' let him through. '
the winchester cabal has shifted, from sam's beloved human allies to a platform of demonic hosts. they obey implicitly, their loyalty bred a bit of fear, a bit of love.
as it turns out, there is very little sam won't sacrifice to save his brother. and even this was futile.
a madness induced by loss and loneliness crossed those barriers in his mind, latching onto his every cell: they were right. he was something other than human, a golden sparkle to his stare that dissipates behind the film of his baby hazels the moment the elder winchester steps through the partition that makes sam's seat of operations. it's an old mom-n-pop diner, aforementioned mom-n-pop long dead, albeit it was far from sam's doing. he'd simply alighted upon the shell of the foreclosed building and found it's tepid heating elements and the stench of crushed, unsealed ceramic tolerable. it was of no kingly station, despite sam's claim to the throne; earth was still baring it's deciduous teeth in comparison to hell.
' leave. outside. '
with a gesture on loose wrists, dean's gentle escorts (and, truly, they leave him entirely unharmed) disappear, collecting in the foyer of the diner, then the clackity entrance. fortifications muffle the sound spilling over the walls, leaving this room entirely free of prying eyes or suspect ears.
sam stands from his seat, marches over to dean, and throws his arms around the blunt span of his shoulders, cradling him with an unprecedented strength. although his touch is controlled and gossamer light, it's impossible to deny the power coursing just beneath his skin.
' how? '
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