Maybe it will all be okay in the end.

Hi! Welcome to my first Supernatural fanfiction! I've not progressed much further than one-shots yet but given enough time I might get around to it.

Warnings - Deathfic. Also Spoilers for AHBLpart 2

Beta read by the fabulous Bayre who showed me that I like to stick the word "that" absolutely everywhere!

Disclaimer - If I owned Supernatural I would make Sam and Dean hug a lot... As it is, I don't, and so I have to sit in suspense every episode looking for the wonderful brother-touching!

On the morning the demon was coming to take his brother's soul Sam remembered sleeping in late. He'd not slept a full night in the 354 days since Dean had sold his soul to bring Sam back from the dead, and that last night had been no exception. Desperate to find the answer, to save his brother, to keep them together, he'd pored over and practically memorised every single tome about the supernatural he could get his hands on. At the same time Dean ate an expensive steak the size of a small cow and drank a six pack of Buds, but unable to really enjoy it as his hazel eyes kept drifting in his little brother's direction, watching Sam try and read himself into an early grave before Dean fell into his. On that morning Sam had woken up in a bed. He had known full well that he had passed out from exhaustion on the laptop, and probably drooled all over the space bar like he usually did. Dean must have moved him at some point, like he usually did, although some nights he would dress Sam up whilst he slept. His attempt at bringing a small amount humour into their overstressed lives.

Sam flinched. Dean. Where was he? The bed to the right hand side of him was empty. The thin scratchy quilt had been laid on the bed neatly, each corner to the corner, perfectly made. The usual array of clothes that Dean littered around every motel room they stayed in (to make them feel like a home...) were gone. They were neatly packed into Dean's duffle by the door, the only sign that Dean had ever been in this room at all. The heart dropping observation made the bright crimson motel room appear larger, colder and altogether more lonely than Sam had ever seen a room.

Dean was gone.

He must have been up all night, torn with boredom to make the bed and tidy his clothes? Or more likely fidgety with dread at his impending doom. He'd left before Sam had even woken, to avoid saying goodbye? To escape the look of failure and horror in his little brother's eyes knowing he was going to Hell? Or maybe Dean hadn't left at all.. Maybe the Demon had come to them? Maybe she had crept in through a gap of salt along the doorway, and sauntered over to the bed where his big brother had lain and then, without a sound, snatched his soul and threw him down to the Pit, and then, because she could, maybe she had stolen his body as well. So that Sam could never say goodbye to his brother who sold his soul for him. Maybe then the demon felt the urge to clear the room of all things that were Dean, like the unmade bed because Dean never tidied after himself and the socks hiding under the table when Dean got fed up of wearing them and had flung them wherever. Maybe Dean's soul was more than a thing inside him, maybe it was his very presence, the way he filled the space he occupied with the feeling of strength, safety and for Sam, home. In that case, why hadn't she taken Sam as well? After all, Dean was the biggest part of Sam. And now Dean was gone.

Unable and unwilling to stop himself, Sam leaned forward, put his head in his hands and cried.

A jingle of keys at the door interrupted the river of tears flooding from Sam's eyes and cascading onto his grey bedshirt, soaking him. Thinking it was the maid who had come to clean the room, the room in which Dean was no longer present, Sam called out hoarsely "Go away."
Undeterred the maid continued unlocking the door, and as Sam climbed off the bed and onto his wobbling legs trying to get to the door to slam it shut, the door opened.
"What's wrong? Am I interrupting your monthly private girl crying time? 'Cause if so I'll come back later..."
Sam was certain his tears were obstructing his vision and were playing a cruel trick on him. He tried to speak, to choke out the most amazing word in his entire vocabulary, but it got stuck in his throat, stumbled then erupted as a sob,
"Dean..."

The demon had never showed up, Dean told him later, once the hugging and sobs subsided. He'd got up early, and admitted that he'd tidied up, to try and spare Sam the pain of having to clean up after him once he'd gone. He'd taken a cab to the nearest crossroads and watched the sunrise whilst waiting for the demon to show. But it hadn't. Once the fear of his death had worn off the waiting had become boring, and then tedious, and then he figured that maybe another hunter had killed the demon, or that maybe one of the many protective rites and charms Sam had placed over him during the past year must have worked. Sam thought they had gotten the date wrong, no matter how unbelievable that may have been, or the demon was merely playing with them. Dangling Dean's soul on a string in front of him, letting him take hold of his brother and being lulled into a false sense of security, then whip sharp she could yank him away, leaving Sam to fall hard and fast with the sudden imbalance. When he mentioned those fears to Dean, he just smiled and placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder, and boasted that no Demon was man enough to take his soul.

And, as a full week passed and Dean's soul remained in his own body Sam began to believe it was true, and that maybe it would all be okay.

Two weeks after Dean was supposed to lose his soul Sam suggested that they go to Bobby's. To inform him of the good news. Sam felt a little bit guilty of not telling him earlier, but he was afraid if anyone else found out the Demon hadn't come for him, then maybe the Demon would finally come back and snatch him away. But two weeks on he'd felt confident enough Dean was here to stay, and also they needed somewhere to stay, since they had pretty much overstayed their welcome in the small town of Menethil somewhere in Iowa. They'd definitely found a new lease on life since the threat of losing Dean's soul was fading, and thus spent a long time drinking, playing pool, (not neccessarily to hustle...), reading books from the local library (that was Sam, Dean had snorted when he saw the library card and stated instead of reading about good times, why didn't he go out and have them?) and getting friendly with the ladies (that was Dean. He wasn't allowed to get too friendly with them because Sam wouldn't let him out of his sight just yet, and to keep him in sight was just ...eww.)

Dean had seemed oddly reluctant to leave, (he'd become quite attached to the little blonde waitress at O'Malleys... Candice, Sam thought her name was, then just shook his head, stating there would be a million other cute waitresses called Candice or Brandi or whatever.) but he finally agreed, so they packed their bags and climbed into the Impala, turned the ignition and set off. And Sam didn't even complain when Dean played his Motorhead tape at a volume high enough to perforate eardrums that the Canadians could probably hear it, he was still tipsy from the happiness that he still had his brother.

When they arrived at Bobby's, Rumsfeld the big St Bernard twitched an ear then jumped off the hood of an old dusty blue Sedan and greeted Sam happily, by giving loud deep barks and trying to bury his nose in Sam's crotch.
Dean laughed at him and commented, "Looks like your big girl puppy dog eyes attract all types, eh Sammy?"
Despite himself Sam's lips curled into a smile as he simultaneously tried to punch Dean on the shoulder and shove Rumsfeld's head away. Still laughing Dean managed to duck to the left, but ended up slipping and falling on his ass behind the Sedan, causing Sam's lips to stretch his cheeks to the limits as his bellowing laughter resounded.

Drawn by the commotion, the shutter door at the back of the timber house opened and the tip of a shotgun peered out, followed by Bobby's grizzled head. His worn gruff features softened as his aging eyes spied Sam, but then his eyebrows lowered in confusion as the dimpled smile on Sam's features registered in his mind. Sam's smile grew, if possible, even wider when he spotted Bobby, as did Dean's as he climbed to his feet from behind the rusted scrap.
"Hey Bobby," Sam called, caught up in the moment, relishing in the laughter his big brother's mouth was still able to produce, grinning from ear to ear.
"Hey Sam," Bobby replied, infinitely more composed, more calm, and extremely confused.

Seated in Bobby's front room Sam cupped a mug of coffee in his large strong hands. He cautiously took a sip but immediately grimaced at the strong taste, eyes clenching shut, and tongue sticking out in revulsion. Bobby must have accidentally put too much coffee in (by about a jugful it tasted like) because it tasted disgusting, much more to Dean's taste than his sweet tooth. Glancing at Dean who didn't seem to be having any problems with his drink Sam tentatively took another sip, not wanting to seem rude. They'd explained to Bobby exactly what had happened, and that Dean was okay now, they were both okay now. Yet the old hunter still eyed Sam worriedly and avoided all eye contact with Dean. Sam wasn't too concerned, he remembered going through this in reverse when he was brought back, Bobby wouldn't look at him for months, instead spending his time glaring at Dean because of the damn deal. Though the old hunter didn't put it into as many words, Sam could see these near misses seemed to bother Bobby more than he'd like to admit.
"So, what are you planning on doing now?" He asked, still keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Sam, who shuffled a bit.
"Well, we've been doing nothing for a while now and Dean figured it's time to get back hunting." He gave Dean a glance who nodded. Bobby seemed quite taken aback at this, he shifted uneasily on his chair and muttererd in reply,
"You and Dean want to keep on huntin'... After all that's happened?" Sam again looked to Dean, who was flipping lazily though the pages of an old tome he'd just picked up, he looked up, gave Bobby a sharp grin and replied,
"Sure, there's thing's out there that need killing, and we're some of the only ones capable of doing it." Sam gave a nod in agreement, and Bobby said nothing.

He just emptied out his cabinet of amulets and guns and placed them all into the trunk of the Impala.

The next two months went by relatively quickly. Sam still never let Dean out of his sight, and Dean became twice as overprotective as he had ever been. Sam didn't mind too much, he knew what it would do to Dean if he vanished, or what it would do to him if Dean disappeared. So they both accepted their new no-privacy lifestyle. Although Sam knew that the lack of space got to Dean sometimes, because at night, when he jolted awake, covered in sweat, heart racing and images of fire scorching the back of his eyelids he would turn to look to Dean for comfort... But the bed next to him would be empty.

Their latest stream of hunts had been mainly successful, only light bumps and bruises for the both of them, but then again, Dean had been letting Sam plan every single move for the hunts (instead of hunting the fun way, which usually involved barreling in with both guns blazing shooting the shit out of the demons.) Although Dean had to admit, Sam's way produced much better results in that the demons were being exorcised and they didn't have to restock their first aid kit as much. But that may have been because they were unconsciously taking the easier jobs that were going to spring less nasty surprises on them. And although this good luck was mainly due to their own careful planning they both knew though, that sooner or later this good luck was going to run out.

They exhausted their share of good luck four days later. They were in Kansas at the time, the mother who had been living in their old house, Jenny, had visited with a friend of hers whose sister's house had been exhibiting the same symptoms of a poltergeist hers had. She was unwilling to let anyone else go through the same trauma she and her family had. She'd given Sam a ring and let him know, and 4 days later, with a lot of research and planning the Impala pulled up outside 137 Beechwood Avenue, with Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" intruding upon the quiet neighbourhood. Sam switched the music off and climbed out of the classic car in sync with his brother (all that time together had certainly rubbed off on them) and got ready to take care of the poltergeist.

"Goddamn it!" Dean cursed as he was once again flung into the nearby floral decorated wall. "I'm gonna murder this ecto-bastard!" Sam couldn't answer him to join in with his own cursing, since he was still reeling from his brief introduction of his head into the pine cabinet. An antique porcelain vase was fired in his direction shortly after, forcing him to duck to avoid his face being reconstructed in a painful and bloody way. A little Chihuahua (that went by the name of Mr Moggles they'd found out earlier…), attracted by the ruckus managed to squeeze himself into the front room, and yapped at the poltergeist before being picked up telekinetically and thrown in Dean's direction. Dean, eyes wide as the pedigree pooch hurtled in his direction was torn between catching it and ducking. In a split second he ducked and the little dog bounced harmlessly onto the sofa behind him. Mr Moggles yelped and buried his tiny head in the cushions.
"Finish the damn exorcism!" He finally yelled at Sam, who managed to pull himself to his feet using the side of the cabinet as a balance. He didn't need to use the exorcism book since he had completely memorised the passage he needed to complete the ritual. He'd learnt his lesson after the incident on the plane where he'd dropped the book and had to crawl down the aisle to grab it amidst the panicked passengers.
"In nomen of Sarcalogos nostrum senior, ego expello vos ut igneus abyssus ex unde vos venit!" He bellowed into the room, attracting the poltergeist's attention away from a tornado of familial heirlooms it had spun around in the middle of the room. Family portraits and small figurines were flying around in a manic tornado and now and then a little vase or photo frame would escape the vortex and be rocketed in Sam, Dean, or the little dog's direction. Due to the exorcism they knew the objects were going to be shooting at Sam very soon. Sure enough the poltergeist blasted its telekinetic force at Sam and the objects headed in his direction, too many for him to duck. As the invisible force grew closer Sam belted out the last words of the ritual. Dean dove in front of him and the last of the poltergeists force pushed them both out of the nearby window.

Sam didn't remember much after that. He didn't remember throwing up the beef burger he'd eaten for dinner as he caught sight of Dean's broken and bleeding body. He didn't remember scooping up his elder brother in his big arms, despite the fact his shoulder was broken in two places, and staggering towards the Impala. He didn't remember driving one handed all the way to Missouri's, confused and disoriented, not knowing where the nearest hospital was and certain that the old family friend would be able to do something, to help Dean somehow, whilst trying to staunch the heavy blood flow from his brother's chest as he'd landed on a fence spike… He certainly didn't remember banging on the old psychic's door, disturbing her from a nice dream involving a sunny villa in Spain and a handsome masseuse named Enrique. He didn't even remember yelling "Dean's hurt!" loud enough to wake the neighbours and cause an old man 3 blocks away to stir in his sleep.
But he did remember Missouri telling him it was too late.

"Dean's hurt!" Sam yelled, not caring who heard him, as long as Missouri did. "Dean's hurt!" The shock was evident in Missouri's sleep lidded eyes as she saw the thick trail of blood oozing its way down the side of Sam's head, distorting the vision in his right eye and the way he cradled his right arm unable to move it anymore. "Dean's hurt!" He repeated again, desperate to make it clear that his brother was dying and needed desperate help. Missouri nodded. "Alright Sam, you've banged your head pretty hard. You've probably got a concussion," she tried ushering him inside the house, but he stepped back sharply, swaying just a little.
"I don't care about me! Help Dean! Please!" In one last effort he mustered up all the energy he had left to retrieve his broken brother from the car, certain that once Missouri saw him she'd understand and fix him. He only got to the end of the path before the world tilted and faded to black.

"Dean…" He mumbled, rising slowly out of sleep. He tossed his head from side to side, his long shaggy locks sticking to his cheeks and catching the wetness seeping from his eyes, "Dean." A cool hand touched his face gently. "Its okay honey, it'll all be okay." Missouri smiled warmly as Sam's eyelids rose slowly to reveal the brown irises beneath.

"Where's Dean?" He murmured, unable to cease the worry rising when he found his brother wasn't around, but then he caught a glimpse of his big brother perched on the end of his bed, his chest and torso heavily bandaged. He gave Sam a small grin,
"Go back to sleep kiddo, you've have a pretty bad fever and you definitely need the beauty sleep." Sam nodded, comforted and allowed his eyes to close again as he heard Missouri make shushing noises.

"Sam we need to talk." Missouri's aged eyes never left Sam's as he tried propping himself up in the bed, immediately worried.
"About what?" he gingerly asked, unsure if he really wanted to know, Missouri took a deep sigh,
"It's about Dean." She said, and instantaneously Sam kicked into panicked and protective mode.
"What's wrong? Is he okay? He told me he was fine! Where is he?!" he garbled, his heart trying to leap out of his chest it was racing so hard. Missouri raised a hand, both to prevent him from climbing out of bed and to quiet his rapid questions.
"Sam… Dean's dead." Sam's entire world crumbled. His heart wasn't leaping out of his chest anymore, for he was sure it had stopped. He tried to speak but his mouth had suddenly become a desert and he could only whisper.
"No… He said he was alright." Another sigh, this one much deeper and longer lasting.
"Honey, Dean's been dead for six months now." Sam felt a glimmer of hope at that, for of course Dean had been with him in all those six months, Missouri must have gone mad. It was absurd, and as he opened his mouth to tell her so she silenced him again. "The demon took his soul. On that day, a year after he made the deal, she took his soul. Dean never came back to you. You've been imagining him. Honey… Dean's gone."
And as Sam lifted his tear brimmed eyes to tell her she was wrong, to tell her she was insane. He saw his brother, perched easily on the drawers on the other side of the room. Dean lifted the edges of his lips and gave Sam a half smile, to tell him everything was okay. But when Sam blinked he was gone.
Dean was gone, and nothing would ever be okay.

Dean was gone.