A/N: This is just a little one-shot I thought would go well after the season finale. This is my first Supernatural fanfiction, but I have written for other shows. Please read and review.
Spoilers: Devil's Trap.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Enjoy!
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The Art of Walking Away
By: Ada C. Eliana
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He knew he had to leave.
Even before he opened his eyes, the coppery scent of blood clinging to the air around his face, to see the Impala crushed against an empty semi, he knew. Even as he told his father they could regroup to find the demon he knew what he had to do. It lingered as a nagging thought in his mind since before the demon possessed their father and tried to kill his brother; before he saw Jessica's body covered in blood, clinging to the ceiling; maybe he had always known.
The demon wanted him.
Him.
Not Dean or Dad or anyone else, just him.
And Mom and Jess? They had been in the way; somehow stood between the demon and him. They were just in the way. And they died for it.
He never thought anything could be as painful as staring into Jess' blank eyes as the fire engulfed her body.
But when the demon turned on Dean… when he thought Dean would die… Nothing could compare to that utter helplessness. He wanted more than anything to garner control of that power he hated, to make that gun move, to do something, anything.
But he had been forced to stand by idly and watch; watch as the demon tried to kill his brother because of him. They had been lucky that their father gained control of himself long enough to release Sam; lucky that he had fired that shot at John's leg to knock him down.
As he held the gun on his father and the demon, his finger poised on the trigger of the Colt, about to destroy that creature forever, he had been ready to shoot. If shooting his father could kill that demon and save his brother then he would do it.
Except that Dean stopped him. Dean prevented him from saving Dean.
Loyalty was funny like that.
But Sam could not sit through that again, he could never watch another person he cared about hurt for his sake.
If the demon wanted him, then he would make sure that no one stood between them.
He made his decision as he studied his father and brother's unconscious forms in the Impala, the radio still playing and the semi's headlights shining through the windows. With a sense of calm that surprised even Sam, he checked John's vitals, and listened for Dean's breathing. Scrabbling for his cell phone, his hand found the cool metal of the Colt. He stared at it for a moment and then pushed open the protesting door of the car and stepped out into the street.
For a moment, through the darkness, the dust, and the gloom he thought he saw a pair of yellow eyes; watching him, and letting him know this was his final warning.
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Leaning through the back seat passenger door, he kneeled on the concrete and held Dean's hand, whispering encouragement to him as he heard Dean's breathing becoming more taxed. And somewhere in the distance, sirens whined.
The next hour passed in a haze. The paramedics pushed him out of the way and began working on Dean. The others had to work on getting John out of the driver's side door. Sam just stood off to the side, unable to do anything except watch and listen for whatever information they shot between each other.
He broke out of his inertia when they loaded Dean into an ambulance and climbed in after him.
BREAK
Dean was going to make it; he would be fine.
That was all that mattered; the rest of what the doctor said Sam cast aside; broken ribs, penetrated lung, concussion, and internal injuries did not matter.
Dean would be fine.
He conjured up a story involving a hunting trip and his brother being savagely mauled by a bear while he accidentally shot his father trying to save Dean, when the cops came. They bought the lie, and moved along, leaving Sam to his family.
The nurses had insisted on checking Sam over, and after finding only bruised ribs and a slight concussion they respected his request to be left alone.
The infallible John Winchester had somehow managed to survive a direct blow to his side of the car with little more than a concussion and a broken arm. He had even woken up, but Sam did not see him. He could not. They were too alike, John and him, and he had to distance himself from that so he could do what he had to do.
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He sat beside his brother, his hand clasping Dean's firmly. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he murmured to the silent form. "I'm so sorry that this happened to you. I promise you it won't happen again, he'll leave you alone, I swear. You're just going to have to do what I say for once." He smiled slightly at his words, imagining his brother's incredulous expression and the quip that would no doubt follow. "That's right, little brother's in charge on this one. Bet you hate that, right?"
He paused as footsteps passed the door and waited until the thumping sound of blunt heels had faded before speaking again. "I have to get some stuff from the car – yep, your baby. She's in bad shape, but I think she can be fixed. So, I'll be back in a little bit, okay? Stay tough, Dean," he added as he stood and walked away.
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Leaning against the lockers in the bus station he could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of loss. After having the Impala towed to a mechanic in town, he overpaid the man – Ed – ahead of time for the repairs to the car, letting him know that Dean would be picking it up, not him. Then he collected the weapons and bags from the trunk, knowing it would not do well for someone else to come across them. Bagging them up, he tossed the implements that had saved his life countless times into a locker for his father to retrieve later.
He did keep some out for himself, stuffing them in a spare bag the same way he did when he left Dean that time to try and meet their father in Sacramento. The Colt and its single remaining penetrating bullet he kept with him at all times.
Sam moved from the lockers to one of the waiting area chairs, sinking into the cheap plastic and pulling a notebook and pen from his duffle bag. Clenching his eyes shut against the tears that would inevitably fall, Sam wrote with impatience and ferocity. Once finished he looked it over, and then folded it three times before scrawling 'Dean' across the middle section.
Sighing deeply, he gathered his belongings and headed back for the hospital.
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Dean had been awake briefly while Sam was gone. But now he slept once more, and Sam rather felt that God had some mercy left for him after all. He showed a nurse a small bag that contained a day's worth of Dean's clothes and some of his things, making sure that they would not get lost somehow in the hospital's constant shifting of patients. He left his father's bag with another nurse, requesting that she waited to deliver them to 'Mr. Winston' until John was ready to be discharged.
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Sam stood stoically in the doorway to Dean's hospital room, watching the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest beneath the light green hospital gown and stack of blankets. His pale face blended in with the white pillowcase, and his hair had matted down against his head.
In Sam's mind he saw blood seeping from between Dean's lips as he cried out, the grinning demon taking sick pleasure in seeing him in pain. And the voices and conversations they had in the cabin became disjointed in his head, words and phrases repeating themselves out of order, until they joined in one sentence that shook Sam to the core.
You mean, why'd I kill Mommy and pretty little Jess?
Yeah.
You wanna know why? Because they got in the way.
Let him go. Or I swear to God-
What? What are you and God gonna do?
He's in here with me.
Two wrongs don't make a right.
You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter… The one in the alley? That was my boy. You understand?
In the way of what?
My plans for you, Sammy – you… and all the children like you.
What? You're the only one who can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?
Sam was gonna ask her to marry him.
Make the gun float to ya there, psychic boy.
He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood.
You wanna know why? Because they got in the way.
Oh that's right. I forgot. I did.
My plans for you Sammy – you… and all the children like you.
Because they got in the way. Sammy. They got in the way.
How would you feel if I killed your family?
How would you feel… they got in the way… because… Sammy… how would you feel… mommy and pretty little Jess… gonna tear you apart… gonna taste the iron in your blood… oh that's right… I did… how would you feel if I killed your family… gonna tear you apart… because they got in the way…
How would you feel if I killed your family… because they got in the way?
How would you feel if I killed your family because they got in the way?
He could not let that happen, ever. Reciting that sentence in the demon's voice over and over in his mind strengthened Sam, bolstered him with courage for what he was about to do.
Procuring the letter from his pocket, he stepped beside Dean's bed, resting the paper on the small side-table where he would surely see it.
Ignoring the blood oxygen level monitor and the IV, Sam laid his head down on Dean's chest, feeling the steady heartbeat as his eyes filled with tears once more. Dean stirred slightly, but did not wake, and Sam held him fiercely for just a moment before releasing him. Taking Dean's hand in his own he licked his lips and prepared to say what could be their final goodbye.
Leaving had been easier the first time; there had been righteous indignation and festering anger that forced him away from his father, and by default, his brother as well. But Sam in his own way felt as if by leaving them he took his own curse with him, and that maybe if he were normal the demon would leave him alone; leave him and his family alone.
Things never go the way you hope they do.
There was a lot about that time that he regretted; cutting Dean out of his life completely and starting fresh. And then there were the things he cherished about those two years; a taste of 'normal', his friends, his Jess.
This time leaving felt horrible and wrong.
He had been so angry for the past year at their father for leaving to go after the demon, and now he was about to do the exact same thing. It seemed the 'art of walking away' had somehow been perfected by Sam and John, always leaving Dean to deal with the repercussions.
Sam wished that things could be different, but he had to live the life he had, play the cards he'd been dealt, and all of those other clichés about following his path.
"Dean… I… this is really hard…" he whispered, thinking of how furious Dean would be to wake up and find him gone. "I just… I love you, okay? And… I have to do this…" He studied his sleeping brother for a moment, taking in his image and committing it to memory. Unbidden, one of the last real conversations he and Dean had came to his mind, his brother's voice echoing in his head, as if trying to make him turn back.
Sam, I wanna waste it. I do, okay? But it's not worth dyin' over.
I mean it. If hunting this demon means you getting yourself killed, then I hope we never find the damn thing.
Sammy, look… the three of us – that's all we have. And that's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. Without you and Dad…
"I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry," he choked. The tears fell this time, and Dean seemed to be fighting to wake up, his hand twitching slightly against Sam's. "Bye Dean," he forced out before dropping his hand.
Without giving himself a chance to reconsider his decision, he turned away from his older brother and purposefully fled the room.
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Dean forced his heavy eyelids to open, sensing someone close by, someone who was not Sam. John sat beside Dean, having signed himself out of the hospital an hour ago, his leg in a metal brace, and his face a mask of sadness and anger as he surveyed his oldest. "Dad?" Dean choked out; glad that this time his father was there rather than the nurse from hell.
"Hi Dean," he said. The words ground out almost painfully.
"Where's Sammy?" His voice faltered slightly; his throat aching.
John shook his head.
And Dean began to panic.
"The nurse – she said he was alright!" he protested what he thought his father was insinuating.
"He is," John answered. Not that he knew personally, as Sam never came to see him after the car wreck. "But he… he's gone. He left. For good."
"Sam wouldn't do that," Dean glowered. "He wouldn't leave without even talking to me at least."
John said nothing, but handed Dean a folded sheet of notebook paper with Sam's writing on it. Dean took it grudgingly and unfolded the object to read.
Dean,
If you're reading this it means I'm gone. Wow, that sounds weird. But yeah, I'm leaving.
What the demon said in the cabin, about killing mom and Jess because of me, it was true. As much as you've tried to tell me it wasn't my fault and I wasn't to blame, it's true. I know I didn't ask for this demon to be after me, but it is, and I have to deal with that.
I know you hate all this touchy-feely crap, but you're going to have to endure it at least once more.
I can't take a repeat of what happened back there Dean. The demon tried to kill you, it would have. And I can't watch that, I can't be responsible for you dying, I won't. The car crash was a warning, and it could have killed you two. I can't have that happen. I'm going to find a way to get rid of this thing without risking you or Dad. I just can't take another death because someone got in the way – in between me and it. I'm taking the Colt with me and some of the stuff from the trunk of the Impala, so I'll be prepared. I just need you to leave it. I don't want you or Dad to come after me or look for me. I need you to stay away. Please. I can finish this, I need to finish this, by myself.
I had your car towed to Eddy's Car Repair, not the best place but I overpaid him so he should be able to fix up the Impala. The stuff from the trunk is in a locker at the bus station, I left the details about that in the bag the nurses have.
This past year, cross-country hunting with you, it was pretty crazy, but I'm glad that we got the chance to get to know each other again. I'm going to miss you and your lame attempts at humor, brother, but I need you to do as I say. Let me be in charge this one time. Go kill whatever supernatural thing you can get your hands on and save as many people as you can if that's what you want, but leave this demon alone.
I think I've written it enough times that it should have sunken in. And I know it'll be hard for you to back off from your overprotective-big-brother role, but you have to. So, one more time, don't come looking for me or the demon.
I decided to leave you the letter and take off before you woke up because if I were talking to you – I don't know if I would be able to go through with this, but I know I have to. You're probably angry, and I can't say I blame you. I would be angry too.
I hope you can understand why I have to do this, and maybe if you can't then someday I could explain it to you, someday when that demon's been killed. I hope that happens. As soon as I kill it; if I can, I'll find you, I swear.
I love you, Dean. Stay safe.
-Sammy
Dean pushed the letter away, shaking his head in denial of what he had just read. Sammy had left; left. His little brother, one of the two people important to him had gone off on some crazy suicide mission to protect him.
And for perhaps the first time in his life Dean Winchester felt truly helpless.
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Sam bought a bus ticket, not caring where it took him as long as it was far away. He had no idea where he should go, or what he should do. But he had the Colt, and he knew the demon would follow him wherever he went. As long as Dean and John stayed away he would be grateful. This whole crusade began with him, with whatever the demon wanted with him, and he would have to be the one to end it.
He just hoped that somehow they would understand.
With that last thought, he boarded the bus, determined to not look back until after that demon had been destroyed.
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The End.
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A/N: I would love to know what you thought.
Thank you for reading,
Ada C. Eliana
8/24/2006