Chapter Text
Dean waited.
His body wanted nothing more than to get some rest, worn down by two days with no sleep and too much worry, plus a beating that had left him battered and bruised. Four hours of panicked driving to reach Bobby's place after something literally scooped Sam up in a beam of light, six more while waiting for Ellen and figuring out the right kind of mojo they'd need to find him, another five until they reached an old abandoned cemetery in the middle of Wyoming. They'd shown up expecting to find some kind of demon, and sure enough the same yellow-eyed thing that had killed Dad was right there; only he had an entire fucking underground lair, a small army of minions, and was in the middle of pitting Sam and a bunch of other psychic-weirdo kids against each other in some kind of battle royale. All Dean, Bobby, and Ellen managed to do was get their asses handed to them, right up until the actual Army showed up - well, the Air Force, and Dean knew his dad would just drop dead on the spot if he knew his boys had to be saved by that bunch. At least there'd been some Marines along to do the heavy lifting.
Dean had been glad for any kind of help they could get, though. In the firefight he'd managed to shoot Ol' Yellow Eyes dead, one last shot from the Colt straight to the heart, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying as it would have been if he'd done it ten minute earlier, before his brother took a knife to the back.
So there he was, sitting on a bed in 'guest quarters' with a locked door, deep inside some military complex located God only knows where, because they'd gotten there by some kind of freaky teleportation, waiting to find out if Sam was okay and not really caring much about anything else.
Dean wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there when the door opened and a tall, sandy-haired man in uniform stepped through. He was one of the soldiers who'd been there earlier.
"Evening," he said. "Mind if I take a seat?"
"It's your underground base," Dean said.
The soldier smile slightly and pulled one of the room's chairs over. "I don't think I had a chance to introduce myself. Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, United States Air Force."
"Dean Winchester, but I imagine you already know that."
"That I do, Mr. Winchester, even if it took a while to sort through the fake IDs."
Dean sighed. "Look, how about we cut the crap and you tell me when the FBI's going to be showing up to get me."
"They won't be. This has gone way, way above the security clearance of your friend Agent Hendrickson. I do have to say, it's quite an interesting list of charges he's built up — grave desecration, assaults, impersonating officers of the law, bank robbery, murder. I especially like the part where you were declared dead, complete with a body. Neat trick, that."
"You wouldn't believe the explanation for that even if I told you," Dean said.
"Try me."
"Shapeshifter."
"Huh," Mitchell said, his smile reappearing, even broader now. "Cool."
"Cool?" Dean repeated incredulously. "That's it? No disbelief, no threats about locking me up forever, just 'cool'?"
"You have to admit, shapeshifters are cool, unless they start causing trouble. As for the rest, we'll just have to see what our own investigation turns up before accepting you really did all that. In our experience, it's best not to assume everything's what it looks like, especially when aliens are involved."
"Demons," Dean corrected.
"What?"
"Demons. That's what the things we were fighting were, at least the leaders. They get inside peoples' heads, take 'em over."
"Nooo," Mitchell said slowly. "Those were aliens. I can see how you'd be mistaken, though."
"Dude, I've been fighting ghost and other supernatural crap since I was four. I know demons when I see them. There's no such thing as aliens."
"You were fighting inside a buried laboratory," Mitchell said. "A laboratory full of alien technology."
Dean shrugged. "So his lair was full of gizmos. Doesn't mean anything."
"There was a tel'kesh-class midrange transport buried in the field next door."
"Oh." Dean's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Okay, so maybe they were aliens. But that doesn't mean the rest isn't real."
"Well that's just wonderful," Mitchell said with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead. "This is going to be one of those long, painful debriefings, isn't it?"
"Look, I'll tell you whatever you want, but would you mind telling me how everyone else is?"
"Mr. Singer and Mrs. Harvelle are fine, they're in the rooms next door. Your brother's actually why I came. He just got out of surgery. He's going to be fine."
"Can I see him?"
Mitchell hesitated, then nodded. "Sure, if you promise to behave."
"Yeah, because I'm going to break out of your top-secret base while dragging my injured brother behind," Dean said. At Mitchell's pointed look he let out an exasperated sigh and said, "Yes, I promise."
"Good. Come on."
Mitchell had the guards open the door and led him through a winding maze of corridors, with MPs trailing them a short distance behind. After a short time they arrived in a small hospital ward. Several beds were occupied, but it was only the last one that Dean cared. An Asian woman in a doctor's lab coat and another, taller woman with long dark hair were softly speaking to each other. The latter looked exhausted and held a small, round device in her hand; Dean was pretty sure he'd seen her during the battle.
"I'm fairly certain I got everything healed and hopefully there's no infection," Dark and Beautiful was saying. "If there's any trouble later, you know where to find me."
"Thanks for all the help," the doctor said. She noticed Dean and Mitchell approaching. "Colonel. Mr. Winchester senior, I presume?"
"That'd be me."
"Doctor Carolyn Lam." She shook his hand. "Your brother's in stable condition. It was a bit touch and go for a while but we've repaired the damage to his spine and intestines. It may be a few days before he's up and about, but we expect he'll make a full recovery."
Dean couldn't quite believe it, not having seen the size and depth of the wound, but if he could accept aliens he could accept a small miracle. "Good. That's good. Uh, do you mind if I sit here and wait for him to wake up?"
Lam pursed her lips and glanced at Mitchell but reluctantly nodded. "It may be a while, but go ahead. If you need anything yourself, don't hesitate to ask."
"Thanks."
"We'll see about bringing your friends down later," Mitchell said. He looked at the other woman. "I had the mess save you some desert, Vala."
"Wonderful," Vala said. "All this work has left me starving."
They walked away, although the guards remained discreetly stationed at the doors. Dean ignored them and sat down at Sam's bedside. His brother looks pale and fragile surround with all the medical equipment.
"We won, Sam," he said softly. "We may be in a hell of a lot of trouble, but I guess that's normal, and at least you're alive, right? That's got to count for something."
He settled into to wait again, eventually falling asleep himself.