The Lord Taketh Away
K Hanna Korossy

"He'd drive around…gettin' folks ready for judgment day."

"You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean. Promise me." Sam's demand hung heavy in the car.

Dean swallowed. No way would he—could he—just leave Sam suffering in that cage and not even try to get him out. Or be truly happy without him. Or ever move on.

On the other hand, he and Sam only had a few hours left together until…until Detroit. Dean didn't want to spend them arguing, upset Sam even more.

So he lied to Sam, for Sam, one last time. "Yeah. I promise."

His brother gave him a hard look, knowing him a little too well, before finally relaxing into the seat. That mission accomplished, at least. "Thank you," he breathed.

Thanking Dean for letting him be tormented for all eternity. Dean's stomach turned.

"Hey, uh." Sam cleared his throat. "There's a letter. In my bag."

Dean's eyes and throat constricted. "Sam…"

"No, listen, you don't have to read it, okay? I get it if you don't. I just…I had to write it. Nothing in there we haven't said already, but…" He offered a bent smile. "Just, made me feel better, all right?"

They never left anything unsaid; they'd lived their lives knowing each day could be their last. Didn't mean there weren't a thousand things Dean wanted to tell him, talk to him about, ask him. Sam and he already knew the important stuff: who should be notified, where the few treasured possessions were hidden, how very much they were loved and how lucky they'd been in their family. But that wasn't the same as nothing left to say.

It took two tries before Dean managed to speak.

"Hey, you know that time Dad got so mad at you for losing his good silver knife? Well, I'd tried cleaning that thing the night before but I got the polish and the holy water mixed up. Musta been something on the knife—it was like I'd rubbed acid on it…"

00000

"The Devil didn't know or care what kind of car the boys drive."

"He's drunk the first carton."

Castiel had sidled up to him to gravely share that piece of information. Dean swallowed and nodded hard, trying to quell the panic that was winding its way through his body. This was it, only minutes left. "He told me he didn't want me to watch." Like Sam drinking blood would have put him off at this point. It wouldn't be how…how he'd remember the kid.

"He wanted me to lie to him."

It was shared in such a baffled tone, Dean barked a laugh before he could stop himself, the sound ragged. "Yeah, well. Don't worry about it. Nobody holds deathbed lies against you."

"But there is no… Ah. I see."

"Yeah." Dean blinked hard; he couldn't afford the blurred vision, missing any bit of these last few moments. "I agreed to this."

There was a pause. "You didn't have a—"

"I did. He asked me. He wouldn't be doing this if I said no." Dean laughed again, the sound unsteady, a little crazy. "The idiot finally asks me, and I say yes."

"You don't think he can succeed, either," Castiel said slowly.

Dean finally looked up at him, trying not to see the unexpected empathy in the angel's eyes. "I don't think it matters. Either he beats the Devil and jumps into that cage, or Lucifer wins and Sam's gone or, worse, trapped in a ringside seat for doomsday. Either way…" Either way, Dean lost. And Sam had asked his permission and he'd said yes.

"There's still time to stop him."

He blinked at Castiel. He really shouldn't be surprised anymore by those he cared for, yet they kept pulling stuff like this out of their hats. Like an offer to let him put his brother before the world. Like his little brother asking Dean to let go of him to save the world.

Like the serene, old-soul look in Sam's eyes when he'd asked, willing to sacrifice himself, and just as willing to wait until Dean was ready to let him. No, not willing. Needing Dean's blessing, his brother's strength to be strong enough to do this.

Dean's hands shook as he rubbed them against his jeans. "No," he said bleakly. "There isn't."

00000

"They never were, in fact, homeless."

There was no body to burn, not that Dean thought he would've been able to. Nothing else left to do there.

Castiel had taken off. Bobby had quietly gone, too, but returned soon after with a couple pieces of wood. He'd lit the end of one, burned it to charcoal, and smeared five ashy letters onto the other, then stuck it in the ground in front of Dean. They'd sat a long time after and stared at that in lieu of flames.

"Maybe nobody else will know what he did here today, but we will," Bobby finally said with shaky quiet.

Dean nodded, numb. He couldn't feel it. It was too huge, like…the end of the world.

Bobby clasped his shoulder, letting him have his silence.

That was actually what moved Dean to speak. "Michael blamed Lucifer for breaking up their family."

He could sort of feel Bobby's perplexed gaze on him. That was all he was aware of, that and the lopsided piece of wood he was staring at.

"Gabriel, he said…" Dean's mouth twisted in despair. "He said Sam and me, we were like Lucifer and Michael. But I never blamed Sam for leaving. He was right, trying to get out of this. But he didn't break us up, not even when he left. He was always the glue, you know? He kept Dad and me from cracking."

Bobby's hand flexed on his shoulder. "And you chose your brother over destiny. Michael couldn't do that, either."

His body was so heavy. Dean let his head hang, feeling crushed by the weight of what had happened there. "I got no place to go without him," he whispered.

"That's not true and you know it," Bobby said evenly. "It's just gonna take a while until anyplace feels right."

It would take longer than that, but Dean had no strength left to argue.

When they finally got up and walked away, it was the older man who had to hoist the younger to his feet and hold him up.

00000

"He made a promise."

"Dean."

He blinked lazily, not registering more than a blur in front of his eyes. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there in the bed, and didn't really care.

A hand slid through his hair, down his cheek, smaller and smoother than he was used to. Sam had such big paws… "Dean, look at me."

He blinked again, eyesight unwittingly clearing. Dark hair, but a petite face, delicate features. Brown eyes, without a hint of green.

They softened. "Hey. It's time you got up now, just for a little bit. Just take a shower and eat something, then you can lie down again, okay?"

He stared at her. Lisa. He'd come to Lisa, just like he'd promised Sam. Not that he'd intended to keep that promise, but… He hadn't been able to do anything else. Barely had had the strength to drag himself to her doorstep.

"Dean, I'm worried about you. I really need you to get up for me a little."

It was almost funny: Sam had kept fighting the fight when Dean died because he'd promised Dean. And now Dean was giving up the fight because he'd promised Sam.

"Ben's worried about you, too. He wants to come in, but I don't want him to see you this way."

He was pretty sure Sam hadn't meant giving up completely, however.

"Dean, sweetie—"

"I don't know what to do," he said rustily. "Lis', I don't know what to do."

Her eyes were shiny, kind of like Sam's when he got upset. Dude really was half girl. "I know, baby. We don't have to figure it out today. Just…you need to take a shower and eat—that's all you need to do right now. Come on, I'll help you."

"Promise?" he whispered.

She leaned her forehead against his temple. She smelled of perfume, and a different fruity shampoo than Sam's frou-frou stuff. "I promise."

He never had been any good on his own.

00000

"This was a test for Sam and Dean."

For such a big guy, Sam had had so little.

Couple of shirts. Dean refolded them with the care they'd never seen in their lifetime and placed them in the duffel. Two pairs of jeans, one ripped, both pretty new. Their clothes rarely had a chance to get threadbare. They went in the bag, too, along with underwear and undershirts and Sam's shaving kit. Dean lingered over the half-used bottle of shampoo, brought it tentatively up to his nose to take a sniff. Then he pressed his lips together and stuffed it into the duffel after the rest.

Wasn't much left. A dog-eared copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Sam's favorite Agatha Christie, his one surviving picture of Jessica tucked inside. A creased bag of M&Ms he'd probably been saving to bribe Dean with. His battered money clip. A… Dean's fingers stuttered. His old amulet, carefully saved by Sam. Last Dean had seen it, his brother was wearing it, but he probably hadn't wanted to take it down into the Pit with him. Dean slipped that into the book, too. And…one envelope, sealed. No name on it. Didn't need one.

Dean stared at it a long moment, then folded it in half and slid it into his back pocket. Writing his own goodbye letter had been hard enough; he couldn't imagine ever being ready to read Sam's. But that didn't mean he wouldn't carefully save it.

There was also a small box in the trunk, identical to Dean's, in which a few childhood treasures were safely packed away. And Sam's precious laptop in its satchel. But otherwise, this one bag was it, the sum of a man's existence.

Dean shook his head, speaking to the quiet of the garage. "I know Cas said You helped us, but You sure have a funny way of doing it. Sammy deserved so much more than this."

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Dean had finally had to concede that God existed, but that didn't mean he wasn't ticked off at Him.

He shoved Sam's bag into the trunk, then clutched the car frame with both hands. "Maybe I had a choice, but Sam?" Dean looked up, raised his arms to his sides before letting them fall. "He didn't get peace or freedom. This is not more of the same—this is Sam stuck in Hell, forever, and me…" The same. Not as painful a Hell as Sam's, but try telling that to his battered and bleeding heart.

Dean sucked in a breath before pulling back enough to slam the trunk closed. Then, as the bravado drained from him with that one act, he slumped against it.

"I know he had to try to…fix what he did, letting Lucifer out. I get that. But…he's given so much. We both have. Can't I just…get him back? One more time? Please. Don't make him pay for doing the right thing, not like this." His mouth half-heartedly curled. "I guarantee you, Captain Emo was already punishing himself enough."

"Dean?"

There was a split-second when he thought it was Sam, young and small and worshipful, seeking out his big brother. Then reality broke through with the recognition of Ben calling for him. Dean gulped, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah, that's what I figured," he muttered. He opened his eyes, casting them upward again. "But I'm not giving up on him, You hear me? I'm not."

"Dean!" Ben called again.

He dashed a hand over his eyes, then hastily shook out the tarp he'd brought with him and laid it over the car. Dean didn't look back as he walked out of the garage, already calling to Ben.

And deep in the Impala's trunk, in the corner of Sam's bag, inside a worn book, the amulet softly glowed.

The End