Title: Six Feet Under
Author: DarkmoonStar90
Summary: A month before Dean's deal is due, a hunt goes wrong with potentially lethal consequences. Not death fic, although there is some limp!Dean and angsty!boys. Set just before 3.15 "Time Is On My Side". Some strong language, I blame the angst.
Disclaimer: I own nothing sadly. The Winchesters belong to Kripke.
Author's Note: I seem to have fallen into the wilderness on an unintentionally extended hiatus but going back to Uni will do that to you sadly. But I'm baaaaack :D Here's a little one-shot to keep you all going until I get back on track with Struggle.Love it? Hate it? Click on that review button at the bottom of the page and let me know- DarkmoonStar90 x X x
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Six feet.
Six feet separated Sam Winchester from his brother.
But Dean wasn't six feet away from Sam in a rowdy bar; hustling pool and hitting on the local girls.
Dean wasn't six feet away from Sam in the endless aisles of a discount store; gathering his own unique version of supplies- beef jerky, a generous portion of cherry pie and a family-sized packet of peanut M'n'Ms.
Dean wasn't sprawled six feet away from Sam on yet another sagging motel room bed; giving his own scathing commentary on the inaccuracies of whatever mediocre horror film he was watching on the motel television.
Dean was six feet under Sam.
Six feet of soil that was like a giant, smothering blanket courtesy of Mother Nature. Sam wasn't exactly sure how long Dean had been down there- too long- but he knew that time was rapidly running out for his brother.
But that was a disturbingly familiar sensation to Sam these days; it had haunted every borrowed beat of Sam's heart for over ten months now. The Deal still hung over the brothers like a lead-lined cloud, but now someone had pressed reset on the doomsday clock and turned weeks into minutes.
Sam had already lost his brother more times than he could bear to remember thanks to the Trickster's help. He won't lose him again.
Sam dug frantically, the metal shovel a weapon in his hands as it crashed in and out of the ground at an erratic pace. Shovelfuls of dirt were flung haphazardly around the gravesite as Sam's focus zeroed in on every inch of soil separating him from his brother. Tears made clean tracks down his mud-splattered cheeks and each beat of Sam's pounding heart was punctuated with Pleasepleaseplease.
Sam can't lose Dean again. Revenge for Dean was the only thing that kept his heart beating during those six desolate months and after he had killed the Trickster, the Colt had been waiting in the waistband of his jeans to end his miserable existence.
Tears had long since blinded Sam to the world around him, but he continued to dig ferociously; he didn't need to see to know that time was slipping through his fingers- just as it had for the past ten months. Nonononono.
Dean's dying for him, going to Hell for him and Sam can't even make himself feel alive most of the time. Why should Dean be the one who has to keep sacrificing everything for Sam? Why should Dean give up his dreams? Why should Dean have to sacrifice anything at all?
No. He has to save Dean, he just has to.
It was meant to be a simple salt and burn, a routine hunt, a normal hunt if such a term could be applied to the world of the supernatural. Something to distract them from the fact that Dean had less than two months left to live and Sam was no closer to breaking Dean's deal than he was ten months ago. But Sam had no presence of mind left to try and process how the hunt had gone from digging up bones, to digging up his brother.
Dean... Not like this, not like this. Please. I can't... not without you...
Thud.
The sound of the shovel's metal blade hitting something solid jarred the delirium blanketing Sam's thoughts. Sam leant heavily on the shovel, his chest heaving as he greedily inhaled the frigid air to soothe his oxygen-starved lungs. Once Sam had stopped digging however, the crushingly ominous silence in the cemetery returned. The barrier between Sam his brother had been reduced from six feet to a few centimetres of plywood, but Sam knew that the metaphysical barrier could be infinite.
Sam inhaled harshly, something between a sob and a scream scratching his vocal cords as he carefully aimed the shovel at the side of the coffin. Of Dean's coffin. The plywood cracked as Sam meticulously slammed the shovel at the wooden panel, careful not to use excessive force in case he ended up hitting Dean. Or Dean's body.
A few moments later Sam had fashioned a jagged hole in the plywood and immediately he began to tear the rest of the panel away with his bare hands, his hands numb to the splinters that burrowed into the exposed skin. All he cared about was getting Dean out, and the wooden coffin was merely a barrier to be overcome. Sam crawled across the coffin, his harsh breathing the only sound interrupting the eerie silence, continuing to rip the wooden panels apart until he was face-to-face with his brother.
Dean was unnervingly still, his eyes closed and his arms resting next to his sides. He looked strangely peaceful, his face smooth and untroubled as it hadn't been since their father's death almost two years ago. Sam's heart was a dead weight in his chest as he stared motionlessly at his brother. If it wasn't for the blue-tinge to his skin and his ashen complexion, Sam would have thought that Dean was merely sleeping.
But Dean was constantly in motion, relentlessly tapping the steering wheel in time with the beat of his beloved mullet rock and jostling his leg up and down restlessly in diner booths. Dean Winchester didn't lie on motel beds; he sprawled across motel beds like an oversized cat. He didn't sleep with his body perfectly straight and arms by his sides as he was at the moment.
But then Dean wasn't sleeping.
Dean wasn't moving.
Dean wasn't breathing.
Dean was dead.
"No no no no," Sam sobbed desolately, tightening his grip on Dean's body and inhaling the scent of leather, gun oil, cheeseburgers and home. Something fundamental broke within Sam as he cradled his brother's limp body, one hand seeking the pulse on Dean's wrist but failing. He'd lived through this moment hundreds of times before thanks to the Trickster, and then on the Wednesday when he hadn't woken up and Dean really was dead. And then Sam had had to go on without Dean- but without Dean, there was no Sam either.
With the addition of a snarling hellhound and copious amounts of blood, this is what Sam saw every time he closed his eyes. The moment when Sam Winchester's world will end, for good.
The icy touch of fear slithered down Sam's back as Dean remained motionless, the moonlight hollowing his features and draining what little colour remained on his skin. He looked dead already. Sam gulped as nausea rushed up his throat and the cemetery blurred before his eyes.
He'd failed. Again.
"No... come on Sammy pull yourself together. Rescue breaths and compressions," Sam muttered to himself, stringing together his few coherent thoughts. He carefully laid his brother's body back down onto the bottom of the coffin before rearranging the too pliable body. Sam allowed his memory took over from his traumatised mind to command his body's trembling limbs, he was all too well-versed in field medicine.
He leant down to breathe for his brother, "One one-thousand-don't let him die-two one -thousand-please Dean- three one-thousand-please-four one-thousand-I love you- BREATHE!" But Dean's chest remained still, and Sam perilous grip on his sanity slipped a little more. Please...
And then miraculously Dean's green eyes opened and he made a strangled, garbled sound that Sam managed to decipher as, "Sammy?" before he started trying to cough his lungs up- or that was how it sounded to Sam anyway.
It was one of the best sounds Sam had ever heard, chick-flick moment be damned.
"I've got you," Sam murmured, supporting his brother as the painful coughs continued to shake his brother's frame. And I'm not letting go. Sam continued mumbling nonsense until the hacking cough abated and Dean inhaled deeply to try and soothe his oxygen-starved lungs. It was a strange role reversal: a younger Dean used to hold a not-going-to-sleep-I'm-not-tired toddler Sammy in his arms and simply talk and talk until Sam fell asleep. Sam wasn't a child anymore- hadn't really been one since that fateful Christmas Eve when his childhood had come crashing down around him- but he had never outgrown the comfort Dean's presence gave him.
Dean inhaled the cool night air greedily, slumped against Sam's body with his head resting on his brother's shoulder. The logical part of Sam's mind was panicking as the implications of the night's events settled in: oxygen deprivation, brain damage, but it was drowned out by the knowledge that Dean was still breathing. Dean was still alive.
"You're my big brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." And it was true. Sam would do anything for Dean. Anything.
"Whoa, what the hell was I drinking in that bar?" Dean muttered, syllables blending together and Sam pretends not to notice that he is still essentially cuddling his big brother. "Are we cuddling Sammy?" Dean asks a lot more clearly, but makes no move to push Sam away.
Sam's grip tightens, "Of course not, jerk. I thought..." Sam trailed off, as the unspoken words lodged in his throat.
"You're such as a girl Samantha," Dean replies, and at that point Sam knows that Dean is going to be okay.
Dean's breathing.
Dean's snarking at him.
Dean's alive.
But one month from now, Dean would be dead, permanently, and there was nothing Sam could do to stop it. This is only a preview to the moment when Sam's world will end for a second time. And this time there is no reset button or get-out-of-Hell-free cards
"Hey, hey Sammy," Dean murmured, his voice soft and comforting. That tone is reserved for Sam only; for the crying toddler who'd fallen off the jungle gym, the little boy who just wanted to feel safe, and teenager who only wanted to hear "I love you" from his father but would yell "I hate you" to rebel.
Sam should be the one comforting Dean, who after all, had just been buried alive, but instead it was Sam who was clinging to his brother. In many ways however, this was how Dean coped best with trauma, pushing aside his own feelings and fears to comfort his brother. This mechanism was not always effective though, as their dad's death had shown.
"Hey, I'm not going to be an extra in the Thriller video any time soon kiddo."
A year ago that comment would have reassured Sam but now itwas like a knife to the heart. "Not funny. You're going to die in just over a month and there's nothing I can do." Sam's breath catches in his throat, and to his horror, Sam finds himself battling down another round of tears. Jess always said that tears were cleansing for the soul. In contrast, Dad always said that crying didn't solve anything, and Sam was more inclined to believe his father's philosophy these days. Crying wasn't going to save Dean, and Sam's soul felt more and more tainted with every passing day of borrowed time.
"You'll be fine, Sam," Dean replied instantly, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as his brother. The facade that Dean had created as they drove away from the Wyoming cemetery was cracking as the true meaning of what he had done and where he was going settled like a crushing boulder on Dean's thoughts. And deep down, Dean knew just as well as Sam did that Sam wasn't going to cope any better with his brother's death than Dean had.
Dean had barely managed three days without Sam, how the hell was Sam going to manage a lifetime without Dean?
Sam shook his head incredulously, "So yeah Dean, I'm going to be about as fine as you were a year ago. Do you really think I'm just going to drive off into the sunset without a backward glance? You're going to Hell for me Dean, how the fuck am I supposed to live with that?"
Something inside Dean's crumbling soul snapped and years of built up emotions crashed out like a tsunami, "You survived perfectly well on your own for four years Sam- in fact you seemed pretty happy to finally be rid of your freaky family."
Sam's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. They'd never spoken about Dean's own feelings about the night that had ended with Sam walking out of Dean's life for four years. "You had a life Sam. You had Jess. Don't you think I might've had dreams of my own?"
Unbidden, the image of Lisa Braeden flashes into Sam's mind, during his dreamwalk in Dean's mind courtesy of the African dream root. In another life she would have been Dean's wife and Ben, his son. He had never told Dean what he had seen in his brother's mind but it had only reinforced the guilt Sam had been harbouring over the Djinn-induced alternate reality Dean had experienced before Cold Oak. Dean had been happy there- something he would never experience in the real world because of Sam.
Sam swallowed down all of his arguments, his anger deflating as he realised that he had penetrated the final barrier Dean had been hiding behind since he was four years old. "I know."
Dean sighed, running one hand over his face, "But I've made my peace Sammy. You're my geeky baby brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And if I could go back to that crossroads, I'd do it again in a flash- I'd rather have a year with you than a lifetime without you."
"But now I'm going to have to live without you," Sam whispered softly, a lone tear sliding down his cheek. A part of Sam longed to scream at Dean for being so selfish, but Sam knew that if he started screaming, he probably wouldn't stop.
Dean didn't reply. Life wasn't- had never been- fair to the Winchesters.
He had demon blood running through his veins, a poison that could never be cured. Dean was sacrificing himself for a demon tainted human.
"Sam?"
He should have stayed dead eleven months ago. What's dead should stay dead.
Sam knew that he should have died with Jess.
He should have died with their Mom.
He should have died instead of their Mom.
Maybe then Dean would have had a life instead of giving everything for everyone else. Dean would have a family of his own. Sam wasn't worth his Mom's life, Jess' life, his Dad's life, Dean's life.
"Sammy?" Dean questioned again, a little more insistently. Dean knew something had been haunting Sam for the last year, apart from the Deal, but Sam could never tell him. Dean didn't know- Dean could never know.
"I-" The words caught in Sam's throat, Dean had given everything for Sam, even his soul. This was Sam's burden to carry- he couldn't add yet another of his problems to Dean's overburdened shoulders. Although deep down, Sam knew that he feared his brother's reaction more than the secret itself. He wanted Dean to tell him everything was going to be okay, just like he had when Sam was a child, but Sam hadn't been a child for a long time now.
Sam wondered sometimes if their father had known about the demon blood- if that was why he had told Dean that he had to save Sam or kill him.
And Dean had followed orders like the good soldier and son he was and had bought himself a one-way ticket to hell.
Nothing was ever going to be okay ever again... in fact nothing had been okay since the night that their mother had died. Maybe even before that, right back to the moment when he was born.
Sam swallowed, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. There had to be a way, something, anything. Consequences didn't matter, not anymore. There was no price that Sam wasn't willing to pay for his brother's life.
"Wherever we go, we go together right?" Sam said hesitantly, his blue-green eyes searching his brother's face.
"Yeah," Dean replied, but he was unable to truly meet his brother's gaze. "Together."
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But when Dean Winchester broke through his prison of timber and earth into scorching sunlight six months later, he was alone.
Finis
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Author's Note: You like? You dislike? Review and let me know... it may even spur me on to finish this half-written draft of TSW Chap 5 even faster :) -DMS x