Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean was gone.

Dean was gone.

Dick was gone, not dead but he couldn’t hurt anyone. The world was safe from the Leviathans, at the low, low price of Dean Winchester’s life. And wasn’t that just a punch to the gut? They could do anything, they could give up everything to fix the world, they could damn it, they could drive themselves down to the bone; but they were never safe. There would never be a happy ending for Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam stared straight ahead as he sped through the night. Dean was gone, and so was Cas. Bobby was dead. Who knew where Kevin was. Sam was alone . For what felt like the first time in his life, he felt well and truly alone. It was different when Dean was in Hell—Bobby was out there, and there was a place to run to if he really needed it—and even when he was in the Cage, where he could comfort himself with the thought that Dean was alive, safe, and living his life out while Sam was being tortured. But now there was nowhere to go. There was nobody to run to. And there was nothing Sam could do about it.

He blinked through the tears streaming down his eyes. There was nothing left for him. His foot pressed on the Impala’s gas pedal. Dean was gone. He took a deep breath, and slowly lifted his hands off the wheel—

There was a body on the side of the road.

Sam swerved to the side. He looked like he was still breathing, and he’d never forgive himself if he just left him there. He opened the door and wrapped his jacket around himself, shivering slightly from the chilly wind. The kid couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, with a black eye forming on his face and blood coating his chest.

“Hey, you okay, kid?” he whispered, crouching down to check for a pulse. It was weak, but steady, and Sam let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. The kid let out a whine, and Sam made a decision. 

It took a little maneuvering, but eventually the kid was in the back of the Impala, a spare coat draped over him, and Sam was speeding towards the nearest motel.

Klaus wasn’t sure what was going on.

Last he knew, one of his dealers was kicking his ass because—well, actually, he wasn’t quite sure why. Ben had been urging him to run, but when had Klaus ever listened to Ben? He just wanted his drugs, dammit. But now, some shaggy-haired giant was placing him on a bed, making soft shushing noises at him. Something was making some sort of high-pitched whine, too, and—oh, that was coming from him. Ben was standing near him, never taking his eyes off the new guy. Klaus looked towards him.

“Should be safe,” Ben muttered with an eye-roll. “Should’ve just left it alone with Josh, dumbass.”

Was that the dealer’s name?

Shaggy was back, a first-aid kit in his hands. And, damn, that thing was huge. It was almost as big as the emergency medical bag Mom always had for after a mission.

There was a cloth gently wiping the blood and dirt from his face. He closed his eyes, and he could almost imagine it was Mom fixing him up.

The kid had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past hour. When he was conscious, he kept calling for his mother, someone named Ben, and occasionally a Diego. It was nothing too serious; mostly superficial, and he only needed to stitch a few gashes.

Now, Sam was sitting on a chair near the door, head in his hands. He wished Dean was here. He’d know what to do. Dean always knew what to do. Sam only fucked things up, and he really, really didn’t want to hurt the kid. He just wanted Dean . God, it felt like he’d lost him ages ago. When was the last time Dean actually trusted him? Before he released Lucifer, probably. 

Listen here, you bloodsucking freak…

Sam had no idea why Dean even bothered staying with him. Why Dean kept him by his side even after everything Sam had done. How could he even look him in the eye? He’d never made good on his threats, if he had Sam wouldn’t be sitting here right now, but sometimes Sam wished he had. He wished he’d just gotten it over with, shot him or stabbed him or burnt him alive, he didn’t care. Maybe if Dean had, he’d be alive right now. Maybe Bobby would be there, and standing. Maybe Ellen and Jo would be perfectly safe. Maybe Cas would be in Heaven, in his home, with his family. All Sam ever did was ruin things—

“Hey,” said a voice, slightly slurred.

Chapter Text

Ben did not have time for this shit.

Well, technically, he did. He was dead, after all. He had all the time in the world. But his point still stands. But Klaus was Klaus, and Klaus had an annoying penchant for getting into shitty situations. Today was yet another example: Klaus had pissed off one of his dealers, and the guy left him in the middle of the road, just barely conscious and probably bleeding out. Ben had only just managed to cajole Klaus into crawling out of the street. At least he wouldn’t die getting hit by a car again, Ben had thought to himself. Because Klaus had a nasty habit of dying. He’d thought it was merely Klaus being lucky at first. Because paramedics would always be able to restart his heart, and every time he overdosed in some back alley he’d wake up after a bit. Nobody wants to believe their brother was dead, not even Ben, who was dead already. He’d squashed down every doubt, refusing to believe his brother had died at least a dozen times, with Ben having stood by, unable to do anything to save him. But then he’d seen Klaus recover from being shot in the head, and he’d had to face reality; Klaus did die, though apparently it wouldn’t stick.

Ben had been stuck sitting next to Klaus and offering comforting words whenever he was conscious (which was, unfortunately, many times throughout the hour or two he’d been here), whimpering in pain. He’d stayed by him as the drugs he’d taken earlier that day, or maybe it’d been yesterday, wore off slowly, and a few other ghosts started showing up and doing their regularly scheduled screaming. As horrible as the thought was, and as much as he hated himself for thinking it, Ben found himself hoping Klaus would succumb to his injuries. At least that way the worst of it would heal and he wouldn’t be suffering. Because, as much as Ben hated what Klaus did to himself, Klaus was still his brother and he loved him.

Ben’s saving grace had been a man driving by who, apparently having more decency than those who’d simply seen Klaus and kept on driving, had stopped and lifted his brother into his car. And sure, there was a chance this was some creep or something, but at least someone was helping him. And it definitely wasn’t someone Dad had sent to find him, because Dad would never work with a lumberjack driving a muscle car, elitist that he was.

So now, Ben found himself in a motel, sitting beside an unconscious Klaus as a strange man bandaged his wounds. He seemed to have a very, very extensive first-aid kit, and—did he have morphine in there? Ben moved to take a closer look, and yes, yes he did. Returning to his vigil by Klaus’s side, Ben ran a hand through his hair. The guy had started murmuring things under his breath, looking over to different parts of the room and tensing every so often. Adding that with the morphine, Ben was pretty sure the man was a druggie. Oh, great, Ben thought. This probably wouldn’t end well.

As the guy carefully put things back in his first-aid kit, Ben weighed his options. He could hope the guy wasn’t actually an addict or he could try to get Klaus to wake up and run. The second one didn’t seem very likely—Klaus might heal himself after he died, but he hadn’t died this time. He’d be slow and in pain, and Ben loathed causing his brother any undue pain.

“Klaus,” he murmured as the man sat, “Klaus, you need to wake up.”

Klaus didn’t stir, the contrary bastard.

“C’mon, Klaus,” he said, louder this time. “Wake up, man.”

“Klaus…” a voice rasped.

Ben turned around and swore. Fucking ghosts, he thought to himself. Klaus must be coming down from whatever he’d taken earlier, because ghosts had started to appear all around them. A woman with a slit throat sobbed and screamed in the corner of the room, clutching her neck where it streamed blood down her chest. A man with a gunshot wound in his head clawed at what was left of his face. If Klaus woke up to this, he’d probably go straight into a panic attack. Which isn’t exactly a great scenario, but is even worse when there’s a maybe drug addict and possible serial killer in the room too.

“Klaus!” Ben begged.

Finally, Klaus opened his eyes. He looked groggily at Ben, who made furious shushing sounds to keep him from talking. Klaus actually listened for once. Convenient for Ben, of course, because it meant he could get his brother up to speed.

“Klaus,” he sighed in relief. “You should be safe, and—please stop looking at the other ghosts—the guy patched you up. You should run, man. I don’t know how much longer he’ll be nice and I’m not sure we should take the chance he hurts you.”

Klaus blinked, trying to understand what Ben was saying. Gonna say hi, he mouthed, and Ben looked at him in frustration. Damn brothers and their stupid decisions.

“Hey,” slurred Klaus, trying to push himself up.

The guy scurried over from his spot at the window, helping Klaus sit up on the bed. “Hey, hey kid,” he soothed, “you’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He pushed a pillow to the head of the bed, positioning Klaus’s back and head so they would be supported. “You should be fine, okay? I fixed you up, nothing too bad. Do you want me to call someone? Parents? Sibling?”

“No, no, no,” Klaus said slowly. “No one to call.”

Ben sighed. “I’m sure Diego would come get you if you called, you know.” And he would. No matter how much he hated Klaus’s decisions, Klaus was still Diego’s brother. If Klaus called Diego asking for help, Diego would come running.

“Shut up, Ben,” Klaus muttered.

The man looked at Klaus with a sigh. “You sure there’s no one you can call?”

“Yep,” Klaus shrugged.

“I can take you to the hospital, then.”

“No!” Klaus shouted.

He held his hands up and backed away slightly, as though he was faced with a wild animal. Honestly, thought Ben, that description isn’t too far off.

“Alright, alright,” the man soothed. “No hospitals, I’ve got it.”

“Klaus…” Ben sighed. “Diego. Go to Diego, man.”

“Shut up, Ben!” Klaus snapped.

The man looked at him, brows furrowed, opening his mouth as if to ask a question.

Klaus glared at Ben, and, honestly, it was as effective as that of an infant kitten. But then, something happened. Something Ben had only seen once before.

Klaus’s eyes began to thrum with an energy within them. A soft blue glow appeared, overshadowing the green irises; before they fluttered closed and he began to hyperventilate. A soft wind began to sweep through the floor, blue gathering at the corners. The ghostly figures around him began to flicker with a haunting cerulean light.

Ben walked slowly towards him, as not to startle his brother, and crouched before him. “Klaus,” he said, voice gentle yet loud enough to be heard through the screaming around them, “Klaus, calm down.” He sat before him, careful to make sure he did not touch him, and did his best to soothe. He could feel as his brother’s powers, out of control as they were, brought him in and out of visibility. He knew he should probably check to see what was going on with the man in the room, but, right now, all Ben cared about was Klaus. Calming him down. Stopping him from hurting himself.

Through heavy panting, Klaus opened his eyes. The glow slowly flickered out and died. “Ben?” he muttered, voice cracking and eyes tearing up. “Ben, it hurts. It’s so cold. Ben, I want to go.”

“I know, Klaus, I know.” Ben fought back the wave of emotion that washed over him. “You’re not there anymore, remember? You’re not there anymore. We’re out.”

“ Oh…” he breathed. “That’s good. That’s good.”

And then he promptly passed out.