A/N:. YOOoooooooo, I had this planned for literal ages, I just never got around to it. So, disregard season 13 and all that bull with Billie, cause, fuck that. I'm doing this my way.
You might've figured out what I'm plotting already, cause I'm throwing hints out like it's Halloween, but yeah. I have this great-ass idea and I hope you guys enjoy the ride.
Also, for those of you that know me from GaG, I feel... Bad. I have a whole universe for that, and I know there's so much I can do with it but I'm just kind of stuck. So I'm putting it on hiatus. Please have faith, guys, I'll get back to it one day...
It was inexorable, unimaginable, utterly and wholly impossible.
There were certain things that were always taken as to be absolute. The sun shone. Water was wet. People died.
And yet here they were, trapped in some sort of fantasy land where right was left and left was wrong.
"Dean…" The only word able to slip past Sam's lips was his brother's name, because all the other words could simply not cover what was left.
Unimaginable, indescribable, and yet here they were.
A hole in his chest the size of a fist, heart gone, and yet. And yet.
Here they were.
Sam wasn't dead, and Dean was looking rather…unsurprised.
Three weeks earlier…..
"Do me the honor." Death intoned, gravely. He handed Dean the scythe, and Sam could hardly believe that it was….didn't want to believe that he…
That this was it for him.
After everything, after the end of the world, Lucifer, heaven's host of angels and an apocalypse, after all the demons and Men of Letters, all the secrets and the doing-what-you-think-is-best-behind-each-other's-backs, after monsters and darksides and really truly everything, that this was where it ended.
It was hard to believe. But even then, it wasn't. There was a silent acceptance that Sam desperately tried to squash.
He couldn't help the tears that leaked onto his face.
Dean took Death's tool, that's all it was, a tool- Dean took it and turned back to Sam.
"Close your eyes." He said, low and cool. Sam tried to pretend they weren't his brother's last words to him.
"Sammy, close your eyes." Dean said again when Sam didn't do anything, urgency tainting his voice.
Oh, no. Sam thought. It was a weak expression, but he really couldn't think of anything else at the moment. In the end, is it really going to be all for nothing? Morbid. Dean's- he's still got the Mark of Cain. If he dies again, he's going to….he's going to become a demon again and I won't be there to help him, I-
A crazy, helpless, hopeful idea struck Sam in the space of less than a second.
"Wait." Sam said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Take these." He fished around in his jacket pocket, reaching for the photos that Dean had always carried. "And one day," he continued. "When you find your way back….let these be your guide, They can help you remember what it was to be good….what it was to love."
He dropped them on the ground in front of Dean, at his feet, the pictures of their mother holding Dean when he was three, maybe. Wrinkled, faded, old, and seeing them still brought about that heart-wrenching feeling that he'd never know their mother.
Dean looked at them, not saying anything. The barest of expressions flitted across his face, but Sam could read them well, after a lifetime spent with his brother.
And though it was sad, tragic, horribly painful, Sam didn't look away, because he was going to be damned if he spent his last moments not looking at his brother.
Death spoke, and Sam's skin crawled as it always did. There was something about the entity that just….rubbed him wrong.
"It's for family you must proceed, Dean." He was serious, quiet, trusting that he would be heard. "To be what you are, to become what you've become is a stain on their memory." He turned his barren, sharklike gaze upon Sam.
"Do it. Or I will." His words were final, like the falling of a guillotine.
Dean kept his eyes locked with Sam. "Forgive me."
Sam tried to keep his eyes open, he really did. But Dean lifted his arms and began swinging and Sam couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, waiting for the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding through flesh-
It came and went with a near-silent "whump."
And when Sam opened his eyes, Death himself almost, almost had a surprised expression.
Then he began to crumble, and Death wasn't looking like much of anything.
.:~*~:.
Dean helped Sam up, asking, "You okay?"
Sam couldn't think straight for a second. He- he wasn't dead, Death was, his brother had just killed Death, there had to be consequences, but for now- "I'll live."
The moment he said that, though, a wave of dizziness washed over him, kind of like a blood rush, and Sam had to take a step back or fall over.
"Sam." Dean's voice was laced with concern, but Sam shook him off.
"I'm okay, really. That was nothing."
"Nothing my ass, Sam. The hell was-" Dean cut off suddenly, and Sam looked up, trying to figure out what had stopped his brother.
After a moment, he heard it. There was a shrieking noise, something whistling through the air at impossible speeds, and then-
Lightning struck Dean, bodily tossing Sam back with the force of it.
What the… Sam tried to understand what was happening, but his brain couldn't seem to make the connection. Was this some concoction of Rowena's? Divine retribution for killing Death? Sure, the two brothers were practically a magnet for trouble, but this… this seemed almost punitive, vindictive in nature.
And as quickly it had started, it was over, leaving a very confused Sam in its wake.
Dean looked at him, face blank, shocked, like….Sam didn't know.
"The Mark." Dean said.
Sam's eyes were automatically drawn to the crook of Dean's arm, where the mark had always been. Only…this time it was gone, scrubbed as cleanly off as if it had never been there in the first place.
"It's gone." Sam keenly observed.
And though getting it off had looked like no fun business, Dean still managed to roll his eyes at Sam's quick wit.
"Dean, it's off!" Sam tried to elaborate. The Mark of Cain was off, that meant his brother wouldn't have to bear it anymore, wouldn't have to worry about turning evil or into a Knight of Hell or go on a rampage. It was a turn for the better, Sam was wholeheartedly convinced. "You'll be fine."
Sam tried for a reassuring smile, but with his tear-streaked face and dark-smudged eyes it probably looked more like a death rictus.
"Where'd it go?" Dean demanded, like Sam would know. "Something that big doesn't just go away!"
Sam didn't want to think about where it went. He didn't want to deal with the Mark anymore, now that it was finally gone. It took too much energy to care about where it went, anyways, so he just brushed the problem under the metaphorical carpet, content to let it accumulate dust. They'd save the world so many times over, anyways. They deserved a break.
Sam shrugged. "I don't know, Dean. Just be glad it's gone."
"So what, it can be somebody else's problem, Sam? I was fine with holding onto it!" Dean looked slightly panicked now, no doubt taking the responsibility very seriously, worried about civilians safety.
"Dean, it's gone." Sam tried to placate. "The spell Rowena used, makes it dissolve, not transfer to somebody else-"
Dean honed into Sam's words. "Wait, Rowena? You had that witch cast a spell to get rid of the Mark?"
Sam knew he'd slipped up.
"Yeah, I did." He said, unrepentantly. "Because I care about you! I don't want this driving you mad!"
Dean scoffed. "It was a little late for that, don't you think?"
Sam didn't say anything.
Eventually, Dean sighed. "You know what, I can't deal with this right now. Let's just go back to the bunker, and sleep this off. And then we're going to fix this, Sam."
Sam still didn't feel repentant. The relief of having his brother back, alive and going to be fine, the relief of being alive, outweighed anything else he would have felt. He was just going to deal with everything else as it came.
Dean being mad he could handle. Dead, not so much.
Dean started walking back to the Impala, his gait more of an angry trudge than usual.
However, about twenty feet from the car, when they made it outside, Dean stopped and just…collapsed, entire body falling like a puppet without strings.
Sam rushed forwards to keep him from hitting the ground too hard, but he was too far away, and Sam could hear the crunch of gravel as Dean's face hit the dirt.
Sam rushed his fingers over multiple pulse points, checking to make sure his brother was still alive. A thready heartbeat met his fingers, and he breathed out a very small sigh of relief because he knew they weren't out of the water yet.
He ran all the usual checks for injuries, but there was nothing. It seemed like Dean was unconscious, weak but fine, really.
Sam dropped heavily onto the dirt beside Dean, sitting next to him and catching his breath. God, he'd been so terrified, worried that the spell had gone south or Dean was suffering from the effects of some unknown malady.
Fuck it, all the stress was getting to him.
Sam closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sun, knowing it was selfish to leave Dean in the gravel while he basked, but just…all the legendary "stubborn will" of the Winchesters seemed to have left him, and he was just….stuck.
He knew, logically, it was better to get Dean back in his own bed as soon as possible, so at least when he woke up there wouldn't be dust in his eyes.
Sam also knew he was going to have to deal with Rowena, because there was no way the witch wouldn't have left herself without an escape route. Which would mean an incapacitated Cas, and who knows what would happen to Crowley.
At least the car was only twenty feet away.