No More Tears
By AmandaK
The sky had taken on the color of molten silver and daylight was leeching back into the world by the time Sam returned to the motel in Maple Springs. He unlocked the door of their room, wincing at the soft click that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet of the early morning. The slight noise was enough to wake Dean, and his brother shifted in his bed, mumbling something that could've been eitherMornin' or What time is it before his eyes fluttered open. He peered at Sam blearily.
"Where you been?" It came out on a yawn, and if Sam hadn't known his brother so well, he probably wouldn't've understood a word.
"Went for coffee," Sam said. He studied Dean for a long moment in the gray light that fell in through the open doorway before walking in and shutting the door behind him. His brother looked the same as when Sam had left him, hours ago. Sam wasn't sure what he'd expected; he didn't think he'd broken the deal, suspected the demon had told the truth for once, and that Dean was still slated to go to hell in a year—minus the months wasted on the crossroads demon. But he'd hoped that maybe... just maybe...
"Then where's the coffee?" Dean sat up, gradually growing more alert as he woke fully.
Sam dropped his backpack on his mussed-up, unslept-in bed and flopped onto one of the room's rickety chairs. It creaked in protest. "Shop wasn't open yet."
Dean uttered a wry snort. It told Sam his brother knew he was lying, but frankly, he was too tired to care and too numb to try and come up with a credible lie. He scrubbed at his eyes. They were gritty from too little sleep and too many tears, and the stench of blood and dirt and lighter fluid clung to his fingers. Sam dropped his hands back in his lap, fearing not even a long, hot shower would make them clean again. After he shot the crossroads demon, he'd burned and buried the poor girl who'd been host to it. It had taken a long time to dig the grave and burn the body, since he'd hardly been able to see what he was doing through the tears that streamed down his face. He'd killed an innocent person, and somewhere out there was a family who'd now never learn what had happened to their daughter, their sister, their girlfriend. Sam tried not to dwell on that fact too much, but the guilt sat heavy on him and Ruby's words echoed in his mind.
Collateral damage.
It hadn't even done a damned bit of good. But he'd had to try.
Dean had crawled out of bed, turned on the bedside lamps, and pattered closer to Sam on bare feet. His expression darkened when he got a first good look at his brother. Sam knew what spectacle he presented: red-rimmed eyes, clothes rumpled from too many hours behind the wheel, dried blood staining his hands...
"Sammy? What the hell happened to you? Where've you been?"
Sam glanced up briefly before he looked away to stare at the bland painting above the beds. "Dean..." He tried to keep the hurt and despair from his voice but failed.
"Oh, please tell me you didn't," Dean snapped, angrily. "You went to the crossroads, didn't you? After I told you not to. Dammit, Sam, I thought we'd—"
"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Sam said.
Dean's jaw clicked shut, the rest of his words cut off. Sam could feel the weight of his brother's gaze, and started picking at a flake of dried mud stuck between his fingers.
The silence lengthened, until at last Dean broke the quiet with a whispered, "Did it work?" The hope in his voice tore Sam up inside.
"No," Sam said. "Least, I don't think so. She said... it said there's someone else that holds the contract, someone higher up. It didn't tell me who."
Sam paused, looking up at his brother at last. "Dean..." He hated the way his voice cracked. He wanted, needed to be strong, for Dean. But he didn't know how, not anymore. "Dean, I don't know if I can do it. I don't know that I can save you."
Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. He didn't speak, but Sam heard him loud and clear. That's okay, Sammy. I know you tried.
Sam had never wanted to cry so badly in his life before. But he didn't have any tears left. Not right then.
o0o
Disclaimer: This story is based on the Warner Bros. Television/Wonderland Sound and Vision/Eric Kripke/Robert Singer series Supernatural. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it nor was any infringement of copyright intended. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without the author's consent.
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