(Kripke owns the boys. Say Anything owns the song. Enjoy!)
And if I could swim, I'd swim out to you in the ocean,
Swim out to where you were floating in the dark.
And if I was blessed, I'd walk on the water you're breathing,
To lend you some air for that heaving sunken chest.
His fingers dripped blood onto his face as he clawed through the thin piece of wood. Fear, dry and thick, jumped up into his throat and instinct told him to turn his head away. Dirt fell through the hole and strangely seemed to jump-start his muscles. He started moving the earth on top of him as quickly as he could, ignoring his screaming arms and aching lungs. Survive, damn it, a voice hissed in his head, a voice that sounded like a mixture of his father and brother. He needed to survive. He was alive, that was all he needed to know. That was all that was necessary for him to be.
He yelled, throat raw but it sounded like the sweetest melody. He was free of the earth and wood prison that had housed his body for… God, he didn't even know how long he had been… under. He could think the other word, the one that had a disgusting finality that wasn't true because he was here, defying it. His body was strangely whole, despite the phantom gashes that he knew had been slashed across his stomach and chest. The sound of barking nudged at the edge of his hearing and he sat up straight, heart hammering in his chest. It must have been a real one, because the expected invisible attack didn't come. He shivered, arms crossing over his chest without thinking. He rubbed his upper arms to try and warm himself and gasped when he felt the skin there raised. There, under the black fabric of his t-shirt, were handprints. He gazed at the marks in shock, wondering when that had happened. They looked more like burn scars than bruises. But he had been… under. How the hell had this happened?
'Cause they chose you as the model for their empty little dreams,
With your new head and your legs spread like a filthy magazine.
And they hunt you, and they gut you, and you give in..
His legs ached more than he ever remembered they could, but he forced himself to move. He had a responsibility to fulfill, and he couldn't bring himself to regret the reason he had wound up under. Sam. Sam was worth it, was worth the raw muscles and ruined fingertips and impressions of the things he had suffered while his body moldered away in that wooden box. The memory of seeing his brother lying dead in his arms was more painful than anything he could conjure up. Sam was all he had, more so now after their father was gone. It was his duty as a brother to protect him. But it was more than that. Sam didn't deserve to die like that. He didn't deserve to be stabbed in the back by a thing created by the demon who killed their mother. It wasn't his fault that damned Azazel wanted Sammy to be the fucking poster boy for his stupid endgame. Sam was beautiful and loving and strong and good, things that Azazel or his ex-Army boy flunkie couldn't even dream of being. Sam had no choice in being raped of his purely human blood, so he should have a choice as to when he should die.
And if I was brave, I'd climb up to you on the mountain,
They led you to drink from their fountain, spouting lies.
And I'd slay the horrible beast they commissioned
To steer me away from my mission to your eyes.
So he'd made the deal. The deal to trade his own life for Sam's, with a mere year as trade time. He couldn't regret it. Sam could live without him; he couldn't live without Sam. He couldn't go on, day after day knowing that he could have saved his brother's life with only a deal. He couldn't live with the knowledge that while he hadn't held the knife, he had let the light stay out of those soulful eyes. So for Sam, he conquered Death and banished him away from the youngest Winchester like a knight banishes a dragon. And then he got the best prize imaginable: his baby brother back, perfectly whole and intact, just in time to help defeat the demon they both hated more than anything else in the universe, the filthy thing that had taken both of their parents cruelly and quickly. From there, he expected things to go back to normal, despite the fact that he wouldn't be around next Christmas.
And I'd stand there, like a soldier, with my foot upon his chest,
With my grin spread, and my arms out, in my bloodstained Sunday's best,
And you'd hold me, and remind you who you are.. under their shell...
Dean had told him the news with a light air of regret, but Sam had taken it way out of proportion. After the initial anger though, Sam had hugged him, holding him more tightly than he could remember. The brothers had never been shy about physical contact. Hell, when you lived in hotels and back alleys with just your brother and father, excess physical contact was inevitable. But he couldn't recall an embrace like this, fevered and clinging, slightly desperate. It was like Sam was trying to hug him so tightly that maybe, just maybe, they would become one entity and Sam wouldn't have to say goodbye in only 365 days. It hadn't worked. However, Dean carried the memory of the hug with him, remembering it when he was pissed off at Sammy or enjoying the touch of whatever woman he had picked up from the bar. Those caresses were empty and impersonal, shared with whoever expressed the interest. While they satisfied him physically, they did nothing for him emotionally, though he would never let on to that. But Sam's hug… that sent comfort flowing through him like hot chocolate through his veins and he was glad that he would never have to be rid of that memory.
I'd walk through hell for you, let it burn right through my shoes
These soles are useless without you
Through hell for you, let the torturing ensue;
My soul is useless without you...
After a while, he came to the conclusion as to why Sam was so pissed about the deal he made. He didn't understand. Sam didn't understand what he meant to him and how lost he would be if Sam ever went away forever. The youngest Winchester had always been the strongest: strong enough to defy their father, strong enough to get away from the family that had been his whole life, strong enough to keep him going after their father died. Sam had no idea how much his brother admired that. He would give anything to be that strong, to not depend on his brother or his father to constantly remind him of why he was doing what he was doing. Without the presence of Sam, he was really just… afraid. Afraid to live, afraid of what he would become. Because he would become something he knew Sam would be ashamed of: one of those heartless bastard hunters who didn't give a damn about anything but their own hide. He would become the kind of hunter that his father wanted him to be and that Sam would look down upon. And of the two phantoms he would seek to approve, Sam's disappointment would be too hard to bear - even if it was only in his own head.
And if they send a whirlwind, I'd hug it like a harmless little tree
Or an earthquake, I'd calm it, and I'd bring you back to me,
And I'd hold you in my weak arms like a first born
He'd been responsible for Sam ever since their father shoved him into his arms at four. "Take your brother and get outside. Now!" Those words rang through his head every time he saw a knife slash or a fist fly towards Sammy. Each wound he got was a testament that he had failed his duty in protecting Sammy. But then, there would be moments of casual smiles, of kicks to the shin under sticky diner tables, of beer bottles Superglued to his hand and the resulting bout of laughter in his brother's brown eyes, of falling asleep looking over at Sam's curled form beneath the tacky hotel comforter. Those moments reminded him that he hadn't failed. Some pain was inevitable, and as much as he wished he could take it away, he just couldn't protect Sam from everything. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Whatever happened, he would always protect Sam and bring him back under his fiercely protective gaze. Even while Sam was away, he still went to California once in a while, finding his gangly brother on the college campus he thrived on, making sure he was okay. The little blonde chick that hung off his arm was like a wrench to his heart. He told himself it was because she looked like their mother, but when he was truthful with himself, he knew it was something else. It was because Sam had found someone else to be close to, someone else to share his secrets with as they waited for sleep to claim them. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't begrudge Sam that. It just… hurt.
I'd walk through hell for you, let it burn right through my shoes,
these soles are useless without you
Through hell for you, let the torturing ensue
My soul is useless without you..
(through hell for you)
(through hell for you)
Without you, without you...
The next day or so passed in a whirlwind of sensation that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. A bright spot shone when he found Bobby again, but the rest… he didn't even know. How could he fathom all of these things without having Sam? He lived through his first 48 hours with a sort of impatience. Didn't Sam think he would find a way back to him? Granted, he hadn't exactly engineered his return to the land of the living, but he was here. Why was his brother making it so hard for him to find him? He suspected Bobby had a question or two about his rushing in trying to find Sam, but the older hunter wisely kept his ideas to himself. He didn't care if he seemed desperate. He needed his brother to fill the hole in his chest, to make him feel like he really was alive again.
Now I've walked through hell for you
What's an adventurer to do,
But rest these feet at home with you?
And then he was knocking at a hotel room door. He waited impatiently, anticipating one of those back-breaking hugs that he held on to in his head like precious gems. But when the door swung open, his brother's eyes went wide in shock. There was something different about them. The brown was darker, like it was laced with black in some sort of strange way. He didn't like it. It didn't sit well in his stomach. And then… that girl. The girl that slunk out of the room, barely dressed and glancing around, looking at him like he didn't belong. Anger flared in his chest. She was the one who didn't belong here. It was back to how it was supposed to be: him and Sam, nothing else. But like the change in Sammy's eyes, there was something that wasn't right. Sam had a secret, that much he knew. He sat across from his brother, wondering what in the hell would be so important to him that he would keep it from his own brother.
"Dean?"
He was drawn out of his musing by the voice he had longed to hear the entire time he was under. Sam was smiling a bit, just a hint of amusement coloring his eyes and if he looked close enough, he could ignore the flashes of black and it was his Sammy again. The one who grew up with him and the one who held him so tightly that he thought his soul would burst with happiness.
"I'm back, Sammy."