Here Without You
Rating: R for violence and language
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby
Spoilers: Tonight's Episode (3.11- Mystery Spot)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to Supernatural and its characters, though that doesn't stop me from wishing I did.
Warnings: Spoilers up through 3.11, character death, major angst (limp!Sam), violence and language.
Summary: Tag to 3.11 - By the time he pulled into Bobby's two days later he was completely and totally numb, wondering to himself if this is how he felt after only a few days, how the hell could he live the rest of his life?
There was blood coating his hands, staining his jean, and dripping into a growing pool underneath his knees. It only made the situation more surreal. As Sam pulled Dean closer to him, a few more tears slipped out. It felt as if the bullet had gone straight through his brother, right into his own heart leaving behind a gaping hole. The rage and guilt and fear all swarming, overlapping, trying to take control.
But right now, sorrow was winning out over all of them. Even logic.
They were in a parking lot, him holding his brother's dead body, where anyone could see them. He knew he should move before they were spotted and cops got involved and his brother was taken from him, but his legs just wouldn't work.
For a moment, blinded by tears and desperation, Sam wondered if this was how Dean felt. Was it this, this overwhelming feeling of sorrow at losing the one and only thing left on this godforsaken planet that he cared about that had led Dean to making the deal, damning himself just to have his brother back by his side? Because if it was, Sam suddenly understood with crystal clarity Dean's pain and sacrifice. He would do anything to have his brother back right now.
Wiping away his tears with a determined hand, Sam hauled his brother's body into his arms. He ignored the still dripping blood, and how heavy Dean's still warm dead weight actually was, and how his brother's head lulled just a little bit with each step, half-lidded lifeless eyes staring up at him as he climbed the stairs.
It wasn't until he reached the top that he realized someone had seen him. The maid, pushing her cart along stopped, frozen in her tracks at what she saw. Her wide, terrified eyes rose from Dean's lifeless body to meet Sam's sullen gaze. He gave her a brief nod before he walked through the still open doorway of their room. He hadn't gotten a chance to shut it in his haste to get to his brother's side.
As he lay Dean down on the nearest bed, Sam suddenly felt his sorrow fading away. Not completely. It was still there, strong as ever, only now it was muted slightly by rage. Pulling his .45 from his bag, he tucked it in the back waistband of his jeans, then keys for the Impala out of Dean's pocket before he headed out the door.
At the top of the stairs he was once again thwarted in his plans by the still frozen maid. He turned to her and tried to quell the rage, it wouldn't due to scare her anymore at this point. So as calmly as he could, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extended his shaking hand towards her, every bill he had clutched in its grasp.
"You didn't see a thing," he whispered. The tears and sorrow and hate weren't masked like he wanted them to be, but it helped get his point across to the frightened girl. "You didn't see me. You didn't see my brother. You never saw what happened. No one goes in that room and you say nothing to anyone. Got it?"
The young girl nodded, then stammered out "Yes, sir" but she made no move for the money.
Sam felt tears in his eyes once again and cursed them. "Take it." He thrust the money towards her again. If it was harsher than he meant, he made no indication, just felt some sort of relief as the girl took the money from his hand then turned and fled down the hall.
He let out a shaky breathe, leaning heavily against the railing for a moment trying to recollect himself. Could he really go after this guy? A human? He wanted to say no, wanted to peg down the trickster and make him pay for all that had happened, but then he remember the gunshot. Remembered the coward running away with a gun and wallet clutched in his hands. Remembered Dean bleeding out on the cold, wet pavement. The cool metal of the .45 pressed into his back, comforting and telling. He knew what needed to be done.
Without further hesitation, Sam ran down the stairs towards the Impala.
Three days. He'd stayed in that hell hole of a town for three days tracking down his foes. It had only taken him a matter of hours to track down the coward who shot Dean. Sam had found him hugging a wall in a back alleyway, drunk as a skunk and probably high as well. It had taken nothing for Sam to slam him against a dumpster, one hand holding his gun to the man's chest, the other frisking him.
He wasn't looking for weapons, though. And he knew the instant he found what he was looking for. Dean's wallet. He'd know the feel and look of it anywhere. Hell, Dean had that thing for as long as Sam could remember, never got rid of it. Why would I get a new one, Sammy? This one's still good as new. Sure, there was a tear in the leather, the edges worn down to white from frequent handling, but Dean had never gotten rid of it.
So when Sam's hand reached into the man's pocket, he knew instantly it was his brother's. His face was blank but his eyes were flaming as he pulled out the wallet and held it in front of the man's face. The guy stammered an apology, yammering on and on with excuses that fell upon deaf ears. Sam stared at him for a moment, glared hard, before he took a step back.
Then he plugged one right between the guy's eyes. He watched as the man's face formed a shocked expression for a split second before his body slid to the ground, held upright by only the dumpster behind him. Then Sam plugged two more in his chest for good measure and because karma was a serious bitch. He glanced both ways up the alley but no one was in sight. So he pocketed the wallet and fled.
He thought he would feel better having gotten rid of the scum that had killed his brother, but after searching until close to midnight for the Trickster, Sam went back to the empty hotel room. He sat in the dark on the opposite bed as Dean's body and stared. He prayed for his brother to be alive again. Prayed for the day to rewind and start all over again. Prayed for a whiskey to help dull the ache.
But he got none of it.
The next morning he pulled the blanket over Dean's cold body. He couldn't stand to look at him like that anymore. Then he walked to the diner and ordered a coffee, giving Doris the most hateful glare he could muster when she asked where his cute companion was. He sat there near all day. Didn't touch his coffee, just stared at the empty spot at the counter where the Trickster had been all those days before. But he never showed.
The next day at the crack of dawn, still running on no sleep and no food and the bottle of Jack he'd bought on his way back to the room, Sam carried his brother's body out to the Impala, laying him on the backseat and covering him with a blanket. He paused for a moment, running his hand along the sleek black metal of the roof, whispering an apology. Whether it was to Dean or to the car, he wasn't sure. They hit the road a few minutes after that, putting the town in their rearview mirror.
By the time he pulled into Bobby's two days later he was completely and totally numb, wondering to himself if this is how he felt after only a few days, how the hell could he live the rest of his life without Dean?
Bobby came walking out, surprised at the early morning visitors, but grinning when he saw the familiar car. He paused on the steps when he saw Sam, and only Sam, in the car. Behind the wheel no less. What caused him even greater concern was how Sam sat completely still in the driver's seat. Pale faced, white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, staring straight forward. He made no movements to get out of the car or that he even heard when Bobby walked up and opened the door.
The first thing he saw was the blood on Sam's pants and immediately bent down to check the younger man for injuries. Shock could explain Sam's behavior. But he found no injuries. Not even the tiniest scratch. It wasn't until Bobby, still crouched down, placed his hand upon Sam's cold one that the younger man finally moved. He glanced over at the older hunter for a moment, eyes bloodshot and filled with tears, before he turned his gaze to the rearview mirror.
Bobby stared at Sam, confused for a moment before he reluctantly followed his gaze to the backseat. That's when he knew. Nothing was sticking out from underneath the blanket, but there was only one thing that could make that shape and only one reason why Sam would be acting like this.
"Oh Sam," Bobby pulled Sam to him. The younger man didn't resist the hug, but never moved for more contact either. He just sat there in the driver's seat, frozen. After a minute, Bobby's hands were on Sam again, this time pulling him up and out of the car, steering him into the house where he sat, still in a trance, on Bobby's couch.
He was aware of the older hunter moving around the house, heard his one-sided conversation on the phone with multiple people he presumed, but never moved until or said a word until Bobby was seated on the coffee table in front of him.
"Sam, I hate to say this but …" and there he hesitated, remembering when he had said those words to Dean and the reaction he'd gotten. He blew out a shaky breath, laid his hand on Sam's knee and gave the youngest Winchester what he hoped was a sympathetic look before he continued. "Sam, what are we gonna do with his body?"
Sam stiffened and so did Bobby, waiting for the explosive anger that never came. Sam just sat there tense for a moment before he deflated like a sail. Shoulders slumped, his chin hitting his chest as he shook his head slightly. Bobby had a feeling there were tears in his eyes again but Sam's long bangs hid the evidence as they brushed back and forth lightly over his forehead. Then Sam pulled himself up and walked shakily back to the room he and Dean used to stay in when they were little. Only the soft snick of the door-latch could be heard in the too silent house.
Sam spent close to a week at Bobby's. Only talking when it was about the hunt for the Trickster. Only eating when Bobby practically forced it down his throat. Only sleeping a few hours at a time before the nightmares came and stole his peace away. The whole time Dean's body sat in the Impala, wrapped in the hotel blanket. The day Sam left, he and Bobby had moved Dean's body into the house.
"What should we-" Bobby's question was cut short by Sam's glare.
"Do what you see fit. Just don't do it until I'm long gone." Then Sam had slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the door, swearing silently to himself to never return to the place where both his father and brother had been laid to rest. He didn't know what Bobby was gonna do with Dean's body, and part of him didn't want to know because it didn't matter.
For months he hunted relentlessly. He didn't see faces, didn't remember names. He had no tact at all. It was all business. And he wracked up a higher count than anyone would have thought possible. He knew Dean and Dad would be proud, but that thought just ate away at him a little more, causing his rage to outweigh his sorrow, renewing the never ending cycle.
He no longer felt pain. A bullet to the chest didn't stop him from taking down four demons. A bite to the neck and a gouge out of his right arm barely gave him pause as he took down the nest of vampires. He was unstoppable. He was numb.
And he knew that somewhere along the lines he stopped feeling human. Maybe it was when Dean had died. Or when he shot a human who was powered by nothing more than greed. Maybe it was when he stopped taking calls from anyone who didn't have a hunt for him, when he stopped eating and sleeping and functioning like a human and started acting like a ruthless killing machine. But he knew it was all worth it because it bought him here, to this night.
Standing in front of the trickster now he knew the last six months were just a test. That's what lay ahead for him. He'd known that. That if Dean had died a few months later, when his year had truly been up, he would still be the same way. But he didn't care.
"I want my Dean back." He couldn't stop the tears from prickling in his eyes, but he could stop them from falling. He swallowed the lump of sorrow, quelled the anger and put it back in its cage, and stared the Trickster straight in the eye. "I don't care what lies ahead. I need him back. Please. He's my brother."
A slow smile crept along the trickster's lips, tugging the corners into an unnerving leer. "You got it."
Sam bolted awake at the sound of radio blasting in his ear. He sucked in a breath as he caught sight of Dean in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Dean grinned at him, mumbling something about a crappy radio station around his toothbrush before he turned back to the sink. Sam swallowed and gazed around in disbelief. He could feel the tears in his eyes as he gazed at his brother's back, watching as he swayed to the music. The pain in his chest, the fear and anger and sorrow, all slowly melted, filling in the gap. And if it weren't for that he would have thought it all a dream.
He lifted up his shirt and scanned his chest. There were no new scars left from a bullet. No jagged white lines on his arm left from vampires. Nothing but his old skin and his hair the proper length and his clothes fitting properly. He let out a small, breathless, hysterical laugh. "I'm back."
"Sammy. You okay?" Dean stood in the doorway watching his brother in part amusement. But the other part was concerned. "We're not gonna have a repeat of yesterday, are we?"
That caught Sam's attention. He whipped his head around to face Dean, face suddenly paling. "What?!" He knew his voice kicked up an octave and he probably looked like a deer caught in headlights but he couldn't help it.
"You know, you going all whacked out on me. Mumbling shit about time loops and the trickster. Don't tell me you're still on that. We killed that bastard months ago." Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam, waiting for a reply. Whether it was a cocky ass remark or an educated rambling, he wasn't sure what exactly he was expecting but it definitely wasn't suddenly being smothered by his brother's massive body.
Sam bolted out of bed, feet snagging in the covers as he ran across the room, pulling Dean's body to him. He knew he was probably scaring the shit out of Dean, probably squashing the air out of his lungs as well. But at that moment, he couldn't care less. Dean was back with him. That was all that mattered.
Taking a deep breath, hoping it would help clear up the tears, Sam stepped back from his brother, giving him a pat on the chest and looking him straight in the eye. He wouldn't tell Dean what happened. What he would become, how far he was willing to go, what lengths he would take to keep his brother safe, would never leave the safety of Sam's own mind.
"Hey, I know where we can go for our next hunt." Sam said as he pulled on his jeans. He grinned when Dean slung his bag over his shoulder and said about hitting the road. Sam pulled his own bag over his shoulder, pushing Dean out of the way as he headed down the stairs first, the weight of his .45 a comfort tucked in the waistband of his jeans.
fin