9

In the Arms of the Angel

This is my first ever fanfic, so be gentle on the comments please, but definitely leave some. I wanna thank Rachelly, who encouraged me to write this story. Also, I want to thank all my friends who have never watched Supernatural but read my story anyway. You guys rock! You'll defiantly need to get the tissues out for this story, because it is definitely a crier. You have been warned.

Sam was gone. His little Sammy was gone forever, and in his heart he knew there nothing he could do to bring him back. When he had entered the shabby motel room after grabbing a soda, his breath had caught in his throat when he saw Sam was nowhere to be found. His heart had stopped beating when he saw the note left on the stand.

Dean,

Sammy is mine and you will never see him again. I will make the demonic son of a bitch suffer for what was done and what will be done. He will suffer at my hands and you will not be able to stop it. I stand by what I said before: I am not a murderer. But I will be damned if I let that demonic soldier walk this Earth unharmed. Today I will rid the world of another soldier and your brother.

Gordon

"Son of a bitch!" Dean screamed. "Gordon, I'm gonna kick your ass! Oh god, Sammy where are you?"

Dean looked around the room in a frenzied panic. There had to be some clue as to where Gordon had taken Sam. He did not want to think about it, but Gordon would probably torture Sam before he killed. Dean swore to whoever was up there watching them, he would torture Gordon if he even laid a hand on his Sammy.

He pulled his '67 Chevy Impala in front of an abandoned old house in the middle of a dense wood. Gordon's truck was parked outside. Dean pulled the keys out of his baby and sat back against his seat. Nervousness rattled his consciousness, as he was unsure what he would find inside. Grabbing his gun, feeling the familiar leather handle in his grip, he opened the door and stealthily made his was to the house. When he peered into the nearest grimy window, his heart stopped for the second time that day.

Sam was in the middle of the room, tied to a chair. Dean felt a tear slide down his cheek when he saw his little brother. He looked like he had bathed in a vat of blood. His head was lying against his chest, as if he did not have the strength or the willpower to lift it all the way up. Even from his position outside, he could see Sam struggle to draw in a life-sustaining breath. His face was terribly pale under all the blood. Gordon was leaning in front of him, dangling a bloodstained knife in front of his face. Bloodstained, stained with Sam's blood. His Sammy. Dean could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, and he needed a way to release it. He raised his gun and slowly clicked off the safety button.

"Just have to move over to the left a little more and I'll have a clear shot," Dean muttered to himself. He watched as Gordon sauntered off to the left and placed the knife on a table. The table was covered with an assortment of bloodstained instruments of torture. This pushed Dean off the precipice. He raised his gun and aligned it with Gordon's forehead. His hand recoiled as the shot was fired and Gordon dropped to the floor instantaneously. Dean opened the shattered window and ran to Sam's side, cutting through his bonds as quickly as he could. When he had cut through, he lowered Sam onto the floor and laid his head gently on his chest. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. There were still bloody fingerprints on the keys. When he had finished giving the operator information and urged them to hurry, he hung up and turned his full attention to his little brother.

Sammy was trembling from pain and the bone chilling cold. Dean could feel the heat radiating from his brother's fevered body. He took off his worn leather jacket and placed it carefully over his brother's trembling form. Gently, he clasped his brother's hand and squeezed it slightly.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said, trying to stop the stinging in his eyes. "You gotta wake up, ok? You have to be okay. I don't know what I would do if you weren't. Sammy, can you hear me?" Finally, the long awaited tears cascaded down Dean's cheeks. He pulled Sammy closer and put his head on top of his. Wrapping his arms around his brother's beaten body, he began to sob uncontrollably. Beaten. Who would ever want to beat Sammy? Only a sadistic bastard would want to hurt someone so good and innocent. Slowly, Dean let his eyes travel over Sam's body to assess his injuries. His eyes continued to blur when he saw that there was just too much blood.

"Where the hell is that ambulance!" Dean yelled at no one in particular. Dean felt a slight squeeze in his hand and looked down at Sammy to see those puppy dog brown eyes staring up at him.

"Oh, Sammy, thank god," said Dean, hugging Sam close to him. Dean quickly let go when he heard Sam gasp in pain.

"I'm so sorry Sammy," Dean whispered, silently cursing himself for not being more careful.

"Deeean," Sam gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath.

"No no, sshhh Sammy, don't try to talk. Everything is going to be all right. The ambulance is on its way."

Sam continued to tremble and struggled to breath. With his other hand, he grasped Dean's shirt and pulled him closer.

"I- l-love you D-dean," Sam whispered.

The unforgiving tears once again forged a path down Dean's face.

"I love you too Sammy," said Dean. Sam let go off Dean's shirt and once again leaned heavily on Dean's chest. His eyes fluttered and slowly began to close.

"No Sammy, you gotta stay awake," Dean whispered, fighting against the panic that was beginning to overwhelm his being.

Sam slowly reopened his eyes and stared up at Dean. They reflected his horrible pain, asking Dean to make it go away. Always before, Dean was there to chase away the nightmares and help Sam sort through the chaos in their lives. Now, all Dean could do was cradle his little brother in his arms and will the pain to go away.

Sam began to cough violently and Dean tried to hold him steady while the coughs rattled his body. Dean gently squeezed his hand, willing his strength to transfer to his pained sibling. His coughs finally came to a rest. Dean could feel his brother fading and he knew if the ambulance didn't come soon, he would loose his Sammy.

"Come on bitch, you gotta hold on for me." Dean said, cupping his hands around Sam's face.

"Jerk," Sam managed to say through all the wheezing.

"Where the hell is that friggin ambulance!" yelled Dean in frustration. As if on cue, Dean heard sirens off in the distance approaching quickly.

"You here that Sammy, their coming and you're gonna be just fine." Dean said enthusiastically.

It was at this point that Dean felt it. It was as if a hand made of ice had wrapped its fingers around his heart. He felt the pressure on his hand lessen. He looked at Sammy and his eyes finally fluttered closed and his labored breathing slowed and eventually stopped.

"Noooo, Sammy!" Dean screamed.

Dean couldn't feel Sammy anymore. That place in his heart where Sam belonged now felt cold and empty. He grasped his little brother's thin wrist and searched desperately for a pulse, anything that would indicate his brother was still with him. Nothing. Only the sound of Dean's frantic breathing and sirens in the distance coming closer and closer permeated the room.

Sam watched his big brother cradle his lifeless body in his arms, but could do nothing to relieve his pain and suffering.

Death; it was pulling him away from his brother, the person that meant more than anything in this world to him. It was breathing on his shoulder; it's ice-cold breath stopping his heart in its tracks. But he had to hold on, if not for himself then for Dean. Because Dean needed him, and couldn't live without him. Just like Sam couldn't live without Dean.

He walked over to Dean and looked upon his sobbing form. How could he do this to Dean? Dean did everything for him, was always there for him, and now he was just gonna die? The worst part was Dean would blame himself for this, because it was his job to protect him. He would let the guilt eat away at him until there was nothing left. His ghostly body began to tremble and hot tears slid down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry Dean," Sam whispered, even though he knew Dean couldn't hear him.

Sam held out his hand and gently placed it on Dean's shoulder and squeezed it softly with his intangible hand.

Dean's head shot up. He could have sworn he had felt someone squeeze his shoulder, but he and Sam were the only people in the room. But those fingers felt familiar. They were soft and gentle. Just like Sammy's fingers. Dean put his hand on his own shoulder and could almost feel his brother's touch.

"Oh god Sammy," Dean whispered, "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I should have been there to save you. It's my job to protect you and I failed."

"It's not your fault," Sam whispered. "None of it is."

"Don't you dare say it's not my fault." Dean's voice hitched and tears continued to drip onto the hard wooden floor.

Sam couldn't help smiling at his brother's stubbornness. Whenever Sam got hurt, Dean blamed himself. It had just hit Sam how much his brother loved him.

"Then I forgive you," Sam said.

Dean heard the ghost of his words and understood Sam was offering him forgiveness. His brother was so amazingly kind. It was then he realized Sam loved him just as much as he loved Sam. He continued to cradle his little brother's lifeless body in his arms.

"Don't go Sammy," he pleaded. "I can't live without you. Please don't go!" With that, all of his walls collapsed, and his soul lay open on the floor. He began to sob uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry Dean," Sam whispered as the tears flowed down his cheeks. "But I have no choice. I have to go because it is my time to die."

Dean heard those horrible words, but couldn't grasp the meaning. Understanding those words would mean accepting that his brother was going to die. He was the one who was supposed to die for Sammy, not watch him die. He placed his brother's bloodied head gently on the floor and stood up shakily. Sam watched entranced as Dean turned toward his transparent form. Sam walked forward and wrapped his ghostly arms round his big brother, squeezing as tightly as he could. He had to let his big brother know how much he loved him.

Dean felt Sam's arms wrap around his body. He lifted his own arms and wrapped them completely around his little brother and held them there. Usually Dean wouldn't like laying his soul this open, but Sam had to know he loved him. He could feel the warmth emanating from Sam and was comforted by it. But within the warmth was a terrible sadness: sadness at having to leave Dean behind. And there was love, so much love. Love for his big brother.

Sam pulled back and looked at his brother one last time.

"Goodbye Dean," he whispered. Tears glistened like jewels on his cheeks and the angels beckoned to him.

Dean felt him leave. The cold squeezed his broken heart in a relentless grip and he felt his soul being torn into pieces. It was at that moment the paramedics rushed into the room. Too late. Always too late. Dean watched paralyzed as they loaded Sam onto a gurney and hurried him to the ambulance, desperately trying to resuscitate him. Why did they even bother? He had felt his brother leave him, had felt the emptiness in his soul. He followed the lifeless body that was once his brother in a daze. How was it possible that he was still alive when his brother was gone? When they pulled up to the hospital, he watched as Sam was rushed through the triage doors. The sirens were still wailing loudly, screaming in Dean's ears.

"You failed! You failed!" They screamed at him. "You're brother is gone and it's all your fault!"

No longer could he follow his brother wherever he went. He couldn't follow him through those doors and he couldn't follow him to heaven, if there was a heaven. He desperately wished there really was a heaven, a place for Sam to relax and forget about the damn demon. Dean had to cling to the hope that Sam was now in a better place; it was the only hope when his purpose for living was gone.

A doctor pushed through the white triage doors and made his way over to Dean. He didn't want to give the bloodied man standing there hopelessly the grim news. No matter what they had done, they couldn't bring his brother back.

"Hello, I am Doctor Walker," he said holding out his hand. Dean took his hand and shook it, never taking his eyes off the floor.

"I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but your brother didn't make it."

The doctor looked on horror. When he had delivered the horrible news, Dean had dropped to his knees in horrible defeat. A small part of him had clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, the doctors might be able to bring Sam back from Death's Door.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Doctor Walker. He couldn't help feeling sorry for the man kneeling on the floor in front of him.

Dean gulped and attempted to stand. Doctor Walker held out his hand and pulled Dean unsteadily to his feet.

"Yeah, there is something," Dean said shakily. "Can I see him one last time? You know, to say goodbye."

Doctor Walker studied the fascinating man standing before him. So devoted and so broken. When he looked into his deep green eyes, he saw that his soul was laid completely open. He saw a pain so deep it burned the very fabric of his being. Losing something so precious to him had completely devastated him.

"Of course," said Doctor Walker, "right this way."

Dean followed Doctor Walker through the triage doors without another word. Doctors stared at the bloodied man walking through the hospital who looked like he had just been defeated in a long and horrible war. He had lost the war, his war against humanity. Humanity wanted his brother dead, and they had gotten what they wanted. It was always them against the world. Usually, that was just fine for Dean. Now that his trusty sidekick "Geek Boy" was gone, there was no point. His footsteps echoed down the endless hallways with so many doors. One of them contained Sam, his Sammy.

"Here we are," said Doctor Walker solemnly.

He lead Dean through one of those white doors into a bare room filled with monitors and machines. There, laying in the middle of the room on a gurney was Sammy.

"Oh god," Dean whispered.

He lay there, deathly pale and unmoving. His chest didn't rise and fall and his heart didn't beat. All the monitors were off, as they didn't need to be on if the patient was dead. Dean just couldn't grasp what he was seeing. His little brother, dead and gone forever. How could this happen? After all that happened, after he had to watch as his mother and his father die, now he had to watch his little brother die too? He had no one left, no one to love and have them love him back. His brother had been all the love he had ever needed, and now he was gone. Dean walked up to Sam's bloody form, hesitated, and then placed his hand on Sam's arm.

"I'll let you have some privacy," said Doctor Walker and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean whispered, desperately trying to smile faintly, but failed miserably.

He half expected Sam to open his eyes and tell him "It's Sam" and that Sammy was the name for a pudgy 12 year old. But, he just remained the still being that had been the result of Gordon's torture. Feeling the now familiar sting in the corner of his eyes, he released control, letting the tears forge a path down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry Sammy," he whispered.

He would look like he was asleep, except his sleeping hours were usually plagued with horrible nightmares. Now he just looked peaceful, probably the most peace he has gotten since this whole thing started when he was 6 months old.

He removed his hand from Sam's arm and placed it on Sam's face, stroking his cheeks with his thumb. The connection he always felt whenever he was with Sam was gone. That gentle warmth that warmed him in even the coldest abyss. He looked at Sam one last time and whispered his farewell:

"Goodbye Sammy."

Doctor Walker opened the door and stepped carefully into the room and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I am so sorry," he said, sympathy written all over his face.

"It's just hard to believe he's gone," Dean said as the tears continued the flow. He didn't even bother to brush them away because he knew many more would follow. Neither did he care that he was losing it in front of another person. Sammy was gone and nothing mattered anymore.

"I know," said Doctor Walker. "I really hate to ask this, but what exactly happened?"

One long explanation later and one long car ride later Dean was lying on the motel bed with his knuckles pressing into his eyes to stem the flow of tears. He felt hopeless and useless. What was he supposed to do now? How could he continue hunting after what one of his fellow hunters had done to his brother? He wished he could hunt them all down, make them suffer for what had happened to his brother. That wouldn't bring Sam back. But Dean could go to him.

Dean shot up from his position on the hard bed and went over to his bag he always used to put his hunting stuff in. After rummaging for a few seconds, he pulled out his favorite knife. It was short, but extremely sharp. His father had given it to him after he had been successful on his first hunt. He walked over to the bed and sat down heavily, running his finger down the edge of the knife. It was so easy, he knew exactly where to cut to make himself bleed out quickly. He held the blade directly over the spot, but hesitated. What would Sam think? He wouldn't think anything because he's dead. This expelled all the doubt from Dean's mind, and he slowly made a deep incision on his left wrist. It didn't hurt one bit, as the pain in his heart was unsurpassable. The effect was immediate. Blood flowed from his wrist onto the floor, which formed a puddle that grew bigger as each second slowly ticked by. Dean could already feel himself growing weary. No physical pain could penetrate his emotional turmoil. He lay back on the bed and relaxed, he would be joining Sam soon.

Dean had always thought he would die in the middle of a hunt, and before Sammy. This was better, with no pain, just a gentle floating feeling. His vision swam and blackness intruded at the edge of his vision. A light appeared on the ceiling, blinding Dean.

"Huh, didn't know you had hallucinations before you died."

He could feel his heart slowing down, the blood pouring from his wrist, and his soul ripping from his body. It wasn't unpleasant, it felt like a calm was washing over his body. The light on the ceiling grew larger, and a figure appeared walking closer and closer to Dean's bed. Dean smiled, took his last breath, and let go. His soul left his body and went to join the figure in the light. He let go because the figure was tall and lanky, had long brown hair, and was smiling and staring at him with big puppy dog brown eyes.

Thanks for reading my story and I hope you liked it. Please leave me some comments, good or bad cuz I would love to hear from you guys! 