Author's Note: Written for an awesome prompt that involved this quote from one of my favorite shows. I couldn't resist writing it! Set immediately after Swan Song. Please enjoy!
"Uh, I do remember what I said. The promise . . . to protect her. If I'da done that . . . even if I didn't make it . . . you wouldn't have had to jump. But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but, after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again . . . I do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways . . . Every night I save you."
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "After Life"
Dean shares a glance with his brother, sees the flash of concern mixed with resignation, a look that the older Winchester knows too well. He may be bloody and beaten down, but even in his semi-concussed state, he can still read Sam as easily as he always has. He's seen that look the night before Stanford, the night before Sam took off for Flagstaff—it's the "I'm doing this for the both of us" look, the bullshit excuse Sam uses whenever he tries to do something even remotely self-sacrificing.
And it's in his baby brother's eyes once again.
"It's okay, Dean. I've got him." Sam's voice is soft, reflective.
That's when it hits him—this is goodbye.
All Dean can hear is the ground opening up and no, this isn't happening, not really. They had talked about it, but Dean always assumed—always knew—that there would be some other way. His job—his one job—is to keep Sam safe. He hadn't come this far to fail now, had he?
"Sam. No."
He surprises himself by having the strength to push off from the Impala and stagger to his sibling. Firmly, he places an arm on his brother, trying to ground himself as well as Sam.
"Dean. I have to." Sam glances warily behind him. "I don't know how much time I have left—"
"No." He manages a bloody smile. "We can figure this out—"
"We can't—"
"We can." Dean repeats sharply. "You and me, we can."
For a moment, there's hope.
Of course, Michael shows up in that exact moment, and it all goes to hell. The rest of the scene plays out just like did before. He watches Sam fall, never to return.
And the realization sinks in that he's powerless to stop it.
That's when he wakes up.
That's always when he wakes up.
"Baby?" Lisa slurs, voice thick with sleep. "Y'all right?" She turns over to face him, her hand coming to rest on his chest.
He forces a small grin on his face and manages to get out,
"Yeah. Go back to sleep."
She murmurs something, before nodding off once more.
Dean just stares upwards at the stucco ceiling for the rest of the night, willing the haunting images away.
He could've prevented it.
He could've stopped Sam from going to rot in Hell for all eternity.
"Dean?"
Ben glances at him, his head tilted to the side in confusion. The kid's caught him again in one of his moments, where his mind travels to the dangerous land of "what-if" and "if only".
"Hey, kiddo." His voice is thick with emotion and he coughs, trying to clear it away and regain control.
"You okay?" Ben asks, cautiously holding his plate out. It takes the older Winchester a few moments to figure out why the kid is doing that, but the sizzle of the grill snaps him back into reality. Quickly, a hamburger is put on the plate and Dean plasters a smile on his lips.
"M'good." He replies. "Your mom want another?"
"I'll ask." Ben scampers back inside and Dean focuses on flipping the burgers.
Focuses on breathing, in and out.
Focuses on trying not to will his heart to stop with every second that passes.
"Pull it together." He mutters, putting some cheese on the meat.
He needs to pull the pieces of his fractured heart together again.
What if the Colt had worked on Lucifer?
Dean should've found a way to make the gun work—a spell, maybe, or a ritual? There had to be something out there that could've worked, could've lowered Lucifer's defenses enough so that the bullet could kill him. All Dean had to do was find it—simple as that.
If the Colt had worked, Lucifer would've perished, the Apocalypse would've been averted and Sam would still be here.
Simple as that.
He's tells Lisa that he's ready to start working a few weeks later.
"Are you sure?" Lisa pauses from drying the dishes to meet his gaze. She smiles softly, putting the plate down on the counter and coming to his side, slipping her hands within his. "Dean, do you want to talk about it?"
"No." He tells her quickly.
"Look, I know there's something you can't tell me about what happened to—," She's about to say the name he can't hear, but she stops at the sight of his horrified expressions and quickly amends it. "About what happened to him." She pulls him into her arms, holding him securely. "But, whatever happened, it's eating you up inside. You need to talk to someone, anyone."
"I can't." He can feel himself shaking in her grasp; feel the tears trying to escape, the grief surging through him more powerful than any other emotion he's felt before. "Lisa, I can't."
She doesn't press anymore, just holds him until he puts a lid on the grief and pushes it down.
Somehow, he keeps functioning.
If he had found Sam faster when Azael took him, he wouldn't have had to make the deal. If he hadn't made the deal, he would've never been in Hell and Sam wouldn't have gotten mixed up with Ruby. If Sam hadn't been mixed up with Ruby, he never would've gotten addicted to demon blood and never would've started the Apocalypse.
Round and round he goes, through the various scenarios, the diverse factors he should've anticipated.
It's funny how in the end, it always come back to that misty night in Cold Oak, where Dean had lost his brother in a whole other way.
More importantly though, it always comes back to the choices Dean made.
Working in the auto shop gives him some solace.
For the few hours he works on cars, he doesn't think of anything at all. He doesn't think of Hell, of Lucifer, of Castiel, of Bobby or of Sam. Maybe that makes him cruel in some way, but without these hours, Dean has no doubts that he would've put a bullet through his brain.
"You get that Volvo running yet, Dean?" His supervisor calls, his voice echoing in the shop.
"Yeah!" He hollers back, wiping his sweaty brow.
"Great!" He shouts back. "Keep it up!"
"Thanks."
He wonders how Bobby is doing. He hasn't had the strength to call, afraid of what he might say fuelled by anger and grief. He supposes he should—part of him wants to, wants to have someone who was there, who knows to support him—but he can't ever bring himself to press the call button.
So, he just goes through the motions.
What if Castiel had been upfront with them in the beginning?
If the angel had just come out and told them what Heaven knew, they would've had all the cards on the table. Dean could've stopped Sam from becoming addicted, or if he failed at that, at least they would know the truth about the Apocalypse.
Or, if Heaven had worked with them, instead of against them, the Apocalypse could've been easily overturned. If they had seen Sam as a person—a more moral person than Dean could ever be—instead of an "abomination", they would've done everything in their power, Dean is sure, to stop the Apocalypse.
If only he could've convinced Castiel to join them earlier or pressed for more details in the beginning, none of this wouldn't have happened.
He never should've chosen a higher calling over his brother.
Lisa seals up the bag and places in on the counter, giving him a pointed glance.
"I've packed you some sandwiches." She explains when he can't read her mind. "It's not amazing or anything, but it should be better than any diner food." She shoots him a blinding grin and he silently takes the bag and slips it into his pack.
"Thanks." He tells her softly, meaning it with his whole being. Without Lisa, without her holding onto him, he never would've made it. He would've ended his life the moment he left Bobby's.
The thing is, he's broken without Sam. And yeah, maybe that's fucked up, to think that you need a person so badly by your side that you can't function without them, but it's Dean's reality. He was raised to be a brother first, hunter second and losing Sam?
Losing Sam had never been an option.
Yet, Sam's gone and he's still here.
"Dean?"
He pauses by the door.
"Say hi to him for me."
He manages to acknowledge that statement this time.
It's progress.
What if he had never gone to get Sam from Stanford?
If he hadn't taken Sam away, Jessica would've lived and Sam's desire to hunt never would've been reignited. He hadn't needed Sam's help to find their father—if he really wanted to, Dean could've found him by himself—but it was the temptation of being with Sam, of having someone to laugh with and watch his back that proved to be his undoing.
Consequences be damned, he had to have Sam back.
And look where that had gotten him.
It's funny how normal looking the cemetery is.
The grass grows and there's almost no visible trace of what took place. No dead grass, no crack in the Earth—nothing. The only thing to mark the spot where Sam was lost to him forever is a small circle of rocks, almost covered by grass.
He sits down, places his bag beside him and stares at the ground, tears falling freely.
If only he had made a different choice, Sam would still be alive.
If only he could do it over again, fix his mistakes!
"M'sorry, Sammy." He sobs, grief racking him. "This is all my fault."
But he can't.
This is his life—one devoid of Sam.
In Heaven, Castiel watches.
He may not be able to reverse time, but he can hope to remedy things. He knows how to get to the Cage and though it will be a risk, he has to try. After everything Sam had done for him, he owes it to his friend to at least attempt it.
"Castiel?" Another angel regards him confused. "Where are you going?"
Castiel smiles softly as he pictures the two brothers, their grins, and their happiness at being with each other.
They'll be together soon, that Castiel is sure of.
"I'm going to help a friend."
And then he's gone, without so much as a trace.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. I hope it wasn't too sad and that you enjoyed it! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!