My first Supernatural fic – we'll see how this works out. Set after AHBL part 2, so this potentially has spoilers if you haven't seen the episode yet. Special thanks to my best friend and beta, Justice of the People.
SUMMARY – A symbol of transition, of growth, of births and endings – of one year's close and another's beginning. Post AHBL part 2.
WARNINGS – Language and character death. You've been forewarned.
DISCLAIMER – I do not own Supernatural.
Janus
Another road sign blurs as they shoot past it, come and gone in an instant. They pass cars in succession, one after another fading away in the rearview mirror. Mile after mile slips by, just like all those days and weeks and months spent searching, and all in vain.
"Dean." Sam's voice is tired, strained by the impossible deadline looming over them both. He almost imagines he can see it there, lingering just on the horizon, watching, waiting...
"Drop it, Sam," comes Dean's swift reply, practically mechanical after nearly a year of Sam's attempts at this conversation.
Sam swivels, his gaze locking onto his brother. That stubborn, obstinate...
But if Dean notices his brother's icy glare, he doesn't bother to acknowledge it. Still, Sam refuses to give in.
"What do you expect me to do, Dean?" he demands. His brother's eyes never leave the road. "Just sit back and let you--"
A flick of Dean's wrist and the stereo's volume skyrockets, drowning out his little brother's protests.
oooooooooooooooooo
The dreams are the worst.
Sam spends every waking moment scrambling for something, anything to save his brother. When he sleeps, he's faced with his own failures.
They aren't images of Dean's death -- Sam is fairly certain he could handle those, or at least explain them away in the light of morning. But what Sam watches is what comes after that -- Dean's soul trapped there for eternity, at the mercy of countless demons itching for their chance at revenge. Each dream is more gruesome than the last -- Sam wakes sick to the stomach and shivering, with his brother's screams still echoing in his ears.
He hopes to God (or whoever the hell is listening) that they aren't visions.
oooooooooooooooooo
He loses count of how many times Dean checks the lock on the door to their room – it's a common occurrence, just like the ever present tension that's constantly clinging to his brother. Sam knows exactly why Dean has been on edge these past few weeks, and he hates that he can't do a damn thing about it.
And it's pointless to even mention it -- Dean only gets defensive, denying everything and telling Sam to just shut the hell up.
But as soon as his brother drifts off into a fitful slumber, Sam slips out of bed and checks the lock one last time, just in case.
oooooooooooooooooo
He pretends not to notice every time Dean shoots awake in the middle of the night. Sam doesn't hear them, but he knows it's the baying of those damn hounds that haunts his brother's dreams, and their shadows that stalk his steps.
In the morning, Dean acts as if nothing ever happened, and Sam just lets him lie.
oooooooooooooooooo
He slams his fist into the table with such force that the laptop leaps up, and a coffee cup (long since drained) is sent tumbling to the floor.
Every contact, every lead, every goddamn whisper -- he'd tracked them all down, each and everyone one, and for what?
Nothing.
He presses his face into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut to tame the throbbing migraine lurking in his temple.
"Just leave it, Sammy."
Sam's head jerks up, and the pain spikes again. He blinks his bleary eyes several times before the shape of his brother leaning in the doorway comes into focus.
Now Dean crosses the room, eyeing his brother carefully all the while. "Seriously, when was the last time you slept? You look like shit."
Sam can't help but scoff. "You're one to talk," he mumbles -- as if he hasn't noticed Dean's haggard appearance, and those dark circles ringing his eyes.
Dean's gaze still hasn't left Sam, even as he sinks onto the motel bed across from his brother. "Look, Sam," he begins, but he trails off, clearing his throat. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "What I did -- I'd do it again in a heartbeat. And I got what I asked for, so now--"
He stops again, tearing his eyes away from Sam's, and swallowing his words, or his guilt, or something else that Sam can't quite place.
Sam shakes his head, frowning at the pain lancing behind his eyes. "Stop it, Dean -- I told you, I'm going to fix this."
"You can't fix it, Sam."
"There's still time!"
"Don't do this, Sammy," Dean cuts in, his voice rising. He pauses, and takes a shaky breath before finishing. "Not now, not when..."
But he can't say the rest, so he just shakes his head, that look in his eyes.
This is all wrong. Dean doesn't say these things -- his voice doesn't hold that tone of finality, of resignation, of defeat. Sam blinks furiously -- he'd be damned if he started crying now.
Silence hangs in the stale air for a few long moments and the brothers nearly drown in the futility of it all. Finally Dean leans forward, punching Sam lightly in the shoulder, the ghost of a grin flitting across his features.
"Hey, let's get out of here for a couple of hours -- grab some pizza, catch a movie, or something. You up for it?"
Sam can't find it in him to say no.
oooooooooooooooooo
He'd expected a blaze of glory -- it'd all go down in a dazzling blast of light and courage and purpose. At the very least there'd be a goddamn explosion.
Sam never thought it'd happen so quietly, that he could scream and shout and beg until his throat was raw and still Dean wouldn't answer him, never again.
He never thought he'd wake up one morning and Dean just wouldn't.
oooooooooooooooooo
For the first time in his life, Sam has absolutely no idea what to do. He is completely, utterly, profoundly lost.
And alone -- after a life of tragedy and turmoil, Sam is the last one standing. A cold, sickening paralysis claims him, and he's intensely aware that this same feeling was probably what drove Dean to do what he had done, and the reason that Sam is standing here instead of his brother.
Sam knows that he'll never stop hating himself for what Dean had done, and for his own helplessness in the light of it all. He'd tried, dammit, he'd tried and tried and all he'd gotten was the most agonizing year of his life and his brother on the funeral pyre before him.
The hardest part was knowing that Dean would have given it all for less.
END
5:38 PM
5/19/07
Please, please, please review. I'd really appreciate feedback on this.
Child of a Pineapple