The Pay-Off For Having Faith

9

"Go get your things, Dean. It's time to go home."

Sam's eyes widened at his father's words, even as his heart leapt into his throat. Was the man serious? Dean was going to be coming home with them? His hazel gaze flew to Dean, whom was staring at John with a look of suspicion.

"This some kind of joke?" the young man asked, brow furrowed, "because it's not funny, if it is."
John shook his head no, "No joke, Dean. Maybe Sam's right, maybe it's time for a change of scenery. So go get your things. Unless you would prefer to stay here?"

"No!" Sam grabbed Dean's hand and stood, pulling his brother up with him, "He wants to go home! Right, Dean?" He looked to his brother, whom was watching him.
The other grinned suddenly and answered, "Hell yeah, Sammy, I want to go home."
Sam almost knocked Dean over as he threw himself at his brother and hugged him tight. His next hug was for his father, and he almost knocked him over in his excitement, too.

There was a brief stop by Doctor Murphy's office on the way back to Dean's room, to pick up his medication and prescriptions for refills. During that short time, the psychiatrist reiterated that he didn't believe Dean was ready to leave, and he asked John twice more if he was certain of his decision. He spoke to Dean, whom answered in short, clipped responses. When the doctor's eyes fell on Sam, the youngest Winchester told him immediately, "Not leaving here without him, so you don't need to ask." The doctor chuckled at Sam's determination as he handed John the plastic baggie of medication and instruction sheets on when they should be taken, along with a card with his phone number.

It took less than an hour to pack Dean's belongings into an old duffel bag he had in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He had four or five changes of clothing, in addition to three sets of white hospital scrubs. Sam shoved all but the scrubs into the bag, after Dean indicated he didn't want to take them.

Dean pulled his journals from beneath his mattress and tucked them safely into the top, along with some other notebooks, totaling 15. He had a couple dozen letters from John and Bobby, and all of the letters Sam had sent him were tucked in one of his notebooks. Some toiletries and books were tucked in the side of the bag, amongst the clothing. Sam watched as his brother pulled several small pictures from the drawer of his desk – all three were pictures of Sam, at ages 3, 6 and 10 – and slipped them into one of the notebooks.

Sam frowned as he watched his older sibling pile a small stack of books on his desk, which he intended to leave for Castiel. Twelve years of his brother's life fit into one duffel bag? He crossed to stand next to his brother as Dean shot him a look: it took him a moment to recognize it as uncertainty.

"Scared?" Sam asked softly, joining Dean beside the desk. Dean was motionless for a moment before glancing at him and giving a single nod of his head.
"It's okay," he assured the other, "I'll be right there with you." The smile he received in return was small but genuine, and Dean reached out to brush fingers against his arm. Sam caught hold of his hand and clasped it in his own, and his brother visibly relaxed.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing outside an open door further down the hall; Castiel was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed. His voice, deep and quiet, carried to them as he asked calmly from his spot,
"Time for you to go, Dean?"

Dean hesitated, glanced at Sam, before answering, "Yeah, I guess it is."

Sam watched as the man (angel, his mind reminded him) opened his eyes to look at them. The man shifted off the bed, and Dean crossed the room to embrace him. Castiel hugged him back; when he pulled away, he laid a hand on Dean's cheek. "Be safe. Sam will watch over you." Sam nodded in agreement as the would-be angel looked in his direction.