that held so much emotion, so much fear. It was a rational fear, Sam knew that. Their line of work was originally very dangerous, now with armageddon added on top, it was hard not to assume that something worse had happened to Cas. Dean had a tired and disappointed look on his face, one that, in his own way, Sam related to. Of course, Sam wasn't as close to Cas as his older brother due to, as Cas called it their "More profound bond." However, Sam still had the lingering wonder of whether or not Cas was alive. Sam only offrered his older brother the comfort of a simpathetic close mouthed smile.
Dean slowly raked his hands through his hair, the only attempt he would make to tame it. That was, after all, why he kept it short. Sam was doing morning stretches, including breathing exercises. Dean scoffed, chuckling under his breath.
"You look ridiculous." Sam's eyes shot open from their closed position as he glared daggers into Dean's eyes. It was reassuring how quickly the brothers went back to acting just as such, brothers. Both of them refusing to break the wall of suppressed emotions. Sam had his legs crossed over each other, his hands making the okay sign as he rested his forearms against his thighs. Sam scoffed, closing his eyes again in hope to center himself once more so that he could finish meditating. Dean huffed at Sam's lack of reaction and plopped down dramatically onto his bed.
After Sam's, in Dean's opinion, ridiculous stretching, Sam shuffled through his backpack, pulling out two granola bars, one peanut butter flavored, the other s'mores. Dean instinctively grabbed for the s'mores one when Sam held the two options out for Dean to choose. Dean, of course, attempted to grab both, earning both a death grip on the granola bars and a death glare. Dean took the hint immediately, only choosing one. Sam then pulled out two mini gatorade bottles, throwing a red punch one at Dean, knowing that that kind was his favorite, taking the grape one for himself. Dean's hum of satisfaction made Sam chuckle.
"We should get out of the city. Sooner or later the croats will catch our scents and then we'll be-" Dean cut off Sam at the last part of his sentence. "Neck deep in shits creek with our mouths wide open?" Dean's mischievous smile shining through, showing a small snippet of his goofy personality. Sam gave him a bitch look, correcting his sentence. "Screwed. I was going to say screwed." Dean only shrugged his broad shoulders at the correction. Both brothers were silent for a few minutes, trying to come up with a secluded place they could stay at. That was until Dean's face lit up.
"Bobby!" He snapped his fingers at Sam when he said this. The younger brother didn't understand what his older brother meant by that, Bobby's house was in Sioux Falls, sure it was a less populated place, however there could still be a chance of getting stuck in a hoard of croats, or worse, seeing Jody as a croat and having to take her out.
"Are you sure? We could still get hit with groups, even at Bobby's." Dean gave a frustrated look in Sam's direction, rolling his eyes. He expected Sam to immediately follow what he meant, however he didn't. Dean scoffed, standing up off of his bed and beginning to pace around the small room, passing back and forth in front of the window every couple of seconds.
"Remember, before Bobby became a hunter, he mentioned owning a camp with his wife. What was the name of it?" Dean tapped his right pointer finger against his chin, feeling the prickling stubble against his finger tip, that was one downfall of the apocalypse. No time to shave, and even worse than not being able to do it himself, he watched as Sam began growing facial hair. It haunted him, he was sure to bring this topic up in future conversations, making Sam chuckle sarcastically.
"Camp Chitaqua." Sam said, finally following what Dean was talking about. Sam walked over to his backpack, pulling out their fathers old journal that they had flipped through on various occasions, trying to find what kind of monster they were dealing with, or how to kill the monster they knew they were dealing with. However this time was different, they were searching for a location. Correction, they were desperately searching for the location of Camp Chitaqua. Sam made a victorious "Ah-Ha!" sound when he found where it was located.
"It's not far from Bobby's house. It's about two hours outside of Sioux Falls. However, with no car, it'll take us a long time to make it to South Dakota, let alone a specific location." Dean agreed, however it was their best shot. Both brothers had a mutual understanding that no matter the risk, and how long the journey was going to be, they were going to get to Camp Chitaqua. It was a silent understanding. One that didn't need confirmation.
As Sam was folding his clothes neatly, placing them inside of his backpack and organizing, Dean was taking apart the radio that was inside of the room, trying to find anything that they could use to their advantage. Sam was sure that it was just Dean's way of getting out of helping pack up, however Dean showed up without anything, so there was nothing for him to pack up into a backpack. Sam had been staying in room 13 for over a week and a half, the room still looked as organized as his side of the hotel rooms ever did. Sam was the neat freak of the two, and it was very evident in the way he packed his belongings, adding their father's journal to the top of his bag.  Sam hoisted the bag onto his shoulders, adjusting the straps as needed. He flicked his hair out of his eyes as he looked at Dean. Dean looked back, giving a small nod as he finished off his gatorade.
"Ready?" It was a simple question. Sam knew that, however that didn't make sense because the answer was more complex. No, Sam wasn't ready, but then again, when were either of them really ready for anything they ever did? So, instead of going off on a rant, he only nodded in response. They would make their way to South Dakota, however, Sam knew it would be a difficult trip, especially without the help from Cas. This, in turn made Sam realize how worried Dean was about the angel companion. He admitted to believing Cas was dead. Dean never admitted that, especially when it came to the angel. Sam, of course, didn't mention this to Dean.
Dean walked in front of Sam, his usual pistol held out in front of him as they made their way down the stairs, Dean took one last look at the wallpaper, imprinting it in his mind, carving it into the inside of his eyelids. Dean continued his way to the broken front door, peering out with his gun pointed in front, moving his whole upper body from the right to the left. He didn't see any croats, but he knew that that didn't mean there weren't any around. Craots were stealthy, and quiet until they didn't need to be anymore. Close enough to attack. Dean waved Sam forward, letting him know that as far as Dean could tell, it was clear. Sam had his own gun tucked in the front of his waistband as his hands rested on the straps of the backpack to lighten the weight pulling down on his shoulders. He followed close behind Dean, partially so that his reaction time could be quicker, but also because he thought if Dean got too far away, he would disappear. That Dean would turn a corner, and seconds later when Sam would turn the same one, Dean wouldn't be there. Or perhaps it was the fear that Dean wasn't there at all in the first place. Sam wasn't too sure, but it was irrelevant, because he was quick on Dean's tail.
Dean quickly lifted his arm, his hand clamped in a fist, the sign to stop. Sam stopped dead in his tracks, pulling out his gun. Sam lifted the gun, becoming more alert of his surroundings. The birds were silent, if there were any birds. The sun was shining, blazing down on the two brothers as sweat leaked from both of their foreheads. Sam's breaths were slightly heavier than Dean's, due to the extra weight on his back.
"Dean, what is it?" Sam whispered this so quietly, he was sure Dean didn't hear, for he barely heard it come out of his own mouth. Dean only let out a hushed shushing sound, letting Sam know that Dean wasn't completely sure what it was. Dean pressed his back against the brick building of an apartment complex that was looted days ago. Dean looked at Sam, mouthing those two words that both aggravated and chilled Sam to his very core. Stay here. Dean didn't tell Sam this often. More times than not they would go in together, guns a'blazing. So whenever Dean wanted Sam to stay put, he knew to listen, even when every instinct inside of him wanted him to go against that order.
Dean crouched down, moving slowly along the sidewalk, his shoulder brushing against the brick wall every once in a while, making him cringe in fear that it would tear his clothes. His gun was still pointed in front of him as his eyes were fixated in front of him. He approached the dark building that he had heard sounds coming from. He brought his gun up more as he got closer to the door, checking both sides of the streets before crossing to get to it. Not in fear of vehicles, but in fear of croats, and demons. Which telling by the horrish smell, demons had been around not too long ago. Dean slowly climbed through a broken window into the building, making a silent prayer that Sam stayed put where he told him to. This was too dangerous, and if Sam were to get killed, it would ultimately be his fault. Just like everyone else's deaths. Just like his dad's death, just like Sam's death the first time Sam died, and just like Castiel's death. Dean pushed away all of those intrusive thoughts, and stood up to his full height, keeping pushed against walls as he moved around.
The building had obviously tried to be burned down by all of the char built up on the wooden beams and the black bubbles on the wallpapers around him. He took note that this wallpaper was different, in the areas that he could make out what the design was meant to be. This one would have been easier to look at, however, this wallpaper didn't bring a calm feeling to Dean like the orange and yellow flowers did. This one brought forth a feeling of anxiety and dread. The bubbled wallpaper and chared beams brought forth one question: What was in this building, that was worth burning it down to get away from? This thought sent chills down Dean's spine. He continues on through the various different rooms and hallways, beginning to think that the rustling he heard within was just an animal, or just a figment of his imagination, begging to hear a familiar sound. Just before he was going to give up and go back outside to find Sam, he heard a loud banging upstairs, and grunting. Dean quickly flew toward the stairs, his gun up and ready to shoot. Dean took a quick note that upstairs there was little to no charing, the wallpaper untouched. The walpaper was ombre, different shades of blue and purple blending into each other. Meaningless photos hung on the walls throughout the hallway. At the end of the hallway, a croat was pinning someone up against a table. The person underneath the croat was obviously struggling to fight it off as Dean quickly went to rush over. However, before he could get to it, another one jumped out of one of the rooms to his right and tackled Dean to the ground.
Dean's gun slid away from him as he reached for his flashlight, turning it around and using it as a hammer. He sent a blow to the head of the croat that was heaving on top of him. It was a man, must have been in his early thirties. His nice suit was dirty and his beard was overgrown. He must have been in some kind of business line of work telling from the expensive rolex that clinged to his left wrist. As the croat flailed backwards, Dean quickly stood up, bashing in the croat's brain, hitting it on repeat, blood shooting up and covering Dean's face in blood, also staining his clothes. Dean shoved the flashlight back into his belt loop, then walked over to his gun, picked it up and shot the croat that was still on top of the human, watching as it fell on top of the person. As the croat fell off of the person, all Dean could see was torn black dresspants, a bloodied button up shirt, and a dirtied, abused trenchcoat.