Two years ago Dean Winchester broke his heart. Now he's at Castiel's doorstep, asking for his help, but there's nothing Dean can say that will convince Castiel to listen.
Or so he thinks.
Faced with the news of Sam's disappearance, he decides to put his anger aside and follows Dean to a rural town in Nebraska, where they end up tangled in the missing girl investigation Sam was looking into.
With an unknown threat closing in on them and all the things left unsaid between them about to be revealed, Castiel and Dean race against time to find Sam before it's too late.
His lungs are burning with every agonized breath of air he tries to take.
There are flames licking their way up the walls of the barn already. The door stands wide open right ahead of him, and the sound of a car roaring to life carries inside loud over the creaking of the boards as they surrender to the fire.
His stomach is twisted in a tight knot, his legs itch to turn and run, but he won't. Dean turns his back to the promise of safety, and runs deeper inside. He can’t leave, not yet.
He rushes through the blaze, eyes searching for a way to get to the upper level of the barn.
There has to be something, anything.
The fire has already reached the ladder, the scorching blaze climbing up the steps with every passing second, but there’s the lifting rope, still intact on the other side of the barn. It hangs a few feet above the ground, and Dean's heart soars at the sight of it, even though he knows it's too high for him to reach it without some help.
He checks around him, eyes stinging with tears, desperation choking him almost as much as the dark curls of smoke surrounding him, and then his gaze lands on the old barrels. That's it!
He dashes for them, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his mouth.
He has to make it, he has to save him.
The barrel is heavy, filled to the top with old grains, and it takes all of Dean's strength to manhandle it close enough to use it to reach the rope, but the strain of his muscles barely registers. The adrenaline rushing through him with every frantic heartbeat leaves no room for anything else but a single goal. Everything else is drowned out. His pulse beats loudly in his ears, counting down the seconds before the fire spreads too much and traps them here without any chance for escape.
No. Dean won't let that happen. He's the one that started this, and he's going to figure a way out of it.
Groaning, he pushes the barrel into position, climbs on top of it and charges for the rope. He hangs in mid-air for a second, weightless, feeling the heat of the fire lick his skin on his left side, and he knows he’s running out of time. Against his muscles screaming for him to let go and run, against the rough texture of the rope burning his palms, Dean climbs.
I’m coming, he wants to yell, but the words die behind his gritted teeth. Hang in there, Cas.
