Today, if not Tomorrow.
Author's note: For those precious few still reading 'The Road Ahead', the next chapter is in the trusty hands of my beta as we speak, and the final chapters are done. There is an explanation for my extreme tardiness and you'll get it. I promise.
And if you ask me why I am still running, I'll tell you I run for a soul.
(Melissa Etheridge – I run for life)
There were moments in a brother's life, where everything just seemed plain hopeless. Where the whole world, the entire universe even, seemed to conspire against you. Where nothing you did helped you in any way and where everything that was being said and done made you almost scream in aggravation and despair. Where each movement made the hairs on your body stand up and every action shook you till the very centre of your core. Such moments occured every day when you had a brother and every hour when that brother could be found in your viscinity 24 hours a day.
It was a constant when that brother not only refused to help you save his own life, but he flat out threw himself into each and every fireline he came across, because he was "dead already" anyway.
Today was not such a day.
Today was worse.
For the past week, Sam had tried his hardest to be nice to his brother, to let him have his fun. To let him eat bacon-cheeseburgers for breakfast and flirt with every girl he met ( and then take those girls back to the motelroom for some "fun", while he sat in the car leafing through dusty volumes filled with ancient texts in dead languages). He'd tried to let him be, for a little bit. He kept telling himself that Dean had sold his soul, for heaven's sake. He had watched his little brother die and then sold his soul to wake him up. He'd done everything, given literally everything he had, to save his brother. To get him back. He'd sold his soul, to bring back his little brother from death.
And today, here that little brother was. Alive and kicking and Pissed. The. Hell. Off.
He wasn't mad. He wasn't angry.
He was simply, plainly, irrefutably Pissed. The. Hell. Off.
He was going out of his way to find a way to save his brother from that stupid-as-hell deal he made. He was buried in books every single minute he could. He was on the phone with Bobby or whoever might be able to help him whenever he had the time. He was awake every single night because every time he closed his eyes he remembered that there would come a day when he would open them and his brother would be gone.
And every night, after tossing his cookies and whatever else he'd been able to eat, he'd boot up his laptop and start researching again. To find something. To find anything. To keep his brother alive.
And here Dean was, saying 'Nah'.
'Nah'.
And he just had to deal.
He just had to deal with what? With the fact that his brother was gonna be gone, dead, burning in hell in 51 weeks? With the fact that there was nothing he could do?
With the fact that Dean didn't want him to do anything about it?
When his brother had stood before him, all walls dropped and no holds barred, and explained the terms of the deal and his determination to keep Sam from saving him, Sam had almost punched him in the face. When Dean had, with brutal honesty, told him why he'd made that deal, he'd been a second away from hugging him, and then punching him in the face again. When he'd said that, after everything he'd done for his family, he was entitled to being selfish, Sam had wanted to run and hide in shame and when, in the end, he'd admitted that there finally was a light at the end of the tunnel, he'd only barely kept himself from bursting to tears. Before wanting to punch him, once again.
So now, sitting in the Impala's passengerseat, he was Pissed. The. Hell. Off.
No pun intended.
His brother felt good. He was happy. He was happy because Sam was alive. And he was happy because, if it all went according to plan, he was gonna die first.
The most twisted thing about this all was that Sam got it. He understood. Because if that crossroads demon walked up to him now and offered him a year and his brothers life in exchange for his soul, he wouldn't hesitate. He'd kiss the girl. No doubt, no question. And he'd be happy too. Happy that he would get to go first. That he'd be able to give up the research because his brother would not only live, but he'd never have to see him die.
He could never, in a million years, imagine what it must have felt like for Dean to watch, to feel his little brother die in his arms. But he would. If Dean had his way, he'd know exactly what that felt like, in less than a year. The mere idea of that was enough to make him want to run to that crossroads and beg for his brother's life. He'd gladly accept 5 minutes if it meant not having to give up Dean, not having to end up without his brother. The thought of Dean dying made him want cry out in anguish. So what would happen to him when Dean really... When he woke up and his brother was no longer there. In the room, in the world. In his life. What would happen then?
Dean had felt his brother die and he'd gone to a demon and he'd offered up his soul.
Sam was watching his brother die, very slowly, every day and he was reading. Reading. And writing. And talking. He wasn't busting heads and kicking ass and making deals. He was reading.
It would have to do for now.
He'd let Dean think whatever he wanted to think. He'd let him assume he wasn't gonna be saved and he was gonna let him have his beer and his burgers and his girls.
Sam was gonna read, and plan, and call. And he'd never give up. Not for a second.
He'd fight.
If Dean wasn't gonna do it, then Sam would.
He'd fight for two souls.
Just a spur of the moment thing. I didn't even see the entire episode. It doesn't air here. Stupid country.
Thanks for reading.