A/N- This is a multi-chap fic, and each scene will be told from the POV of one of the boys in a different section of the chapter. Thanks to my LLS for the beta and suggestions!! Hope you all enjoy. Reviews make me dance. :D
If I owned Sam and Dean, I wouldn't spend my time writing stories about them...or if I did, they would be very different stories... ;)
Let Go
Let Go of Yesterday- Dean
The Impala felt good. It's low growl vibrating up his arms and legs, through his body, into his soul. It became his temple, his home, his child. It- no, she- had always been that way, lulling her inhabitants into somewhat peaceful sleep. Protecting the family where he could not. A baby Sam strapped up tight in the backseat, a bleeding Dad using the window to prop himself up, a raging Dean beating her so he wouldn't break in front of his brother. It was her job.
Dean had a job too.
He didn't regret it, giving his soul for Sam. Never had, never would. He was his responsibility. Even if it had meant only one more second of life for Sam, he would have made that deal. Dean took his job seriously, knew all the details, and didn't go in blind if he could help it. He was very aware of the conditions. Painfully aware of the fact that if he so much as tried to find a way out, it would mean Sam's death. It had been hard, what with Sam's undying search, to gage where the boundary was without crossing over into "weaseling out" territory. He doubted the demon would let Sam live on technicalities and gray areas, so he found it best to refuse to assist in his brother's late night research-fests. An action that, unfortunately, caused Sam to think he didn't want to live. That he had no problem spending all of eternity as some demon's flaming footrest. This was not the case, as he assured Sam repeatedly, but he wouldn't give the reason why he couldn't help. He'd had too many outbursts of "How the hell could you do something like this?" and "Why did you agree to that?" and "I'm not worth this." from Sam without further knowledge of the deal's specific parameters. He didn't want to go, but he had accepted that he would. Saving Sam had been his life, and damned as he was, it would be his death too. No complaints, no regrets. He liked it hot anyway.
These were the thoughts swirling around Dean's head, occasionally running into random memories of his and Sam's lives. His mother's smile, Sammy's first step, Dad on the ground in the hospital, Sam in his arms, cold and empty. The first night without Sam in the same house, Dad's first hunt, their last hunt, Bobby's accusing eyes and Sammy, alive. Solid and whole and warm. Chancing a glance at his brother, just to make sure he really was still there, Dean decided to break the silence that was filling up his last nights on earth.
"So, uh…you know," Dean started, watching Sam gaze blankly out the window, "this baby gets only the Premium stuff. None of that cheap-assed crap. Hustle more often if you have to, or I might have to send some demons up here to kick your ass." Dean attempted a smirk to go with his idle (and probably impossible) threat, succeeding only in a small half smile that might have been considered cheerful if the look it received wasn't so hostile.
Sam looked as if he was about to cry. Or shoot someone. Maybe both. Dean's joke obviously hadn't landed, as the only thing he could get out was, "That's not funny, Dean…" He didn't even bother rolling his eyes.
Dean understood, but, being the big brother he was (and not knowing what else to say, or more exactly, how to say it), continued on in his gibing, "I know. This is serious. I mean it, Sam. It can't be like that time I let you borrow my bowie knife and you used it to sharpen pencils."
"I didn't borrow it to—it's not like I only—we didn't have any pencil sharpeners!" stammered Sam, then, as if he had suddenly remembered why he wasn't smiling, added angrily, "God, Dean…"
Resigned to the fact that this was not going to be a light conversation, yet relieved that Sam was speaking at all, Dean answered, "What?"
"How can you sit there and make jokes like this? I mean," Sam paused, gathering his thoughts, calming his emotions, "we should be planning. You should be trying to find—you should have been trying all along. Instead you're just acting like it's all fine. Like you don't care, that it's gonna be okay even …"
"Even what?"
"Even though you're leaving me." Sam said quietly, "I mean, how am I supposed to…I can't…"
"Sam." was all Dean said, placing a wealth of emotion in the name, making it seem like the most important word in the English language. Then, after a moment, "Yes you can. Dad trained you, you—"
"That's not what I meant." came Sam's barely audible interruption. He looked as if he was about to say something more, but instead turned back to the window, unspeaking.
Dean, not knowing how to respond, not wanting to think about what this was doing to his baby brother, simply drove on, the suffocating silence returning.
ooooOOoooo
Let Go of Impossible- Sam
The Impala felt good. Its low growl vibrating through his body, almost soothing his abused nerves. It had always been a safe haven for him, not the love of his life like it was for Dean, but a place to call home nonetheless. They'd had it for as long as he could remember, and it had had Dean since the beginning. They were made for each other, Dean and his baby. Sam really did like the car, and occasionally the music that went with it, though he'd never admit that to his brother. It had always been there, one of the few constants in his life, and so appropriately forever connected to Dean, to safety. Where the car went, Dean went, it was nearly impossible to imagine one without the other. It was the only home they had left, and gave its occupants everything it had and more. It went over and above the job description.
Unfortunately, so did Dean.
Sam wished he had had a choice in the matter. He regretted not being able to stop Dean from making the deal, regretted the fact that he had gotten himself into the situation in the first place. The situation being being dead. He should have seen it coming, should have made sure Jake was down, should have told Dean it was alright before it was too late. It's not that he wanted to die, or that he wasn't grateful to Dean for once again giving everything he had for him, as he assured him repeatedly. It was the fact that Sam was willing to do the same for Dean, but Dean would never have let him. It was so typically Dean to do something like this, to take the world upon his shoulders and sacrifice yet another piece of himself to make it all better, even if only for a while. Sam loved him for it, but he was determined to carry the weight this time.
To make matters worse, he wasn't helping in any of the research. Sam had spent countless nights over the past year scouring the internet, Bobby's library, even the remotest leads looking for a way out of the deal. And Dean refused to even try. It was as if he was hell-bent to do this last great act of protection, distancing himself from any chance of redemption. Sam felt he had been a burden on Dean since their mother died, and couldn't help but think there was so much more Dean had to live for.
These were the thoughts swirling around Sam's head, coupled with flashes of that fateful night when his life ended and his brother's was put on a time table. Walking into the diner, a smell of sulfur, Lily trying to leave and never coming back, Andy dead on the ground. Confiding in Jake, sharp pain, falling, then nothing, Ava using her power and—Sam stopped for a moment, an idea occurring to him when—
"So, uh…you know," came Dean's hesitant voice, pulling Sam from his thoughts, "this baby gets only the Premium stuff. None of that cheap-assed crap. Hustle more often if you have to, or I might have to send some demons up here to kick your ass."
Dean might have been attempting a smirk, Sam couldn't tell as his tired eyes formed a sad glare. Inappropriate joke number six-thousand-twenty-four. "That's not funny, Dean…" He hoped to God it wouldn't be the last one.
"I know. This is serious. I mean it, Sam. It can't be like that time I let you borrow my bowie knife and you used it to sharpen pencils." came Dean's snarky reply, an obvious ploy to keep Sam talking, however annoyed he may be.
"I didn't borrow it to—it's not like I only—we didn't have any pencil sharpeners!" defended Sam, recalling that embarrassing day twelve years ago when Dean had freaked out after finding pencil shavings all over his expertly sharpened security blanket. Sam had had good reason though. He really did need a sharp pencil for his math homework, and he hadn't planned on using the knife for that purpose. At least not exclusively.
"God, Dean…" Sam was about to say it didn't matter anyway, that Dean was the only one who would be worrying about the Impala's gas regimen, when his mind returned to the plan that had been formulating in his head moments earlier.
"What?"
Annoyed that he was once again being pulled from his hope filled thoughts, Sam replied, "How can you sit there and make jokes like this? I mean," he paused, thoughts suddenly shifting to what would happen if he failed, "we should be planning. You should be trying to find—you should have been trying all along. Instead you're just acting like it's all fine. Like you don't care, that's it's gonna be okay even …" Even if something goes wrong.
"Even what?"
"Even though you're leaving me." Sam said quietly, unloading only half his fears, "I mean, how am I supposed to…I can't…" I won't.
"Sam." said Dean, telling him a thousand things with a single syllable, "Yes you can. Dad trained you, you—"
"That's not what I meant." You're all I have. Dean's words from, it felt like centuries ago, echoed through his mind, encouraging his thoughts, making them real. He'd have to start soon, figure out a way to do it without losing himself in the process…
Sam's mind was working faster than the car, checking and rechecking every aspect, focusing on control, analyzing every detail. The noise in his head was deafening, but time was running out…
TBC
