Muse: LamiaJade and her excllent story, If It Was Your Last Day
Disclamier: All chances of me owning them went up in smoke.
Beta: LivingForTV

On the Last Day

Dean's fingers were stiff and sore as they fumbled with the motel key. With a deep breath he managed to unlock the door. Distantly, he felt he could still hear the Witch Doctor's chanting and the noise of the forest. For a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut to dispel the image and just leaned against the solid door. His vision was a haze of red as he slowly pushed the door open. Dean's veins were pumping ice, but his skin felt like fire.

The room seemed to tilt its head to the side and regard him curiously as he stood dazed in the doorway. Dean tilted his head and the room regained its normal balance. He laughed lightly as he thought of his recent scrimmage. The Witch Doctor hadn't stood a chance against Dean when all she'd had was little arrows. Dean reached a hand over and touched his shoulder. Dean was sure he'd felt something hit him back at the woods. Knowing the dear departed Witch Doctor, it was nothing good.

His shirt was stuck to back, drenched in sweat. Dean pulled his hand away from the tender area and looked at his bloody fingers. He knew it was bad, he just didn't think it'd felt that bad. Grimacing, he let himself fall onto his bed.

Poison, he thought as he cursed the Witch Doctor and the damn arrows she played with. Dean's limbs felt heavy as his muscles began to relax. He watched the ceiling dance above him as he kicked off his shoes.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam kicked at the dust. He pushed off the ground with his feet and began to rock the swing forward. Dean leaned against the metal frame and watched his brother begin to fly. School had ended nearly an hour ago, but they were avoiding the long walk home. Nothing was waiting for them at the apartment Dad had rented.

"Dean," Sam drawled, "If today was your last day…"

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn, almost too small, blue jeans. "C'mon Sam, really?"

Sam kicked his legs bringing himself higher. "Really." He looked down at Dean. "Be serious with me. If today was your last day, what would you do?"

Dean looked up at his airborne brother. Sam's hair was getting longer, he noticed, as it whipped around his head. Dean shrugged and moved himself towards the other swing. Sitting down in it, he gripped the chain sides of the swing but didn't budge. "It's not what I'd do." Dean said thoughtfully. "It's where I'd be."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean took a big gulp of air and started to panic. He'd lost consciousness briefly. That was bad; part of him realized that next time he might not wake up. He suddenly realized where he was, and the panic didn't recede at all. He lifted his head weakly and looked around the motel room.

Dean had never been as neat as Sam or military precise as Dad. His clean clothes were in his duffle, and the dirty clothes speckled the floor. Empty food containers were spilled across the desk, narrowly missing his equally sloppy research. The lamp beside him flickered twice before it continued shedding its dim orange glow.

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, the lack of noise confirmed it. He was alone. There was no one to bitch at for being a mother hen. This was a fact he still wasn't used to, even though it'd been years since he'd seen Sam.

Dean felt like bricks were tying him down to the bed. Struggling with the effort to stay awake, he convinced himself to move inches at a time. Shakily, he managed to reach his coat pocket.

He withdrew his cell phone and dialled. Dean smiled a little, as he remembered when Sam had showed him speed dial. He grimaced as he held the phone to his ear. Ring, ring. The noise was too loud, the lights were too bright. The world suddenly seemed to be shoving itself into his face and all he wanted to do was shut it out. Dean heard the click of someone picking up the cell phone. He didn't waste time on salutations, he knew who he had called.

"S'mmy," he said in a hoarse whisper, "it's bad…" Dean coughed, splattering his pillow with flecks of blood. "Real bad," he clarified in a small voice, "you gotta come help. I'm in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Voyager Motel…" Before Dean could say anymore, his lips seemed to freeze and his throat was suddenly busier looking for air. A deafening roar filled his ears and he dropped the phone to clasp his hands to his head. He screamed silently as he felt his shoulder bursting with fiery pain.

The phone fell from his twitching fingers and he didn't hear anything else from it.

"Dean?" John yelled from the speaker. "Dean? Stay with me! I'm on my way!"

His words fell on deaf ears.

One state away John shoved his phone into his pocket and threw his riffle into the passenger seat. He jumped into his truck and slammed it into gear. As he drove down the road, he tried not to think about who the call had been meant for.

He'd already lost one son, and from the sound of it he was close to losing another. John cursed himself for letting Dean walk away last year. After Sam had left, Dean had seemed content to stay close. John had needed support back then, but he'd forgotten that he wasn't the only on who was hurting. He'd been shocked last year when Dean had yelled at him, but not completely surprised. Dean was just as angry as he was at himself for letting Sam go.

As he pressed the gas pedal down, he resolved to help Dean as much as Dean had helped him. Now if only he could reach Sam, but he wasn't even sure he had the right cell phone. John knew he'd have to call Sam if Dean didn't… didn't…

He cut off the thought and focused on where he'd soon be.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Where would you be?" Sam prompted Dean as he got higher on the creaking swing set. "Y'know… If it was your last day."

Dean began to rock slightly in his swing. He mumbled under his breath, "Next to you."

Sam took one last look at the bright sky ahead. He jumped down from the swing and landed awkwardly on his long legs. "What'd you say?"

"You know." Dean forced a broad smile. "Hunting."

"Yeah." Sam said looking away, letting his eyes roam over the bright clouds he had nearly touched. "Hunting."

"Enough about that, though." Dean picked up his book bag and Sam's. He tossed Sam's heavy laden bag to him, and clapped him on the back. "Let's go home already."

The End

Epilogue:

John kicked open the door, and ran over to the motel bed as he smiled in relief.