Before/After
K Hanna Korossy
She was dirty and there were some cobwebs, but that was to be expected after six months under a tarp in an old barn. That didn't matter to Dean: all he saw was his baby.
"Aw, sweetheart, I've missed you," he crooned, running his hands along the clean lines of her fender.
"Oh, now I see why you consider your car female," Cas said thoughtfully behind him.
"Shh," he threw over his shoulder as he swept his eyes up her frame. This moment was between him and his girl. The Leviathan had taken almost everything from him this year, but at least he had this little piece back, even if briefly.
After a minute, Cas cleared his throat noisily behind him. "Do you want me to send the car back to the cabin?"
Dean jerked around to blink at him. "What? Dude, no!" He turned back to rest his hand lovingly on her top. "We're driving."
If this was their last hurrah, they'd go out in style.
00000
Not a single Sucrocorp guard or employee tried to stop him as Sam stumbled out of the building. Cut the head off the snake... Nobody had said anything about the snake exploding. Or taking out those around it.
He blinked hard, surprised by the blur of his eyes. His feet, numb as the rest of him, tripped over themselves, and he threw out his hand to catch himself.
And saw her.
Crashing the Impala into the Sucrocorp sign hadn't been part of the plan: Meg had clearly improvised. Vaguely, he knew he should try to find her, too, but the thought drifted off unfinished. The car. Dean would want the car. If he came back, he—
Sam stopped, swaying, and clutched his hair in both hands. When. When Dean came back, he'd want his baby.
Sam had to get Baby.
He almost tripped again, this time over a head that lay in the grass. Huh. There were a couple, dripping ichor and blinking at him. He steered absently around them, his eyes stuck on the shiny black beacon.
Her hood was dented, the front fender crumpled. Dean would be ticked. But she seemed intact, even her tires and her windshield. Miracle. His big brother would be happy about that. Less to fix.
Sam realized he'd forgotten to breathe when his chest started to hurt. Startled, he drew in a sob of air.
When Dean got back. Sam would take care of his baby until then.
The keys were still in her. She was kinda stuck on the edge of the sign, but Sam rocked her back and forth until she finally ground her way through, rear hitting the driveway with a thunk. He could just imagine Dean glowering at him, snapping at him to watch the undercarriage.
"I'll be careful," he whispered.
He swooped her around toward the front gate. There was a soft clank as he drove, something out of alignment, scraping. He didn't care. He'd take her someplace safe, get her fixed up. Take care of her until... Sam would drive her, nobody else.
The last two survivors.
00000
"Bobby..." Dean murmured.
The spirit of his oldest friend, the only man who'd even remotely been able to fill John Winchester's shoes, looked at him with unusually soft eyes. "Son, I think we've already said everything we need to, don't you?"
Dean didn't even try to wipe his own eyes dry. Saying goodbye had been hard enough the first time. To be the one pulling the plug this time... "Whose gonna help me keep an eye on Sammy without you around, old man?"
Bobby snorted. "Like either of us could ever keep that brother of yours out of trouble. Remember that time the shrimp wedged himself under that Camaro?"
Dean huffed a wet laugh. "Cried himself a mud puddle before we found him. You had to lift the car to get him out."
"Glued himself to your side like a barnacle the rest of the day." Bobby's smile faded. "You two still got each other. That'll be enough."
Dean doubted it, but he nodded. No point in making this harder than it was. "Hey, you got any safe deposit boxes, bank accounts, buried gold we should know about?"
Bobby rolled his eyes with a good-natured grumble.
Dean hitched a laugh. "Just saying."
"Fire's ready," Sam said quietly to one side.
Dean gave Bobby a faltering smile. "Vaja con dios, Bobby."
"Same to you, kid."
Five minutes later, in a wash of light, he was gone.
00000
The rest stop was quiet, no one else stopping on the highway that hot midweek morning.
Sam sat, bowed, at the picnic table, a journal in his hand, two more beside him. Dad's, Dean's, Bobby's. All gone now.
He flipped to the back of his dad's, to the contacts list.
Jim Murphy. Dead.
Caleb. Killed.
Harvelle. Long gone, the whole family.
Elkins. Murdered.
Pamela. Travis. Gordon. Olivia. Frank. All dead.
Bobby Singer.
Sam sniffed, wiping at his eyes. There was a line through Bobby's name in John's journal, testament to the way they'd parted. But he was listed first in Dean's book. The first one they'd always called. The one who'd been there for Sam when their dad had died and nearly taken Dean with him, when Dean had gone to Hell, when Sam had almost lost him to Michael. Even when he'd rejected Bobby's help and set off into the world alone, he'd still known there was someone who cared about him, someone he could go home to.
"Damn it, Bobby," he murmured. "Couldn't you have stuck around a little longer?"
No one answered. There wasn't even a breeze to ruffle the pages of the journal before he closed it.
00000
"Okay, so... Say it works, but we're separated."
"In the building?"
"Dude, you telling me it can't happen?"
"I...No."
"Okay. Say you find Kevin and get him out of Dodge. You hightail it back to the cabin and we'll meet here."
"Dean, I'm not leaving you and Cas behind with Dick."
"Hey, I'm not saying that's how it'll happen. But if things go south—and, seriously, man, when don't they go south with us?—we regroup back here." Dean glanced around the cabin, checking for anything he'd forgotten to pack...and giving it a last look.
Sam was eyeing him with a stubborn expression. "Okay, but I'm not leaving you there to face Dick."
"Fine."
"Okay."
He threw his journal into the top of his duffel with more force than necessary. "First priority after killing Dick, though, is getting Kevin out of there."
"And your car," Sam added wryly.
"Well, duh." Dean made a face. "You sure Meg taking her was the—?"
"Dean," Sam cut him off. "We need a distraction. We talked about it—it's the best plan. She said she'd take care of it."
"Demon's lie, dude," Dean muttered, but he knew he was being petulant. He zipped up his bag and hoisted it over one shoulder, giving Sam a look up and down. "You ready to do this?"
Sam's mouth twisted. "No?"
"Awesome." He clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Remember, we meet back here if anything goes wrong."
Sam's eyes were full of all the things they never said to each other, never had to. He gave Dean a forlorn smile. "What can go wrong?"
00000
His hand shook as he reached for the handle on the cabin door. The door he and Dean had fixed...two days ago? It felt like another life. It wasn't locked, and he pushed it open, heart hammering in his chest.
"Dean?"
Crickets hummed in the lazy late spring afternoon. A bird called above, another answering it some distance away. The hinges creaked, the floorboards groaning under Sam's boots. But otherwise there was silence.
"Dean?" he called anyway, because to not have hope of an answer meant not having anything. He clomped through the small cabin, checking the one bedroom, the bathroom, the lean-to in the back, sticking his head down into the cellar.
Nothing. Not here. Sam chewed his finger a moment, then hurried back out to the car.
He knew the spell's ingredients and words by heart. He didn't even bother with a devil's trap; putting himself in danger was not what he feared right now. Sam spoke the words sharply, threw the match into the brazier, and didn't duck back as the flame reared up.
It died down to reveal a figure on the other side of the table, smirking at him.
"Well, that didn't take long," Crowley drawled.
"Where's Dean?"
"Clean your ears, Samuel: I already told you. I. Don't. Know."
Sam swallowed, tucking his chin down a moment to get control of himself, back up a little. "Dick is dead."
"Yeah. Good job on that, by the way. You have my undying gratitude."
"It really was your blood."
"Is that a question?" Crowley rolled his eyes. "Yes, it was my blood, you oversized giraffe. I always keep my word. Too bad Dick didn't read to the end of his contract."
"So Dick...exploded, and Dean and Cas...?"
"...blew up too?" Crowley hazarded. "I believe you'd call it, 'collateral damage'?"
Sam clenched his jaw. "Is Dean in Hell?"
"No."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You don't even have to check?"
Crowley straightened in apparent affront. "I know the name of every soul down there, the location of every rack and pit of eternal fire. Dean hasn't stayed with us for some time now."
"Is he on Earth?" Sam pressed, hands clenched into fists.
"Now that's a harder one. While we demons do have a certain...omniscience, humans have an annoying tendency to find ways to hide. Sigils, hex bags, sp—"
"Besides that," Sam cut in. Because no way would Dean be hiding. A John Doe in a hospital somewhere, maybe, or curled up someplace licking his wounds, but he had no reason to hide from demons. From Sam.
Crowley's gaze seemed to lose focus for a moment, then he gave Sam an almost cheerful look. "No."
Sam's eyes shut.
"Now, if that's all..."
"No."
"And my gratitude just died." The King of Hell bared his teeth. "I came to you as a favor, not because of some," he waved at the brazier, "parlor trick. A little thank-you for getting rid of my Dick problem. But I'm not going to be your new squirrel, Moose. Like I said before, you're on your own now."
And then he was gone.
Sam raged in silence at the dismissal, until Crowley's words sank in and the fury dissipated, leaving him weak and wobbly, sinking into a chair. Crowley was right. If Dean didn't need saving from Hell and wasn't somewhere else on Earth... he had to be in Heaven.
Which meant Sam was truly alone.
He pressed his fist against his chest. His heart was clenching so hard, it felt like he was having a heart attack. Sam gave a wet laugh. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? Dying, going to Heaven, joining his brother, his parents. Not being left behind.
Sam buried in head in his hands.
There were still ways of getting Dean back, even from Heaven. Sam could search, he could contact, he could deal and force and plead. There were still angels on his side, even if Castiel seemed gone for good. Maybe even Crowley would help with the right incentive.
Bobby's words echoed in his head. When it's your time...go.
It's a punishment: resurrection. Dean had shared with him what Cas had said. It's worse every time.
What's dead should stay dead. His own brother.
I'm not gonna let you go, Dean!
Yes you are.
In silence and utter solitude, Sam wept.
And finally, when the shadows grew long and the bird calls gave way to frog song, he knuckled his eyes, rose, and went out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. Without looking back nor seeing what lay before him, he got into the car and drove.
Until he hit a dog.
The End