A/N: Just a quick drabble I did on my free time. Please excuse spelling or grammar errors, like I said this was really just done out of boredom. I hope you enjoy! :)
His blood was boiling. Beyond it, actually. He was infuriated, his fists clenched so tightly his nails were seconds off from breaking the skin on the palms of his hands. His eyebrows were drawn together tightly, creating angered lines that made his entire appearance seem ten years older. His eyes narrowed lethally at his younger brother who glared back with just as much emotion Dean began comparing Sam to a mirror.
"I'm not a baby anymore, Dean." Sam growled, his own fists clenched tightly as the sixteen year old stood straighter.
"I was trying to protect you." Dean growled deeper, the twenty year old's nails finally breaking through and a warm sensation beginning to puddle and trickle down his hands.
"Well who said I even wanted your protection?!" Sam snapped, "You should've said something the second Dad told me about the monsters and crap, Dean! You should've told me Mom hadn't died in a car crash, but was practically barbequed on the ceiling of my nursery!"
Dean stepped up, his eyes narrowing even more dangerously, his gaze creating holes in Sam's forehead. "Don't you ever talk about her like that."
His voice was so stern, so full of anger Sam paused for a second and in that second, his rage was replaced with fear. Dean reminded the teen so much of their father, he almost thought John was actually standing in front of him. Nevertheless, Sam stood his ground and stepped closer to his brother, "You should've told me that night, Dean, and you know it! I shouldn't have found out over the voicemail!"
A few hours earlier, Sam had noticed the phone flashing in the motel-room. He furrowed his eyebrows and pressed the Play button to hear a voicemail from their father who was away on a hunting trip. John had previous gone to hunt a rugaru and was calling to say he was on his way home and that he was one step closer from finding that "dickwad who burned your mother alive in Sammy's nursery". From there, Sam went on to screaming at Dean for not ever telling him the truth, Dean defending himself with the fact he was trying to protect Sam from the truth, which was all Dean ever wanted to do. The boy would shed blood, sweat, and tears to make sure his younger brother had the childhood he deserved and now all of that was crumbling down in front of him.
Not that that didn't happen when John, the selfish prick he was, told Sammy at the age of eight all about the supernatural, but regardless.
Sam continued though, his rant barely even beginning, "Y'know, I've been patient and put up with Dad's crap and watched as you obediently followed his orders and took his beatings without so much of a wince. For God sake, I'm sometimes surprised you even smile! You are such a robot when he's around that I'm quite shocked you can breathe without his command. And I bet you that's why you never told me about Mom, isn't it? Because Dad told you not to and instead of doing what was right and telling me how my mother was killed on my six-month birthday, you obeyed like you always did. Do. And if I'm to be perfectly honest-"
"I am not some obedient dog." Dean snarled, his body temperature rising to levels that shouldn't be considered healthy and or natural.
"Oh, really?" Sam snorted with disbelief, "What about the one Golden Rule Dad's been drillin' into your head since you were four, huh? 'Protect Sammy', 'Watch your little brother', 'Make sure he stays safe, Dean, I mean it'. And what have you been doing for the past sixteen years?" Sam growled, "What you and Dad failed to realize was after he had told me all about vampires and monsters and ghosts and demons, I wasn't a kid anymore and I could watch out for myself. And quite frankly I didn't need your protection." Sam took a scan of his older brother before stepping back and scoffing, "I didn't, nor do I, need you."
He turned his back and slammed the bathroom door shut. Dean stood there, his mouth gaping slightly as all that was left of noise was that stupid AC that's been rattling like one of those musical eggs for the past day and a half. His breath came out in uneven puffs as all the wind was knocked from his stomach and his head felt light. That hurt. That really fucking hurt. His heart felt as if someone had drilled their hand into his chest, grabbed ahold of that beating muscle and ripped it out, right after they first twisted and squeezed everything Dean lived for out of it.
Sam was right. He was nothing more than a soldier his father wound up and watched obey orders. And even when Dad wasn't barking commands, Dean was still following them. Because no matter what was happening, Dean was watching out for Sammy, and watching out for Sammy was Dad's number one order.
John stepped inside, the furious snow storm outside pushing flurries into the motel room before he quickly shut the door. He had barely gotten the chance to kick off his boots before there was a hand that gripped the flask of pure alcohol straight from his hand and walk out the front door with a slam. He managed the tall, familiar silhouette of his eldest boy, but when he poked his head out the front door, all he was greeted with was the headlights of Baby, Dean's 67' Chevy Impala that Dad had initially owned but gave to the boy on his sixteenth birthday, and a loud screeching sound.
"Sam!" John shouted after the car drove off in a hurried rush, the car tires slipping and sliding down the icy-roads as the reckless driver pressed the gas pedal harder.
"Yeah, Dad?" Sam responded opening the bathroom door and heading towards the living room, assuming the loud slam of the door was John just entering, not Dean exiting.
"What's wrong with Dean?"
Sam shrugged, playing it off as if he didn't know nor care. Because he didn't. Well, for the second part of that statement anyway. His older brother could go scratch. Sam had as much of a right knowing about Mary's death than Dean did, so why he only found out a mere four hours ago was absolutely ridiculous.
Dean pressed down on the gas harder, his eyes fighting back tears as he chugged the hard liquor. All Sam's words came pouring into his head like a waterfall, them swirling around it like a hurricane and gluing to each side of his brain like it was an arts and crafts project. It hurt. It really did knowing the person you dedicated your life to protecting didn't want or need you. Could've been mistaken for hate too because the burning passion in Sam's eyes really enunciated the fact he hated Dean.
His attention which had seemed to wander off quickly snapped back into reality as the car began to slide off the road. He quickly braced his hands on the steering wheel and spun the car back onto the icy pavement, his foot easing on the gas. Almost seconds after he had gotten back onto the road, his foot immediately found the break as he slammed down on it as quickly as he could of. In front of him, a huge group of deer had sprung out from the trees next to him and he nearly ran right into them. Fortunately, he had swiveled before he hit any of them, but unfortunately, he lost control of the car as it began to spin and slip and slide down the road, picking up speed as it did.
Nothing Dean did seemed to tame Baby. Her tires scraped against the icy roads, the wind outside making a howling noise and blowing all the snow into the windshield so he couldn't see. He knew he was spinning based on how quickly he was moving. He also knew he had flown right off the side of a cliff when the car stopped spinning and instead went air-born, his body flying to the top of the car's ceiling. His screaming was drowned out by the screaming of the angered wind, and the cries that came from the twenty year-old man were cut short after the car crashed, head first, into the ground, a good fifty yards down from the cliff.
The night grew darker around one AM, approximately two to three hours after Dean had stormed out. Sam was still angry, angry with his brother and father for keeping him out on such a secret, but wouldn't dare yell at John. The old man'd rip the kids vocal cords out if he ever raised his voice at him, so Sam remained locked up in his room, watching the clock tick and tock, watching the hours fly by like minutes. The shuffling from outside his door was apparent as John began to curse, getting agitated as to why his eldest was taking so damn long. Sam's door opened as John peeked his head in, lines buried deep in his forehead as he scrunched his face up with skepticism and confusion, "Sam, are you sure you don't know why Dean stormed out?"
Sam shrugged lightly, not even looking his father's way, which only annoyed John more. Sam's father opened the door all the way, stepping in and glaring, "Sam." His tone was more of a command rather than an addressing, "Why did Dean storm out?"
"We just had a small fight," Sam waved his hand carelessly, "it wasn't anything. He's just being dramatic. He'll be home soon."
And that's what Sam kept telling himself, despite the guilt that started to form in his stomach after another hour had passed. Sometime in the night, Sammy had passed out and was shaken awake by his father's aggressive hand. He popped up, yawning as he did, and was greeted with the worried face of Dad.
"Wh-What? What's wrong?" Sam asked, trying to hide the yawn that scratched at the back of his throat.
"Dean hasn't shown up. We have to go lookin' for him."
Sam sighed, nodding slightly and rolling out of bed. Dad ushered the child into the car and they soon began their search for Dean. One part of Sam thought this entire thing was ridiculous; that Dean was just being over-dramatic and had probably fell asleep in Baby somewhere. The other part of him, however, was screaming that there was something terribly wrong. Deep in his gut, and knowing Dean, there wasn't anything that'd stop Dean from coming home. His older brother wasn't careless and stupid, and definitely didn't over-dramatize things often, so something was wrong. And another part of him was wallowing in pure guilt. He had practically told Dean to fuck off, saying he never needed or wanted him around.
Shaking off the feelings, he looked out the front window from shotgun, glancing every so often at his father who was trying to follow invisible tracks he insisted he saw, despite the fact snow was still coming down from last night, so all of Dean's tracks would be gone. When Sam looked to his father, he saw pure determination in the man's eyes, followed by fear and anger. Seeing that emotion clouding those usual fiery brown eyes was a slap in the face for Sam because Dad was scared. The man who chuckled at a barrel being pointed to his face and the one who dared Death to come near him, was afraid that Dean was hurt.
John drove slow. If it weren't for his son in the car, he'd be speeding through the iced roads like he was on NASCAR but instead, he drove slow. The two rounded a corner with a really steep drop at the end of it, but as John got a closer look, he soon realized that the railing that usually prevented cars from plowing right over had been dented and practically destroyed really. His heart dropping, he shoved his phone in Sam's hands, telling the boy to call his brother, and quickly got out of the car. His pick-up was parked on the side of the road where Sam sat nervously, watching his father investigate the drop and waiting for Dean to pick up on the other line.
The oldest Winchester in the family's throat swelled dramatically, his breath caught in his lungs as he looked down in horror. The steep mountain like hill which was blanketed in a thick layer of snow had broken pieces of rock surrounding a beat up, crushed 67' Chevy Impala at the bottom. There was blood dying the layers of snow in a nice crimson red color which made bile crawl up John's throat. He didn't even hesitate, he was on his ass ready to start tumbling down the hill towards the scene when there was a tug on his shirt. He quickly spun around to see his youngest, the hollowest eyes he'd ever seen glancing back at him and a blank expression printed on the not so basic Sam.
"For you." He said, his voice with no emotion.
John looked to the phone and froze. Sam, the kid he's never been able to hold onto with a leash, being as tame and neutral as he was being now scared the absolute shit out of John. The young teen's eyes went towards the bottom of the hill as he didn't do so much as a flinch. He just placed the phone in John's hands and walked back towards the car. John stared at Sam's back, looking to the flip-phone in his hand, and then the crime-scene at the bottom. He was sure Dean was still down there, and if he was okay, John needed to help him out. But something in his gut told him to pick the damn phone up, so he did.
"Hello?" He asked, his voice slicked with aggravation-laced-fear.
"Hi, is this John Winchester?"
"Who's asking?" He growled.
"My name's Elizabeth from the Bridgton Hospital. I need to confirm that you're John Winchester. You're Dean Winchester's emergency contact, correct?"
Hearing his son's name quickly made his guard fall and he instinctively answered, "Yes. What about it?
Elizabeth, or whatever her name was, started off slowly, cautiously, nervously. "You're son was admitted into the hospital last night after a couple found him in a severe car accident. Due to the weather conditions and because he was heavily under the influence of alcohol, his vehicle spun off the side of a cliff. He, miraculously, was still alive when the couple found him, however within hours after being admitted, he died due to complications with head traumas. I'm so sorry for your loss."
The phone slipped from his grip. It fell, crashing to the ground and hitting a rock as the screen blurred, the glass shattering like Baby's windows were. He didn't even feel his body moving. He couldn't think, but as if his body had taken control of itself, he was in the car, racing towards Bridgton Hospital.
The entire ride there, Sam couldn't move. He couldn't think, or blink, or talk, or breathe. His chest felt compressed, his head spun, his eyes went numb and his throat burned with acid that so desperately wanted to be hurled out. Dean, his De, was dead. He couldn't comprehend it. Hell, he couldn't even believe it. Well, that's if he could really think in the first place, which he couldn't. His body was numb, his thumb and pointer finger tracing circles into each other. He couldn't even feel that. He was looking, but wasn't seeing, he was thinking, but his mind was at blank, he was hearing, but wasn't listening. He didn't even really understand how he was breathing, because he was sure he'd been holding his breath in for so long he'd pass out.
Everything after he had dialed Dean's number and was interrupted by the Hospital calling was a blur. He hadn't noticed John practically sprint into the car, hadn't noticed them speeding down the snow-coated highway, and hadn't noticed John park in the parking lot. He hadn't comprehended John's hand guiding him towards the door and hadn't really focused on the nurses and doctors that pushed past him as his father demanded to see Dean.
He didn't notice a lot until he walked into Dean's room. Then it was like reality came crashing down on him, as if the glass shield that was holding away his questions and emotions and thoughts and feelings had shattered the way Baby's exterior did after flying at, what the nurse said was, one hundred and thirteen miles an hour towards the ground. Like a brick. His body physically took a step back after seeing Dean laying there.
He looked like he was sleeping. He really did. His hair was just like Sam remembered it last night. Cropped and dirty-blonde. He was still wearing the pendant Sam had given him so many Christmases ago and he was dressed in his usual attire of a flannel and jeans. Except it wasn't his usual attire because he was caked in blood. It might be considered his usual attire with the blood and all considering he killed so many monsters and ghouls and was normally doused in the red liquid afterwards, but never his own blood. And that's what seperated what he wore now to what he typically wore. The fact he was doused in his own blood.
His nose was blue- hell his entire face was blue. His skin was bleached of colour leaving a sickening whitish tint that was found on cadavers. Except this wasn't a cadaver, or just another body. This was Dean fucking Winchester. His brother. His father. His best fucking friend and now he was dead. And his last memory of his little brother was him screaming at him how he didn't need him. Sam's heart dropped. Rather, it was being torn out of his chest. Sam didn't even notice John as he approached the bo- Dean and silently stroke the boy's hair back. Because he still was a boy. He still was that idiotic brother that snuck him out that one time to go watch fireworks and he was still that boy who gave up his bed so that his baby brother could sleep nicely. He was still that brother that would without a doubt give up his meal that way Sam could go to bed not hungry, and he was still that boy who'd make sure at the end of the day Sammy was heading home, even if that meant he was heading home alone.
He was his brother, and now he wasn't breathing, wasn't smiling or yelling or blinking or laughing. God, what Sam would do to see his eyes crinkle one more time as he laughed at one of those stupid soap operas. Or to just get one last hug from him. His eyes burned horribly. God he wasn't ever going to get a hug from De again. His eyes watered as he stared blankly at the shell of a man who risked everything for his baby brother and in return received a bratty teenager who couldn't even think for a second to see where Dean was coming from. His eye-sockets were beginning to show as dark rings circled his eyes, his lips were parted slightly and his straight teeth shown through, but Sam knew within a few hours they'd be nothing more than ashes. Dean would be nothing more than ashes.
Sam watched as John continued to run his hand through Dean's hair. His bottom lip trembled as his body dared to racket with sobs that so desperately needed to be released, and tears trickled down the man's face as his free hand gripped his son's. Eventually John left the room to talk to a doctor which left Sam alone with Dean. He quietly walked up towards the bed and poked Dean's arm like he usually did to wake him up. A smile found its way to Sam's face as he expected Dean to start to smile the way he always did when Sam poked his arm, but he didn't. Sam's smile quickly faded as he poked Dean's arm again, expecting despite everything that he'd begin to laugh as if he was pranking them the whole time, but he didn't. He mouth stayed open slightly, his lips not creating that smile Sam would do anything to see again, and his eyes not opening.
Even though he was sixteen and even though the doctors said he was dead and even though that stupid heart monitor continued to show a line, Sam was brought back to when he was a six or seven year old child and bit his lip to stop it from quaking. He shook Dean's arms once more, tears beginning to fall as he whispered, "De, come on, man. This isn't funny."
His big brother, that invincible Batman figure who did anything and everything for Sam didn't move. Didn't twitch or grin or laugh or blink. Didn't breathe. Sam began crying harder, shaking Dean's arm more aggressively, "De! C-Come on! P-Please, wak-wake up! I need you!" He was now hysterical. "De, please! I-I can't-" His racketed sobs began cutting into his words as he began shaking Dean's arm harder, "Dean!"
John, seeing his youngest from the window breaking down, quickly ran into the room and pulled Sam from Dean. John looped his arms around Sam and picked him up slightly off the ground as he shuffled backwards from Dean, the sixteen year old boy practically crying his brother's name. Sam shook and clawed, trying to get to his brother, but John was relentless. His grip tightened like bars around the son as all Sam could do was shake horribly as he cried harder, Dean's body not budging.
"Dean! D-Dude, wake up! P-Please!" He cried so loudly his voice began to crack.
John's eyes began to water as Sam's cries began to fade out as his voice began to give.
"Dean..." He whimpered, John finally placing Sam down but not letting go.
"Sammy.." John whispered, pulling his son into a hug as Sam began to cry against the old man's shoulder.
Sam glanced over his shoulder, tears stinging his eyes so bad it felt like someone had pepper sprayed him. His gaze rested on Dean's body, his stomach churning and his head pounding. He soon felt it hard to stand and quickly placed his hands on his father's shoulders for support as his knees went weak. His stomach began to scream with agonizing anxiety and distress and he soon found himself running towards the men's bathroom, his father calling behind him. He dove into one of the stalls, him collapsing on his knees as he gripped the seat in front of him and began to hurl into the toilet. The bile burned his throat like lava was the substance being puked from his mouth and his head began to pound even harder.
It took a good five minutes before there wasn't anything left inside of him to vomit out. His mouth tasted disgusting and his throat tingled of acid and his eyes stung and his lungs burned as he breathed in as if he had just ran a marathon in cold weather. John waited outside of the stall with a bottle of Gatorade from a nearby dispenser and a few mints that he knew'd be helpful for the whole mouth thing and waited for his son to come out. It took another ten minutes before Sam finally opened the door, his shaggy hair covering his forehead and a bit of his red eyes. His father handed him the items which he thoughtfully, but absentmindedly accepted and began to trudge towards the door. He still couldn't believe this was real. People always say, "Pinch me, I must be dreaming," but he was about ready to shoot himself in the damn foot for good measures. His mind still couldn't process it.
When he walked back into the room, everything was the same. Dean, laying there lifelessly, that dumb heart monitor making that irritating beeping sound that was just a long beep and the quiet sound of the clock in the corner ticking. His head pounded so hard and with all the noises in the room making it harder to think and contemplate and comprehend, he quickly walked towards the heart monitor and ripped it from the wall, the plug ripping from the outlet and ultimately shutting the device down. He then snatched that stupid clock off the wall and resisted the urge to slam it against the wall and quickly took out the batteries. He threw those at the wall in an attempt to calm himself down, but all that sadness was replaced with anger.
Dean shouldn't be dead. He shouldn't be dead! Didn't the doctors do anything? He didn't understand. This place should've operated or done something to help Dean out, but instead he remained motionless on a hospital bed. The shine of the pendant on Dean's shirt got his focus and just as quickly as he got mad, he got upset again. He sadly walked over towards the frame of the bed to see the pendant, except now he saw that it was covered in blood. Dean's blood. He covered his mouth softly as he began to cry again, slowly taking the pendant off of his brother's neck and walking towards the sink. No matter how hard he tried to wash the blood off, there was still a stain that wouldn't go away. He viciously scrubbed the stain, his sobs beginning to grow louder but he didn't care.
"Just come off!" He yelled, his voice supposed to be filled with anger but instead full of denial and remorse as he scrubbed so hard, his finger soon sliced against one of the horns on the pendant. He quickly dropped the necklace in the sink, his attention moving towards his thumb that began to bleed. He sighed heavily, wiping tears from his eyes as he stared at the necklace. Dean never took it off. Not once.
He gripped the necklace so tightly in his hand after picking it up and chucked it against the opposing wall at the other side of the room. He sat down in one of the seats, running his hands through his hair so many times he was sure he'd start losing it. After a few minutes of just trying to breathe, he stood up and walked over to his brother again. Same position, same stance, same everything. He breathed deeply, trying to hold back whatever began to form in his eyes and tried to ignore the tingly feeling in his nose as he gripped his brother's cold hand tightly.
"Dude... please..." He whimpered, as much as he tried not to. He still wouldn't give up. He tried to reason with it, he really did. He really did try to reason with the fact Dean Winchester was dead, but some part of brain from when he was a child kept insisting Dean would surprise him and wake up and everything would be okay. "I-I need you so-so much, De. There- There ain't no m-me if there ain't no y-you."
It was something Dean always said. "There ain't no me if there ain't no you." He always said it, and now hearing it come from his mouth, it felt foreign. Something else he always said was how if anything happened to him, it'd be up to Sammy to take care of Baby. And if Sam didn't, Dean'd come back and haunt him for the rest of his life. Sam chuckled lightly, getting a small idea that probably wouldn't work, but it was worth a shot anyway. Anything to see his brother smile or to hear his brother's voice one more time.
"Y'know, you really jacked Baby up, De." Sam smiled, wiping away a few tears, "I'll have to patch her up and all. And afterwards, I'll blast Taylor Swift all day long and I'll eat cake instead of pie and I'll paint her a nice white color? How does that sound?"
He looked up hopefully, the tiniest part of him expecting Dean's ghost or soul or whatever the fuck decided to show up being there and glaring down at him, arms crossed against his body as he scoffed in disbelief. But instead, there wasn't anything. Just the dead silence except the beating of his own heart. Tears welled in his eyes once more as he looked to Dean, his big brother. The man who'd do anything for him. He stood up. He walked towards the necklace that was dropped on one of the lounging chairs in the corner and put that on before heading back to Dean and sitting down. He pulled a chair up next to Dean and began talking about how the two used to wrestle all the time and how Dean, no matter how popular, would always say hi to his nerdy baby brother.
Sam talked about how Dean would always sneak out to get some good food versus the crap Dad made and he'd always bring back a Milky Way which was Sam's favourite. How Dean and him would get into ongoing debates about how pie was different than cake and how Metallica was better than any of the other crap Sam liked to listen to. Sam talked about all his favourite memories and by the time he had finished, he was crying so hard he could barely breathe. Dean didn't say a word once, and that was how Sam was going to have to live. Without ever hearing Dean's voice again.