Dean had gotten the call earlier in the day. As soon as he heard he had gotten in the Impala and driven off as fast as he could. The worst imaginable thing had happened. Something he hadn't been able to see ever happening and was not prepared to handle. Something he finally couldn't fix. The call had been from the hospital. It was Sam. He was a state over from where Sam was at the time, so he drove a couple hours into the night to get there. It was around midnight when he arrived at the hospital where his brother was at. He pulled into the parking lot and, after finding a spot, he parked. He needed to hold onto the car to push himself out. Pathetic he thought to himself. He had grown weak in his old age. Neither he nor Sam had thought they live to see forty. Yet here they were in their early sixties, still going. It had been a long time since all of the trouble from their earlier years. The world had been saved thanks to them. Now it was all over and Sam and Dean were finally left at peace. Sam got to go follow his dreams, finishing school. After much persistence on Sam's part, Dean had even tried college. He dropped out of the course after a while and returned to what he did best. Saving people, hunting things. The family business. And times were good again. For quite a while, anyways.
The nurse at the front desk directed Dean to his brothers room. Right before he turned the handle on the door though, he was stopped by a doctor.
"Are you Dean Winchester?" He asked. Dean stuck his hand in his pocket."Yeah."
The doctor noded. "He's been asking for you." Dean went to open the door again but the doctor stopped him again.
"I need to speak with you before you go in there. About Sam. You see, Sam had a heart attack. We brought him back around and we were sure he was going to get better. Until yesterday. His health is... Rapidly decreasing."
Dean frowned. "Ok...so what are you saying Doc?" The doctor's eyes slowly shifted around before finally meeting Dean's.
"Dean, he's not going to make it. Tonight might be his last night."
Dean stopped, each word hitting him like a brick wall in his face. Almost not comprehending. Except he got every word. Sammy was dying. He pushed open the door and walked into the room to see Sam laying on the hospital bed. His eyes were closed. Dean started to worry but he opened them and looked over to see Dean.
"Hey." He called out weakly.
"Hey," Dean replied, walking over beside the bed. "How...how are you feeling?"
Sam chuckled weakly. "You know, I've been better. But then again, I've definatly been worse." Dean chuckled softly. "Yeah. Hey listen now-"
"Dean," Sam said looking straight at him. "I know. I...heard the doctors talking." Dean looked down at his feet.
"Sammy, you gotta hold on. You gotta hold on...for me. You can just go."
Sam coughed softly. "See, the thing is Dean, I'm tired. I'm not gonna complain or anything. I've had...quite the life. And I feel done now." He was quiet for a moment.
"Do you remember the first time I died?" He asked Dean. Dean rubbed his forehead.
"Yeah I remember it. How could I possibly forget it?" He smiled. "I only went to hell for you, you know."
Sam looked down. "Yeah. Well when I was dying, I felt scared. I didn't know what was happening, where I was going, and I didn't want to find out. And you know Dean? Now I'm not scared. I'm not scared anymore." He coughed again, this time more forced. He held out his hand and Dean clasped it. "It's been a good go Dean." Dean nodded,
"We did good. Didn't we? Hell, we did pretty great." He paused. "...Bitch."
Sam leaned back, closing his eyes. "Jerk." He sighed.
Sam's grip lessened and his hand fell down to his side.
Dean left the hospital quickly after that. He needed air. Breathing heavily, he got into the Impala. Everything was still. He sat in dead silence, only feeling the throbbing in his head. His face felt hot. And slowly, he leaned forward, resting his head on the steering weel He gripped the steering weel tight, turning his knuckles white. Gritting his teeth, he screamed silently. Gasping in a breath only to find the desperate needed release getting caught in his chest. He cracked his eyes open. And he could have opened them to anything in the car. But the first thing he saw was the toy soldier. Crammed in the ash tray. The tears started. Slowly they ran down his face, and dripped off his nose. The only thing to be heard was the patter of tears hitting the seat and floor of the car. Finally, he sat up, running his fingers through his hair. He knew what he needed now. He needed a drink. He turned the keys, igniteing the engine, and listened as the car roared to life. The Legos rustled as the a/c turned on. Pulling his face into a hard stare he drove off to the nearest bar.
Sitting down in the dimly lit bar he ordered himself whiskey. The waitress walked up to him. "Can I get you anything sir? Maybe some pie?" He looked up. "No thanks. I'm not hungry." With one final tip of his glass he finished his drink. I can't do this. He thought. He didn't want to feel it. He left the bar and went out to his car, leaning against it. It supported him under all his burdens. Looking over he saw a small group of bikers. "Hey!" He called over. They looked over and one left the group to address him. "I'd like to make an offer. A trade."
Dean shut the trunk of his car, giving it one final pat goodbye. "We did good Baby. We did good." Slinging his bag of weapons over his shoulder he exchanged keys with with the biker. Dean felt light headed, but freer. He felt as if the burden he had been carrying had been lifted. Released from the constraints of his past. He hopped on the motercycle he got from the trade and drove of. The sun was rising. A fresh start.
A new day.