Title: Deja Vu
Author: ShaedowCat (Me)
Beta: kina24 & my Mum…seriously!
Characters: Dean, Sam
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Genre: Angsty...again with the angst! This is getting out of hand...
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do not own Dean or Sam. I can only wish.
Feedback: PLEASE!
Summary: Dean finds out that Layla's dead and Sam's there to help pick up the pieces
Warnings: None...well, Layla's dead, so I guess that's character death...
Notes: Set a couple of months after Faith.
Fic for Sammy girl at heart because she's greedy..."no more!" sez I. If you want more fic just for you, review first, or have lots of birthdays!
Of course, it's also her birthday...Happy Birthday, Melissa:hugs:

Sam Winchester grappled with the door to the room he and his brother were staying in, trying to juggle the bags of supplies he had bought while turning the door-knob. Finally, he managed to turn it enough for it to open, and he nudged the door with his foot so it opened far enough for him and the bags to fit through. He began talking the moment he got in the door.

"So, I figure we should stay here for another couple of days, rest up - unless there's a really urgent case - and then we'll just go from..." He trailed off at the lack of response, and it hit then that the room was empty.

"...there," he finished, confused. "Dean?" he called, setting the supplies down on the bed. Glancing to the door, then the dresser between the beds, he noticed that Dean's boots were missing, but his keys were still there, meaning that his brother had just gone out for a walk, and would probably be back soon. Satisfied, Sam grabbed the keys off the dresser and walked out to put the supplies in the car.

Fifteen minutes later, he walked back into the room to find it still empty...and now he was a little nervous. Looking around once more, he saw the town's weekly newspaper that Dean had purchased at the garage on the way into town lying open on Dean's bed, and he walked over to look at it. It was open to the obituaries...surprise surprise. As usual, there were a number of ads circled: deaths Dean had decided were potentially supernatural in nature, and should be checked out. Then Sam noticed that one of the ads - a rather large one in the bottom left-hand corner - had been ripped out. Maybe that was the one Dean had decided on? He looked around for the clipping, but it was nowhere to be seen.

-:-

An hour and a half later, Sam was worried.

Dean hadn't come back to the room. Dean hadn't come back for the car. Dean hadn't called to say he'd be, uh, busy for a few hours, and not to worry.

Dean had better come back to the room prepared, because he was going to get his ass kicked when Sam saw him next.

-:-

After another twenty minutes of waiting, Sam decided that he would much rather go out looking for Dean instead of sitting around the room waiting. Figuring that the most likely place to begin searching was the local bar, Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala.

Five minutes later he was walking into the bar, his eyes sweeping the darkened and smoke-ladened interior. Within a minute he had found what he was looking for. He stalked over, intent on giving his brother an earful, but as he got closer he stopped, confused by what he was seeing.

Dean was sitting at the bench, a half-drunk beer and a line of empty shot glasses on the bench before him, a piece of paper that Sam presumed was the missing clipping held in one hand. As Sam watched, Dean scrubbed his free hand over his face before reaching out and grabbing the beer, draining it in one long swig. He set the empty bottle down and signaled the barkeep for a new one. Sam set his jaw and walked over until he was standing right beside his brother.

"Hey," he said sharply. Dean glanced up at him.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice low and raspy. Sam glared.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. Dean arched an eyebrow at him.

"I should think it would be obvious," he replied, indicating the beer bottles and shot glasses.

Sam gritted his teeth. "Dean, we don't have time for this," he growled, low enough so that only he and Dean could hear what he was saying. "Man, you know as well as I do that getting smashed is probably the single quickest way to get killed, doing what we do."

Dean shrugged.

Sam gaped.

"That's it?" he managed after a moment. "That -" he mimicked Dean's shrug, "- is it?"

Dean shrugged again.

Sam stared at Dean, stunned. This...this was completely unlike his brother. Dean was more likely to be flirting with the waitresses and female patrons, pissing off boyfriends, and hustling pool - all with a smile on his face - than sitting at the bar alongside the town drunk, drowning his sorrows. Even when he was upset, or pissed off, Dean would choose any of the former options over the latter.

"Not my style, Sammy," he'd said once, when Sam had questioned him on it after a particularly difficult hunt. "I'll leave the depressed, angsty, emo stuff to you, 'cause you've got it down to an art-form."

Looking around, Sam looked for something, anything - dear God, please let there be something - that could help him figure out what the hell was going on. Finally, his eyes lit upon the news clipping still clutched in Dean's hand.

"What's this?" he asked, flicking at the flimsy paper.

Dean didn't reply.

"Can I see?" he asked carefully. At this point he honestly didn't know what would happen...he'd never seen Dean like this, so he had nothing to measure his reactions against. After a long pause, however, he saw Dean's hand twitch slightly towards him.

Taking that as an invitation, he took the clipping from Dean's hand and held it up, squinting in the dim bar-light to read the print and see the picture.

And nearly dropped it in shock and dismay.

Layla Rourke

28 years old. Loving daughter, sister and
friend. Missed by all.

Finally entered into the Father's Kingdom.

"I killed her."

Sam lowered the clipping, staring at Dean. "What did you just say?" he asked, wondering if he had imagined it. A moment later, however...

"I killed her," Dean repeated, staring intently at his beer. He picked absently at the label with his nails. Sam continued to stare for a moment longer, then grabbed a nearby bar stool and sat down beside his brother.

"You killed her," he stated. Dean nodded slightly.

"Yes."

"How did you kill her?" Sam was confused.

"I took her chance at being healed. If I hadn't been there, she might've been healed instead...and then, we stopped the Reaper."

"Dean, you know we had to stop the Reaper, right?" Sam asked. Dean nodded fervently.

"Oh, yeah. No question. We had to stop it." He fell silent for a moment, then glanced at Sam. "Do you reckon I deserve to live?"

Sam blinked. "Do I reckon you...yeah, man, of course you do. A hell of a lot more than a lot of people. Why?"

"More than Layla?" Dean pressed. Sam felt a shiver go through him.

"'More than Layla'?" he echoed. "I...I don't..." he trailed off, staring at his brother. "Dean, where the hell is this coming from?" Dean gave a little one-shouldered shrug.

"D'you remember Layla's mom?" he asked. Sam nodded. "Remember how I went to Roy's after he...the Reaper...y'know..." Dean flicked his hands in a nervous gesture, and Sam nodded quickly. "Well, as I was leaving, Layla and her mom came...wanting to see Roy for a private session. Sue-Anne said sorry, Roy was resting. Layla's mom...she was angry. Can't say I blame her. She told me Layla had a tumor. Inoperable." Dean took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Then she asked why I deserved to live more than Layla."

Sam sat there for a moment, stunned. Then the anger set in. Oh. Oh, that bitch he thought viciously. Although a part of him understood that the woman had only lashed out in a moment of pain, and she had probably regretted it later, at that moment he hated her. How dare she say that to Dean? What right did she have to judge whether or not his brother was worthy of life?

After a couple of seconds he realised Dean was still speaking, and he dragged his thoughts away from Layla's mother and focused on his brother.

"...no answer for her, y'know?" Dean finished. He gave a dark chuckle. "Maybe it would've been better if it had just..."

"If what had just what?" Sam asked after a moment, when it became apparent Dean wasn't going to finish the sentence without some prompting.

"If the Reaper had taken me," Dean replied calmly. Sam swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," he murmured after a beat, his voice pitched low because if he tried to speak normally he'd be yelling, "I could have sworn you just said 'If the Reaper had taken me'."

"Mm-hmmm," Dean replied.

Sam felt like he'd been kicked in the gut by a mule...or punched by Dean, which amounted to the same thing. And why the hell am I thinking this now? he thought, annoyed at himself.

Okay, first things first, he decided. He had to get Dean out of the bar...then he and Dean could talk about his brother's sudden plunge into depression.

"Come on," he said quietly, levering Dean to his feet.

"What the hell?" Dean mumbled, attempting to twist out of Sam's grasp. Sam held on determinedly; it helped that Dean was too drunk to put up a proper fight.

"We're leaving," Sam told him as he wrestled the older man toward the door. Dean shook his head.

"Nope. Stayin' here," he muttered. Sam arched an eyebrow, then released him. Dean stumbled, almost fell, and Sam grabbed a hold of him to prevent him landing on his ass.

"What are you going to do? Crawl back to the bar?" he asked quietly. Dean glared at him for a moment, then closed his eyes, his anger falling away.

"Let's go," he whispered.

Sam adjusted his grip on his brother, letting go with his right hand so he could slide that arm around Dean's back as Dean hooked an arm around his neck. Together, they walked out of the bar.

-:-

"Ow," Dean grumbled as he hit the doorjamb. Sam sighed.

"Dean - "

"Don't say it, Sammy," his brother growled, staggering upright and stumbling into their room. Sam sighed again.

The drive back to the hotel hadn't been too bad, all things considered: Dean hadn't protested getting into the car, and he hadn't said a word as Sam navigated the Impala through the quiet streets. Sam realised now, of course, that Dean had just been using the time to clear his head and regain enough motor control so that when he got out of the car and stomped away to their room he didn't fall over on his ass.

Sam followed Dean into the room and collapsed onto his bed, watching as his brother attempted to extricate himself from his clothes. He managed to get his jacket off easily enough, shrugging and wriggling his shoulders enough that it slid off after a few seconds. The long-sleeved shirt took a little more effort, actual co-ordination having to come into play for Dean to get out of it, but after the fourth try with the T-shirt, Dean gave up, leaving it on. He then attempted to get out of his jeans, and Sam nearly killed himself trying not to laugh as his brother shimmied, wriggled, jumped and hopped before finally kicking the offending garment into the far corner of the room. He turned and glared at Sam - who'd been unable to contain all of his sniggers - before collapsing face-first onto his bed.

"Dean?" Sam asked a couple of moments later, after he'd managed to beat his amusement back and get his mind back on the issue at hand. There was no reply. "Dean?" he asked again, a little louder.

"What?" Dean growled, voice slightly muffled by his pillow.

"We need to talk about - "

"There's nothing to talk about, Sam," he said sharply, cutting Sam off.

"Yeah, there is," Sam shot back, moving so he was sitting on the edge of his bed facing Dean's. "This thing with Layla." Dean sighed irritably and turned his head to look at Sam.

"It's no big deal, Sam," he muttered. Sam narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Yeah, Dean, it is, especially if you're going out and getting drunk over it. If that's the case, then forget big, it's a huge issue." Dean sighed and turned his face away, so Sam reached over and shoved him in the ribs, making his brother look back at him. "Listen to me, man. This wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself, 'cause there is nothing you could've done. If you want to blame anything, blame Sue-Anne, or the tumor...or hell, take a swing at me. I'm the one that took you up there to be healed in the first place."

Dean laughed. "Déja vu here, Sammy?" he asked. Sam sighed and looked down.

"Damn it, Dean, I'm serious - "

"I know," Dean said, interrupting him. Sam glanced up, and his eyes locked with Dean's serious hazel-green ones. "I know," Dean repeated softly, and Sam picked up on the unspoken messages beneath those simple words. "I know" "I get it: Not My Fault" "You're right" "I do not - will not, ever - blame you" and "I'll be okay...just not yet."

Sam nodded slowly. He had a feeling by this time tomorrow Dean would be out of this funk, the drive of another hunt pushing Layla out of his mind. He guessed Dean would always feel at least a small amount of guilt about this, but he'd make his peace with it eventually.

Now that this...whatever it was -Chick-flick moment! a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean yelled in his head - was over, he felt a little uncomfortable...and judging by the look on Dean's face, he was too. Enough caring and sharing for tonight, Sammy? the Dean-voice murmured in his head.

Yes, he answered.

"Go to sleep, Jerk," he muttered, lightly hitting Dean's shoulder as he stood up. Dean snorted.

"Night, Bitch," he replied.

Happy Birthday Melissa...I hope you like this! Your second prezzie from me should be riding the 'Net waves to you shortly...hee hee hee :P

So yeah...as I said, my Mum beta'd this for me! She said it was "good...great"...which is high praise! She's as much as an editing bug as I am - y'know, the whole grammar/spelling thing...very important - so most of her beta-time was spent with me justifying things like "dark chuckle"...:le sigh:

First to review gets a request fic, as per usual...something, happy, please!

luv ShaedowCat xox : )