Title: No More Dying, Okay?
Fandom: Supernatural (Season 11)
Author: Obi the Kid
Rating: PG
Summary: Tag to "Red Meat". The boys deal with the immediate aftermath of the events of their most recent brush with death.
Home now, Sam had taken towards his bedroom immediately. Gingerly pulling on a large tee shirt and disposing of the one from his backpack that Dean had dressed him in at the medical clinic once he'd been stitched up. The simple movements to just pull the shirt over his torso or even bending to put on his sweats were painful. But after killing werewolves, tracking through the forest, driving the Impala and then shooting another newly turned wolf to save his brother – all with a slug wound in his abdomen and losing blood – Sam figured he could handle a task as simple as getting dressed. But with the adrenaline gone and the wound beginning the slow processing of healing, it still hurt like hell, or worse.
Sleep was welcomed but elusive and for a long time he just lay there on his back staring at the ceiling. His door was open - Dean's insistence should he need anything – so the light from the hall cast a long shadow to where his eyes were fixed.
The knock that came at the door wasn't necessary, but it was expected.
Sam greeted the knock without breaking his gaze from the ceiling. "Took you long enough," he said, echoing Dean's relieved greeting after the bloody ending of Corbin-the-werewolf.
Dean's mouth pursed into a small smile, leaning against the door frame, "Got dressed all by yourself I see. Sammy, I tell ya, you are growing up right before my eyes. Next thing you'll be taking bullets and killin' monsters."
"Hey, I learn from the best."
Turning now toward his brother, Sam watched Dean approach the bed. "That you do, little brother. Here." Hand out, Dean held a small metal object. "Keepsake." It was the bullet that he had dug out of Sam's stomach.
"Huh, no thanks. You keep it. I've got enough to remember it by." Sam patted a hand near his blanket-covered stitched area.
Eyeing the object for a long second, Dean finally palmed it and shoved it back into his pocket. Bullet and haunting memories secured. Then he pulled the nearby chair over to the bed. "You sure you're okay? No side effects from almost dying or anything that came after?"
"Just pain. M'tired too. Can't sleep though."
Dean cleared his throat as he reached over and flicked on the small light that topped the nightstand. "I know the feeling. Why the hell do you think I'm in here and not in my own room catching forty winks?"
"Netflix?" Sam replied, changing the subject completely.
"You know, I could go for a little Charles in Charge."
Dean deserved the look he got. Even prone in the bed, the younger Winchester could offer a stern scowl that asked his big brother…what the hell?
"One of the crappiest sitcoms to come out of the 80's and that's what you're in the mood for?"
A shrug. "There's no blood. No monsters. And best of all no dying brothers. Seems like safe viewing right now."
"Dean."
"Come on, Sam. We can't sleep. We've been through hell. Again. You almost died. Again. I almost died. Again. Rinse, wash, repeat. And you need to stay in bed for a while to start healing. I'm sure the ride home didn't do you any favors. And did I mention that you almost died? Again? Jesus, man. Forget death by monster, I'm gonna die of a friggin' heart attack at this rate…and…"
"Okay, okay you win. Get the control off the nightstand. Watch whatever you want. Maybe Scott Baio will put me to sleep."
TV on, Netflix loading, Dean closed his eyes to catch a breath. It had been a very long couple of days, topped off by his own suicide in an attempt to bring his brother back – the brother who turned out wasn't dead after all.
The journey to Reaperville had been a failure and a disturbing reminder that death this next time would be final. Billie-the-Reaper had no qualms about letting them both die. Forever. Dean had been ready to follow his brother into death. Ready to end it all if it meant fighting this fight alone. And Billie had been right. He couldn't lose Sam, just as Sam couldn't lose him. They were tied together; more so now than ever before. As Michelle had said, there was no normal after watching the person you love, die. Husband. Brother. Whoever it may be. Dean knew that all too well. They'd been lucky this time, as they had so many times before.
One day though…one day…
But not today. Sam was alive, recovering -and for now, safe. They still had to figure out how to kill the Darkness, kick Lucifer back to his cage and save Cas – all seemingly impossible tasks, but…those were problems for tomorrow. Right now, Dean wanted –needed -to spend some downtime with his brother; even if that downtime was the middle of the night, in Sam's bedroom, watching cheesy sitcoms from the 1980's.
Dean kicked his chair back and propped his socked feet onto the edge of Sam's bed, conscious to not disturb the mattress and cause his brother any additional discomfort. Sam would put on a brave face, but the wound smarted like hell and would for at least the next few days.
Halfway through the second episode of "Charles in Charge", Sam nudged his brother's arm. "Hey Dean?"
The older Winchester popped awake. He'd been dozing, though he'd never admit it. "Huh?"
"What did Billie say?"
"What did…what? Who? What?"
"Billie. The reaper. I won't press on the details, but I assume you went to her, tried to get me back when you thought I was dead."
"I didn't say that. I knew you weren't dead, Sam, I…"
"Just…what did she say?"
The brothers turned heads toward each other. Dean hadn't told Sam about his suicide trip to the afterlife. So how… "Damn it, Sam. Stop prying into my head, man. And just…"
"It's what I would've done, Dean. I know my big brother would do the same. So?"
The TV show on pause, Dean sucked in and punched out several deep breaths. Of course Sam would see through his "I knew you weren't dead" line. Hell, it was only last year that Sam himself had been so openly adamant about not being able to lose his brother; and Billie, well she was currently the only viable option.
Dean reached a hand back to massage the stressed muscles in his neck, dropping his head a notch. "She said no. Actually it was more like hell no, always gonna be no and don't ask me again because…no. She's not budging Sammy. Not ever. So, here's the plan…no more dying okay?"
"That goes for you too, Dean."
He rubbed at his forehead this time. "Huh. I was ready, man. So ready to be done. You were gone…and let's be honest, if I didn't come back, would anyone really have given a crap? I mean seriously, would it have mattered? But! As we both are so fond of saying these days - I did what I had to do. I couldn't let you die. And if there was no coming back, if this really was it, I sure as hell wasn't lettin' you die alone. So, yeah, I was stupid and foolish and all those other adjectives that we are famous for. And I'd do it again." Finishing the speech with a throat clearing, Dean refocused on the TV, staring the show again. "Can we stop talking about this now?"
"Yeah. I guess there is a benefit to all of this. We know for certain now. About Billie."
"Benefit…yeah. Okay. Only in our screwed up lives, Sammy. Score one for us. Now shut up and watch the show."
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, taking it all in. Everything that he and Dean were to each other. Codependent in the most unhealthy ways possible, that one brother would end his own life to try and bring back another from the brink.
…But such were the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester.
"Hey Dean?" Sam's voice was hoarse as he reached his left hand toward his brother.
"Come on, Sam…just watch the damn show, will ya?"
Feigning irritation, Dean saw his brother's hand out of the corner of his eye and grabbed hold; squeezing tight, then releasing. Unhealthy bond cemented.
And then, "So, next time you do something stupid like that and almost get reaped, how about you make sure that I am actually dead first."
"Yeah, yeah, okay, Mr. Perfect. Next time you feel for a pulse or breath and there is nothing, see if you don't go off and do the same stupid crap I just did. I know how to take a damn pulse, Sam."
"Apparently, you don't. Should I give you a lesson? Oh and by the way, you do know CPR. You could've tried to revive me from not really being dead."
"I am so NOT kissing my damn brother on the lips. I wouldn't mind however punching you in the chest right about now. Now please shut the hell up and watch the show."
Sam smiled at the bickering that came so naturally to them as brothers that had spent almost their entire lives intertwined. He was exhaustingly tired though and someone had to bring an end to the bicker-battle.
"Okay, Dean. I promise I will try to not die or almost die again. There. Happy?"
"I am. Was that so hard?"
"You're an idiot."
"Takes one to know one, Sammy." Dean offered back, placing a quick pat to Sam's shoulder. "Now either sleep or watch."
Watching was overruled by sleep eventually; the sleep that had been elusive when he'd first laid down. Sam found it now. Welcomed it. Save for the voices on the TV, the room was quiet. Dean had shuttered the volume to a lower level when he saw Sam fading, but he didn't leave the room. Not after seeing his little brother covered in blood and dead on the floor barely 36 hours ago. He wasn't planning on mother-henning him to death, but keeping watch at his side for the night, well, that he could do.
That…he had to do.
Because he hadn't needed a scary-crazy-death-machine to remind him of what he already knew. That no, he couldn't lose Sam. Just…no.
Unhealthy or not, he'd always had one constant in his messed up, crazy-assed, blood-splattered life…and hell if he was living that life without him.
The End