Chapter Text
Sam took the lead as they headed up the ridge. Dean didn’t complain, or even seem to notice, which was exactly why Sam wanted to be in front. A lot of the ground was barren, with only sand and volcanic rocks shifting beneath his boots, but they were pushing through low sagebrush and dried grasses perfect for concealing rattlesnakes.
Dean was a lot less distant than he had been. Sam had been sure he was losing his brother after everything with Dad, but now that there were no more secrets, Dean was almost Dean again. For once, Dean was just too relaxed to focus on what was in front of him.
Sam couldn’t help but smile as he glanced back at his brother. Dean’s expression was easy with an edge of curiosity as his eyes scanned the landscape. A sheen of sweat moistened his skin. The ridges of his cheeks and nose were rosy from the sun beating down during the long hike.
They should have kept driving until the day cooled, but Sam had mentioned the Diamond Craters volcanic field while they’d been speeding down the Columbia Gorge. He’d been thoughtlessly rambling about local geography assuming Dean wasn’t listening anyway, but Dean had been listening enough to drive over to tour the Bonneville Dam and then had demanded volcanoes.
“This looks even less like the Grand Canyon than that sissy-ass gorge did,” Dean said.
Sam stopped at the top of the ridge, squinting against the hot sun. Mountains rose in the distance and nothing but hills and crater-pocketed desert plains lay between them and the visible horizon. It was probably why Dean had finally let his guard down. No one was here but them and this was the last place on earth the FBI would come looking.
The wind whipped up around them, hot and desiccating. Sam ran a hand through his hair, which was heavy with sweat and wiped his brow dry. He pulled out his canteen and chugged down some of the lukewarm water before passing it to Dean.
“For someone who’s never seen the Grand Canyon, you sure know a lot about what it looks like,” Sam said as he set down his day pack.
“That’s the miracle of television. Seen it in real Technicolor and everything.” Dean leaned over to sneak a peek into Sam’s bag. “You better have a decent snack in there.”
Sam did have plenty of food and water and a first aid kit and a book for when Dean passed out in the shade later like Sam knew he would. Between hunts and evading the FBI, they’d been going non-stop for weeks.
Dean was good at pretending he wasn’t tired, enough that he probably even convinced himself, but once they were somewhere safe, he let go. Dean’s quiet snoring had always been an indicator to Sam that things were okay.
“Where are these frickin’ volcanoes you promised me anyway?” Dean asked.
Sam snorted. “You’re on top of one.”
They were surrounded by them, standing on the edge of an eroded dome, looking down into a collapsed crater. To Sam, the volcanic signs were obvious from the basalt rock formations to the fissures cracking the ground and the ancient lava flow they’d passed on the hike up, but Dean was probably looking for a giant cone spewing molten lava.
Dean scratched his head as he stared down into the crater. “This thing isn’t gonna blow up in our face, is it?”
Sam couldn’t tell if it was a joke, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if Dean was serious, given his brother’s tendency to see threats everywhere. Even if it was a real question, Dean couldn’t actually have been that concerned because he was already heading down the ridge towards the crater.
Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, stopping his descent. Eruption wasn’t a threat from the extinct volcano, but weakened areas of decaying rock were. He hadn’t led Dean out here just to have him fall through a fissure he didn’t know to watch out for.
“That’s not the crater I want to show you,” Sam said.
Dean twisted free of Sam’s grip before following his gaze to the far side of the ridge. The view was obscured by a rocky outcropping, but when they walked twenty feet further, a patch of bright green vegetation came into view. It was another crater, set low enough to have collected what little rainwater fell in the area. Over time, it had become a lake in the middle of the desert.
The sky’s blue reflection rippled in the water, mirroring the desolate landscape around them. Dean didn’t take time to reflect on the marvels of geography that had brought the picturesque oasis into existence. Before Sam had even looked back up, Dean was scrambling down the rocky slope.
Sam snatched his pack and scurried to keep up with his brother. He might have a longer stride, but Dean was more agile, not that Sam would ever admit it aloud.
The unofficial race was on as they half-ran, half-slid down the hill, kicking up dirt and starting a mini-avalanche of tumbling basalt. Sam wanted to tell Dean to watch his footing, not because he thought Dean was going to hurt himself, but because he might damage an ancient rock formation. That urge was squelched by the joy of watching his brother run, not because there was some demon on his tail, but just for the hell of it.
Sam skidded to a stop, almost slamming into Dean, as his brother froze at the edge of the green grass. They were both panting as they stood staring towards the water. Only Sam realized a moment later that Dean wasn’t looking at the water at all.
He expected to see a snake, but when Dean crouched down he inspected the grass blades themselves. Sam remained silent, knowing that Dean had picked up on a threat, but not knowing where or what it was.
“Someone’s been here,” Dean said.
Sam would have burst out laughing if he hadn’t considered the implications of Dean’s paranoia. Even dropping Dean in the middle of the high desert wasn’t enough to allow him to completely let go.
Sam would just have to prove to him that sometimes it really was all right to let his guard down. Despite what Dad had raised them to think, there wasn’t always a monster waiting around the next corner.
“Yeah, Dean, a lot of people have been here.”
There was no one else in sight and no sounds but the wind rushing over the terrain. The location was isolated, but it was still a tourist attraction.
“Do you think I used remote viewing to find this spot?” Sam asked. He shoved Dean forward through the hiker-created trail in the high grass. “It was on the internet.”
His hand was on Dean’s shoulder so he could feel the moment the tension eased away. Dean walked forward on his own, barely making it to the pond’s edge before peeling off his sweat-drenched T-shirt and tossing it aside.
“You’re going to need this,” Sam said as he dug into his pack.
Dean’s face scrunched when he looked down at Sam’s hand. “Sunscreen? Dude, I already put that slop on.”
“Back in Portland,” Sam said. “And you’ve been sweating like a pig.”
“You’re the pig.”
“Says the guy who ate two entire plates at breakfast.” Sam shoved the bottle at Dean. “Just put it on. I don’t want to listen to you cry all night about your back being on fire.”
“I don’t cry.” Dean snatched the sunscreen from Sam’s hand. “But you’d cry too if you didn’t have that freakish tanning skin.”
Sam rolled his eyes. When they’d been little, Dean’s hair had been blond and his freckles had stood out like stars in a dark night sky, but even then he’d sworn he didn’t have fair skin. Clearly, Sam being a superhuman freak made far more sense as to why Dean burned and Sam didn’t. Of course, in a way, Dean had turned out to be right, at least about the inhuman freak part.
“The only thing that hurts right now is this stupid-ass tattoo,” Dean said, as he smeared sunscreen around the skin that couldn’t actually still be tender.
Dean had finally convinced Sam that Meg’s possession had been a demon problem, and not directly an issue of what Sam was. Dean had been content to leave it at that and to just hang on to Bobby’s protective charm. But Dean had lost his. Twice.
Dean didn’t know what it was like to see suffering being inflicted by his own hands and being unable to stop it. Sam was determined to make sure that Dean never did know and, even more importantly, that a demon could never again use him to hurt Dean or anyone else.
Ironically enough, they had Meg to thank for having found the sigil for the tattoos. The book that had contained the full details on the binding link Meg had branded into Sam’s skin to keep herself in had likewise described how to keep demons out.
It had been perfect, or at least Sam had thought so. Dean, on the other hand, had nothing but complaints. He’d bitched that he’d have to make up a story about it for every girl he slept with, as if lying was suddenly hard for Dean. Sam sold him on girls liking bad-boy tattoos, but then Dean had grumbled that everyone already thought they were gay without them having matching tattoos.
Despite his words, Dean had never said no, making most of his points while driving them to the tattoo parlor. He’d known how important it was to Sam, but accepting it didn’t stop the griping. The artist who had done the work was a hunter and had been thorough about the ink application. It had hurt, but not like having your gut torn open by a monster and Dean never complained about that.
Dean finished covering his arms and chest with sunscreen before turning around and holding out the bottle. Sam took it from him and squeezed a pile into his hands. He rubbed it over Dean’s back far more thoroughly than Dean had bothered to.
His hand hesitated over a healing line of gashes that had been torn into Dean’s side during a hunt several weeks earlier and the yellowing bruise that covered most of his left shoulder. He wasn’t even sure which of the times Dean had been thrown had caused it, but more visible than the discolored skin was the still-red scar tissue from the bullet shot by Sam’s own hand.
Dean had waited until three days after they’d gotten rid of Meg to tell him about it. He only had then because Sam had found him hiding in the bathroom changing bloody bandages after a hunt had ripped the wound open again. Dean hadn’t wanted to tell him about the shooting because he thought Sam would use it as further proof that he was a danger to Dean and everyone else he touched.
Dean had been right, but by that point Sam had seen how much his constant urging for Dean to stop him was breaking his brother down. It wouldn’t change what Dean would do so he’d let it drop.
Sam jumped when Dean elbowed him in the gut.
“I know you wish you had this baby soft skin,” Dean said. “But if you don’t get your touchy-feely girly hands off me I will kick your ass.”
“Just a second.”
Sam lifted the strap to Dean’s amulet and rubbed another handful of sunscreen over the nape of his neck where the skin was already burning, a stark contrast to the skin that had been protected by his shirt.
Dean squirmed, swiping at the back of his neck. “Dude, you use too much of that crap.”
“You don’t use enough. Have you even read the bottle?”
“No one but you has read the damn bottle,” Dean said. “This stuff doesn’t work anyway.”
Sam smeared a glop over Dean’s nose before snapping the cap back on. “Because you don’t use enough.”
Dean took a swing at him, but was too distracted with rubbing the sunscreen off his nose to put any effort into the punch. “It’s all slimy,” Dean whined.
It never ceased to amaze Sam that his brother could go from unshakably stoic to a petulant two year old and back again in the blink of an eye. He was back to something resembling an adult by the time he finished smearing the sunscreen into his cheeks.
“You happy now?” Dean asked.
Sam shook his head as he returned the bottle to his pack. “You’ll thank me later.”
“No, later I’m finding you a chick to feel up.”
Sam wasn’t fast enough to jump back before Dean wiped the last of the sunscreen from his hands onto Sam’s shirt, leaving a greasy smear. He opened his mouth to tell Dean off, but had to look away first.
Dean was unbuttoning his jeans and a moment later tossed them aside with his boxers. Sam heard the quiet splashing when Dean slipped into the lake. He looked back at the sound of Dean’s content sigh as he settled down into the water.
Dean splashed a wave at the shore that Sam barely managed to avoid. “Get in here, Sammy.”
“I though you didn’t want anyone seeing our tattoos together.”
“Damn straight,” Dean said. “You already ruin my pickups because everyone thinks you’re my girlfriend, but there’s no one here.”
“Did you miss the part about this being a tourist area?”
Dean swam out before turning back towards Sam. He smirked as he casually treaded water. “I heard you and I’m hoping the next tourist to stumble by is over eighteen and hot as hell. So yeah, on second thought, you hide in the grass so your ugly ass face doesn’t scare her off.”
Sam shook his head and settled down at the edge of the water. “Is it actually cool?”
“Cooler than that rock you’re baking on.”
Sam’s hand barely touched the water before a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. When he turned, he didn’t see anything, but heard the crunching of brittle rocks beneath boots.
“Dean, someone’s coming.”
“Is she cute?”
Sam stood and listened. He could now clearly hear multiple sets of footsteps approaching, but still couldn’t pinpoint exactly where they were coming from until he saw a group of men appear from behind the nearest jagged rock wall.
“If you like beards,” Sam said.
Dean nearly choked on the water he’d tipped his head back into. He must have seen how close they were then because he stayed in the water without trying to get dressed.
The men were approaching too quickly to be on a leisurely walk. It tugged at Sam’s nerves even though he and Dean had run down here themselves. Sam took a deep breath. Like he’d told Dean, not everyone was out to get them.
There wasn’t any other water in the area and this feature was on all the area’s tourist maps. That still didn’t explain why the group was heading directly towards them when there was plenty of room on the other side of the crater.
“You need some help?” Sam called out to them.
They stopped at the edge of the grass, looking past Sam to Dean, who had come as close as he could to the shore and still be waist-deep in the water. The first thing Sam noticed was the expression on their faces. They were blank, silently evaluating in a way that sent a chill down Sam’s spine.
He stepped forward to put himself in between those cold stares and his brother. He squared his stance and leveled his gaze with theirs, forcing them to look at him. They barely regarded him before turning to each other to speak in hushed whispers Sam couldn’t make out over the wind.
“What’s going on?” Dean asked.
Sam kept his eyes forward, but could feel his brother directly behind him, ready to leave the water and fight at a moment’s notice. Five of the six men were sturdily built and looked capable of posing a threat, even if they were only human.
The sixth man, who appeared to be leading the group, took a step forward to separate himself from the others. He was older, with graying shoulder-length hair. His right hand played thoughtfully through the waves of his beard while the left tapped rhythmically at the top of his walking stick.
The thick, gnarled wood was polished to a shine. Given that the man’s balance seemed fine, it looked like the staff was more for show than necessity.
“Father Daniel, is it him?” one of the men asked.
The question was directed towards the man with the staff and had an odd ring of reverence. Daniel was watching the water, watching Dean, but the others were all looking to Daniel expectantly.
Dean rubbed his hand through his wet hair. He looked over his shoulder as if searching the crater for the source of Daniel’s focus before he settled his sights back on the older man.
“You’re gonna have to at least buy me dinner if you wanna keep staring at me like that,” Dean said.
Although his gaze remained steady on Dean, when Daniel replied, he was clearly speaking to the men gathered behind him. “He bears the mark and has already been bathed in the sacred waters.”
Dean looked down at his chest then narrowed his gaze on Sam. “I told you these tattoos were gonna be trouble.” Dean shifted his focus back to Daniel and gestured towards his chest. “This isn’t a mark. It’s just my brother’s stupid idea of—”
Daniel resumed talking as if he couldn’t even hear Dean. “He’ll be strong enough to survive the Rising.” He raised his walking stick, pointing it towards them. “Take both in case his soul is too stained to be purified.”
Sam was already prepared when the five younger men rushed forward. Water splashed behind him as Sam swung at the first man. The moment after he hit his target, he shot a glance to the side to make sure Dean was all right.
Dean was back on land with water still rolling off his body as he curled his fists. He scanned for the weakest point in the group and a way to his pants. Sam only had his pocketknife, but Dean had undoubtedly brought his gun.
A fist crashed into Sam’s temple, shooting pain through his skull. Blackness swam over his vision as he heard Dean shout his name. By the time he could focus again, his arms were being tied behind his back.
Blood dripped from Dean’s nose, staining his teeth red as Dean continued to throw wild punches at the remaining men. One lay on the ground, but two others rushed forward and tackled him. Dean hit the rocks hard, but immediately tried to buck the men off as they jerked his arms behind his back.
One man straddled Dean’s hips and held his wrists tight with both hands. The other jammed an elbow between Dean’s shoulder blades while gripping the back of Dean’s neck with his other hand, grinding his face down against the rocks.
Dean’s struggle only ceased when Daniel crouched in front of him. The man holding Dean’s neck released his grip, allowing Daniel to grasp Dean’s chin and force his head up. Dean’s glare was cold enough to freeze hell.
Daniel had to either be an Emmy-winning actor or clinically insane given his lack of reaction to Dean’s silent promise of disembowelment. The man only made some thoughtful sounds before releasing Dean’s bloody cheek and standing back to visually examine the rest of Dean’s body as if he were evaluating a purchase.
“He’s already been fighting the war of heaven’s army,” Daniel said.
Dean looked confused, but Sam knew Daniel was looking at the hunting injuries Dean hadn’t given a second thought. To prove his point, Daniel tapped his walking stick against the claw marks healing on Dean’s side hard enough that Sam heard the thunk.
Dean growled. “That was a gargoyle, not heaven’s army, you douche. Now let us go.”
Dean’s words only seemed to pique Daniel’s interest. He came down beside Dean again, this time kneeling. He placed his hands over the wounds and trailed up over Dean’s exposed torso. Dean went stiff beneath the touch that must have felt as intimate as it looked.
“Get your hands off him!” Sam demanded.
“Many battles.” As Daniel spoke, oblivious to Sam’s shouts, he traced the maze of scars so much a part of Dean's skin even Sam no longer saw them. “This body is weary and ready for rest.”
There was a twinge in Dean’s eyes at the words that clenched Sam’s heart. He knew Dean was tired straight down to his soul. He was tired of fighting and running and losing everything. There was no way to win and no way out, but Sam would be damned before he let these people take what was left of his brother.
Daniel set his hand over Dean’s face. He closed his eyes, taking on a depth of concentration that would have been consistent with a Vulcan mind meld. Dean tried to pull back, but was blocked by the others holding him, forced to lie still as Daniel pressed close.
Sam twisted furiously in the grips that held him. “What are you doing to him?”
Daniel grasped his walking stick and returned to his feet. He looked over the other men and nodded. “Consent has been given.”
“Consent, my ass,” Dean said.
Dean surged up. He flipped the man who had been pinning him, slamming a fist into his nose before scrambling to his feet. When one of the other men darted in, Dean swept his leg out, taking the man to the ground.
“Dean!”
Sam’s warning came too late. Daniel might be older, but he was apparently still physically capable. With a hard swing, he clubbed Dean in the gut with the walking stick before cracking it down over his shoulders.
Dean hit his knees hard, biting back a hoarse cry as the sharp rocks shredded his skin. He doubled over with his arm wrapped protectively around his midsection. He was still struggling to return air to his lungs when Daniel’s boot shoved him forward onto the ground.
They wrestled to keep him down, one of the men leaving Sam’s side to help flip Dean onto his back. Two of them grabbed his legs, pinning his ankles down while the man who had left Sam’s side held down his shoulders. Dean rutted against their hold as his hands were tied in front of him.
“If you bastards touch me, I'll kill you all,” Dean spat.
Daniel did touch him, but only to put his hand over Dean's heart as he began to chant. It was obvious nothing tangible was happening when Dean only raised his brow. Still, those holding him and Dean stood transfixed.
"His energy has been freed,” Daniel said as he stood. “Finish the cleansing.”
They hauled Dean up and dragged him back towards the water. Patches of blood smeared his skin where sharp stones had scraped away flesh. His struggling wasn’t enough to stop them from throwing him backwards into the lake.
Sam thrashed against the hands that held him, crying out for his brother as Dean disappeared beneath the water. All he could see was the splashing from Dean’s kicking legs as he struggled to right himself without the use of his arms.
Terror gripped him as Dean sank from view. This wasn’t a normal lake with gently sloping shores. It was a crater that could have a sheer drop at any point.
The waves had began to settle before Dean came up gasping, barely able to lift his mouth high enough to get in a clear breath. He was trying to move towards shore when two of them men waded out to join him. They took positions on either side of him, and grasped his arms to hold him up out of the water as they chanted.
Sam couldn’t pull himself together enough to translate the words. He could only lock his gaze with Dean’s, seeing his brother edging on panic that he fought to choke down right before the men pushed down, forcing Dean’s head back beneath the water.
“No!” Sam shouted. “Let him up!”
Sam counted the seconds, his own breath still in his chest as he willed them to release Dean. Instead, they held him down until his struggling ceased and the waters were still.
Even when they let him go, Dean didn’t come up on his own. They dragged out his limp body and dropped him down on the shore. He lay sprawled half-in, half-out of the water, the waves from the commotion lapping against his still body. Sam couldn’t see him breathing.
The men on either side of him were as focused on Dean as Sam was, easing their hold enough that he tore free. He shot forward and stumbled to his knees at his brother’s side. His fingers frantically strained against the binds to reach for the pocketknife tucked in his back pocket.
Daniel stood over them. “God is judging his worthiness.”
Sam was sick to his stomach. The look he shot to Daniel was sharp as a dagger. “No, he’s not.”
He knew Dean didn’t believe in God or anything beyond the darkness of this world. Right now, Sam wasn’t sure either. But there was one thing he knew for certain. If there were a god, he wouldn’t have to consider Dean’s worthiness. He’d already know.
Sam hid the knife in his palm as he slid it open and struggled to position it to cut the ropes that held him. He’d just inserted it into the fibers when Dean began to choke. Water sputtered from his pale lips as he turned his head to the side and was overtaken by a hacking cough that made Sam’s own throat hurt.
“It’s okay, Dean. Just breathe.”
Dean still hadn’t opened his eyes. He grimaced as he gagged, but started to take in full breaths of air. At that moment, the men Sam hadn’t seen approaching jerked him away. The knife clattered uselessly to the rocks.
“It’s final,” Daniel said. “He’s been accepted as the gateway for the nephilim’s entry into this world.”
“The nefl...what?” Dean rasped.
Daniel nodded to the other men. “Get him on his feet. The others have been waiting far too long for this day.”
Dean was still on the edge of consciousness when they lifted him, his knees buckling as they tried to stand him up. They patiently waited for him to find his footing. As soon as he was aware enough to stand on his own, the man in front of Dean grasped the loose end of rope that dangled from Dean’s bound wrists and gave it a tug.
Dean grimaced and tried to pull back against the lead. He was looking over his shoulder towards his clothes. Usually Sam would have interpreted it as his brother’s last-ditch effort to get to his gun, but Dean looked disoriented enough Sam wasn’t sure that Dean didn’t just want to get dressed. His eyes were earnest enough that even the man restraining Dean sent a questioning look to Daniel.
“They won’t be needed,” Daniel said. “He’s beyond the physical needs of this world, as we all soon will be.”
“Easy for the guy with boots to say,” Dean grumbled as he was jerked forward.
Given Dean’s condition, Sam had no choice but to let the group lead them along. After a few minutes of attempted questioning, it became painfully clear they weren’t getting any answers about where they were being taken.
He quickly lost track of time and their location. All he could see was Dean wincing with every step he took.
Without his clothes to hide beneath, Dean couldn’t hide how tightly pulled every one of his muscles was. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, licking his lips before again staring blankly ahead.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
Dean shot him a glare. “I’m being dragged buck-ass naked through the desert to see a nefla-whatever. Yeah, this is fucking awesome.”
Sam was well aware how screwed-up this all was. The heat was enough that all Sam wanted to do was lie down and he hadn’t been drowned. Something was really hurting Dean and Sam needed to know what, even if he was only kidding himself thinking there was anything he could do about it.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s fine.” Dean glanced at him before averting his eyes. “It just hurts like a fucking son of bitch.”
Sam followed Dean’s gaze to the ground and the jagged rocks Dean’s feet were being forced to scrape over. Sam gritted his teeth and nodded. “Do you want my boots?”
“No, I want my boots. And my pants. And for one of these goddamn bastards to say something to us!” Dean shouted the last part at one of the men who walked at his side. “This is like that episode of the Twilight Zone where those cat women from Mars enslaved the colonists. Minus the hot chicks, and we sure as hell better not be their new breeders.”
Sam shook his head. Sometimes he wasn’t sure how he and Dean could be the same species, let alone brothers. No matter how ridiculous his choice of conversation, Sam had to keep Dean distracted until he found an opening.
“That’s not a Twilight Zone episode.”
“Sure it is,” Dean said. “We watched it together on New Years.”
Sam gritted his teeth when he realized Dean wasn’t joking. They had watched the marathon together on New Years and when they had, Dean had known every episode. There was no way that Dean with full cognitive abilities intact would seriously attribute some lame porn movie’s plot to the series.
Sam looked closer at his brother. He’d been doing his best not to stare at Dean, given the already compromising situation, but the red flush to Dean’s skin wasn’t necessarily only sunburn. Sam had been assuming his unsteady steps and uneven breathing were from the pain of walking, but while Sam’s shirt clung to him, and sweat he couldn’t brush away ran into his eyes, Dean’s skin had lost its sheen.
“Does your head hurt?” Sam asked.
“Everything does.”
“Like...?”
“You know, even when we’re being dragged off by a bunch of freaks, you’re still a nosey-ass son of a bitch.”
“Dean, I’m serious. Does your stomach hurt?”
“Some bastard slammed his stick into it. What do you think?”
Sam gave a frustrated sigh. It should be next to impossible to be irritated at Dean when his brother was barely holding on, but it didn’t matter what was happening, Dean could still be infuriatingly dense.
“Are you nauseous?” Sam clarified. “Muscle cramps?”
“Maybe we could wait until I’m dressed to play doctor.” Dean stumbled before looking back at Sam. He had that look he got sometimes when he woke up and didn’t know where he was. “You got my clothes?”
Sam tried to count how many times he’d remembered seeing Dean drink on their hike out here. He’d started giving Dean his water when the flask had gone dry. Of course, he’d been assuming the flask had been filled with water.
“Dean, what was in your flask?”
“I don’t have it.”
“I know,” Sam said. “But what was in it?”
“It’s my whiskey flask.” Dean looked at him like he was an idiot. “What do you think’s in it?”
“You were drinking on the hike out?”
Sam shook his head. That explained why Dean had been so obscenely relaxed with an edge of irrational paranoia. It also wasn’t as if Dean had known how long the hike would be and they’d already decided they were sleeping here. Sam wasn’t sure how much further these men planned on leading them, but he knew Dean wouldn’t make it. He was already stumbling more than he was walking.
“Hey,” Sam called up to Daniel. “He needs water and if you don’t get him out of the sun you can forget about your ritual.”
Sam was guessing about what would catch the man’s attention and it must have been the right call. Daniel stopped and turned around. It was the first time he’d acknowledged anything they’d said.
Following Daniel’s lead, the other men also stopped walking and stepped aside from Dean. Without the constant tug of the rope pulling him forward, Dean faltered. He took one more staggered step then collapsed onto his knees, his bound hands barely catching him before his face hit the rocks.
With the bottoms of his feet off the ground, Sam could see that Dean didn’t just have a couple of scratches. His soles were shredded and bloody, compacted with sand and bits of sagebrush.
Daniel set his hand against Dean’s forehead. Dean jerked, blinking before squinting up at the man.
“Who are you?” Dean asked.
With a nod, Daniel motioned to a man carrying a jug of water attached to his belt. “He’s only to have the sacred water.”
Despite how quick the large man had been to beat Dean earlier, his movements were now reverent as he crouched down in front of Dean. He grasped Dean’s chin and set the jug’s opening to his cracked lips.
Dean only took in a couple of gulps before choking. The water spurted from his mouth and dripped back down his chin. Sam wasn’t sure if Dean was actually having trouble swallowing or if he was just too disoriented to know that he wasn’t being drowned again.
“Dean, it’s all right,” Sam said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Just drink it.”
At Sam’s coaxing, Dean opened his eyes. He still looked disoriented, but his thirst and trust in Sam eased him into accepting the offered water. Sam could only hope it was actually water they were giving him.
Even after he drank as much as he was able, Dean didn’t try to stand. He looked like he wanted to lie down and tipped towards the side before the largest man lifted him. Sam knew Dean was out of it when he didn’t even try to fight as the man tossed Dean over his shoulder.
There was a sinking feeling in Sam’s gut as the group continued to lead them on further into the desert. He watched his brother’s arms dangle limply, knowing their chances of getting out alive diminished with every step.