Ever have just one sentence inspire a fic? Yeah . . . it's like that.
It sort of switches past/presence tenses randomly, I hope it isn't annoyingly distracting. Only Wincest if you want it to be. NOT A CHAPTER STORY OR WIP.
I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.
Sam doesn't remember the first time he died.
All he could remember was the pain of being literally stabbed in the back, losing control of his legs, and Dean catching him as he fell forward. Sam could remember trying to catch his breath, wanting to say something, anything to Dean, to just say his name one more time. He couldn't remember what Dean was saying because everything around him started to fade rapidly away. He remembered the last thing he saw before everything went dark was his brother.
That was all he knew.
Sam doesn't remember suddenly being outside himself, watching the scene before him. Watching Dean hold his lifeless body, the anguished cry of his name brought his soul self to his knees. He had never heard his brother cry out like that, never knew Dean to react in such a way. Sam could feel the agony in the single syllable like a physical wound, though he was fairly certain that he would never feel physical pain again.
Sam doesn't remember his Reaper, how it was a young man who looked a lot like a younger Pastor Jim . . . Sam always liked Pastor Jim. He doesn't remember the unsmiling Reaper, looking at a pocket watch and telling him it was time to go now. Sam knew he had to go, he didn't have a choice, he was dead, there was nothing he could do. He didn't know if he'd go to hell or heaven but that's not why he didn't go right away.
Sam just couldn't leave Dean. Not like that, not grieving and hurting. Sam wanted so much to comfort him, to put his arms around his big brother and make the pain stop. He reached out to Dean only to have his hand flow right through him, more insubstantial than smoke.
Sam doesn't remember staying with Dean for as long as he could. Following Dean and Bobby as they moved his body. Well, Dean wouldn't actually let Bobby help him carry Sam's body. Even though Sam knew that his body should have been too heavy for Dean, especially dead. The dead seem to put on weight.
Sam doesn't remember watching as Dean put him gently, almost reverently on that dirty mattress in that shack. The way that Dean's hand smoothed down Sam's cold cheek and brush back his hair. He didn't wonder why Dean hadn't burned his body yet because Sam didn't know if he'd be able to bring himself to burn Dean if their roles were reversed. Besides that Dean was still in shock, Sam could tell by his brother's body language. Most likely he was still trying to process what happened, trying to accept the fact that Sam was gone.
Sam doesn't remember his Reaper getting more insistent about leaving and how Sam tried to convince himself to follow him. Sam knew that going with his Reaper was the right thing to do. He'd probably see Dad again, and get to really meet his mother.
Sam could be with Jessica again.
However, watching Dean keep watch over his body, the occasional tear tracking down his face, Sam knew that somehow, that wasn't as important as this. Jess, if she was really on the other side waiting for him, she wasn't going anywhere. Besides, he'd finally learned to let her go. Sure he had still wanted to avenge her death, yes it still hurt that she'd died so unnecessarily, of course there would always be a part of him that loved her. Sam's priorities had changed though. A lot of his life revolved around Dean and his brother needed him now. Even if Dean didn't know he was there, Sam felt the need to be with him.
Finally, Sam had to go or he'd be left behind, a lonely spirit adrift to become angry and vengeful. At least that's what his Reaper told him.
Sam doesn't remember kneeling in front of Dean, trying to be on level with where Dean's eyes were so it would be like Dean was really looking at him and not just his body. He doesn't remember crying, he doesn't remember apologizing to Dean, telling him that he wished he could stay with him, that he wished that he could spare Dean this pain. Sam wanted more time, he wanted to talk to his brother, really have a conversation one last time. Or maybe they could just stare up at the stars just once more, be together for just a little while longer, with Dean knowing he was there.
Sam doesn't remember telling Dean that he loved him, always had, always would.
Sam doesn't remember leaning up and touching his spirit lips to Dean's forehead. He couldn't really place a kiss there but he could pretend for just a moment.
Then he stood up and, wishing he could hug Dean just one more time, he turned away and went with his Reaper.
Sam doesn't remember, could never remember any of it.
Still, he has dreams.
He dreams of following Dean and watching him put his body on the mattress. He dreams of Dean just staring at his body, the blatant misery on his face.
Sam dreams of talking to Dean, telling him his goodbyes.
Saying he loved him.
The ghost of a kiss on skin that could no longer feel him.
The dreams are more frightening than his nightmares because he's never seen Dean, even post-hell Dean so broken and hurting so much.
It makes Sam feel guilty, even though they're just dreams. Even though, if it happened at all, it wasn't Sam's fault.
When he wakes up from these dreams, if Dean is still asleep, Sam slowly, cautiously, silently, goes to his brother. Sam whispers to him that he loves him and places a feather light kiss to Dean's forehead.
It's a compulsion and he had no desire to stop. Sam needs to do it.
Dean needs it, even if he doesn't know that it's happening.
For the reason that sometimes, in his dreams, right before he wakes up, right when he's about to be taken into the light by the Reaper, he hear's Dean's voice.
It's soft, sad, yet there is still a bit of wonder in it too.
"Sammy . . .?"
Sam knew then that somehow, Dean felt him in that moment. It doesn't matter then if it's a dream or if it really happened.
Dean knew then, so he had to know now and Sam thinks that Dean does know.
Because sometimes, just sometimes, when goes back to sleep. Just as he drifts off, on the cusp of sleep, he can hear Dean's voice again. Still very soft, yet this time there is no sadness coloring his voice. It is certain and content.
"Love you, too, Sammy."