Title: Like the Wind
Summary: "You believe in wind, don't you?" She asked. Dean looked at her. "I see what wind does. I don't see what God does." She smiled. "Well, you're just not looking hard enough." Dean has a crisis of faith when his world falls apart at the seams.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing important anyway. Oh, and please, check your religious preference at the door if you can. This isn't meant to discriminate against anyone or belittle any form of faith or religion. That would never be my intention. I just had a talk at 3 am this morning with my friend about religion and it kind of stuck with me. And I just thought that with everything, John probably didn't make a point to take his boys to church every Sunday. Personally, I'm a very accepting and open person and make judgments based on the person, not the religion. So to insult anyone is absolutely accidental and I apologize now. Please keep open minds. Okay, read now. : )
Warning: Bad language lies ahead. Character death. AU, obviously. Some disturbing images/descriptions. Sensitive themes perhaps. No Mary-Sues. If you think you see one, sorry, that's an accident too, cause Mary-Sues make me want to throw up a little. Maybe one or two OCs, but never love interests (okay, except for a little implied romance, but its one of those never-in-a-million-years kind). Relax.
There is something to be said of little brothers.
For all the years they spend following you like a little puppy, your hating their presence really comes back to bit you in the ass.
Because right now, Dean would give the world—and his left nut on a fucking silver platter—to have Sam with him again.
He hadn't even realized he'd done it until he'd opened the motel door to two beds. He threw his bags on one as fresh scars bled freely again.
Only one bed would be occupied tonight. Ever again.
Dean wanted nothing more than to jump into the shower, turn the water to scalding, and wash it all away. Wash away the dirt, the smell, the blood, the memory, the pain. Wash it all away and watch it disappear down the drain.
Then, he wanted to walk out and find Sam asleep with his boots on. Then he wanted to tuck his little brother in and whispered goodnight.
He just wanted the blood to go away.
Every time he looked at his hands, they were red again. No matter how he scrubbed, they were always red.
Whenever he looked down he saw his baby brother's blood all over his hands.
Dean Winchester
April 15, 1996
Bible Lit., period 3
Describe your family. Your upbringing. Do you have a strong faith? (Remember, it's okay to be candid and talk about religion, that's what this class is all about) Expose your skeletons if you're strong enough, I want to know you, the real you. Remember, this essay is between you and me and whoever else you share it with. (wink wink Lauren and Karen). Much love my pupils, Miss. Mason.
I don't hate the way I was raised.
I mean, I don't really know any different so it's not like I have anything to compare it to.
I guess I have all that I need. I have my Dad and my brother, clothes on my back, food in stomach and enough money to keep us off the streets.
Really, what more do you need?
Well, in all truth it'd be nice—really nice—to have a mother—to have my mother back—but there are some things no amount of wishing and hoping can ever bring closer.
My mother died when I was four. There was a fire. My father handed me my baby brother and I ran him out of the house. I didn't look back.
I've never looked back.
We move a lot. My Dad has trouble keeping jobs, and the work he does find takes us all over the country. It's hard, especially for Sam—that's my brother—but as long as we stay together, it's not that bad. I'm good at making friends, if I try. But it has never seemed worth it really. In the end we always leave again and it's just more goodbyes.
My father once told me that love is just a prelude to pain, and although I was too little to really grasp the meaning of what he'd confided in me, I've remembered it to this day and I still hold it to be true.
My Dad isn't a bad guy. He's really not. I mean, with all the crap he's been dealt, I think he's done a good job. He tries. He really tries and he's done good by us. But sometimes, he gets so caught up in his grief that he forgets that he's got children who need him.
He forgets that she died. Not them. He forgets to live sometimes and that's the hardest part.
So with my Dad forgetting to live and all that, its never been a big deal in my family to go to church or read the bible or even think about God.
I don't think my Dad believes in God anymore. Not with all the pain he's suffered through and all the bad things he's seen.
And sometimes, I'm not sure I believe in God either. Sometimes, when life just seems so hard and so wrong, I can't honestly believe someone would put us here and let us hurt this bad. If God is so great, why does life hurt so bad? Shouldn't God care? Shouldn't God come to us? I just… I struggle with faith and God because I can't see it. I can't prove it and I'm not good at closing my eyes and taking someone's word for it.
I can't be told the sky is blue and just believe it. I have to look at see it for myself. With God… I just haven't seen it yet.
Or maybe I haven't opened my eyes. Because I've always been a fan of the mantra; ignorance is bliss. And I'd hate to open my eyes and be disappointed.
So for now, I'm good with keeping them closed.
Dean crinkled the paper into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. It joined the other three papers that had met the same fate. Each one more and more painfully personal.
Dean Winchester
April 15, 1996
Bible Lit., period 3
Describe your family. Your upbringing. Do you have a strong faith? (Remember, it's okay to be candid and talk about religion, that's what this class is all about) Expose your skeletons if you're strong enough, I want to know you, the real you. Remember, this essay is between you and me and whoever else you share it with. (wink wink Lauren and Karen). Much love my pupils, Miss. Mason.
There is me, my Dad and Sammy, my little brother. Our Mom died when I was four and we've never been whole since.
We don't have a religion because when your family shatters, that just doesn't seem important.
We don't have skeletons. We have graveyards. But if I exposed them, I'd have to kill you.
The end.
Dean smiled and nodded, pleased with himself. That sounded like the Dean Miss Mason knew.
"You've been working on that for a long time." Sam said softly, walking into the small room Dean had claimed as his own.
They were staying with Joshua for a while, just until John finished his latest job.
Dean shrugged and folded the paper up, slipping it into his text book. "Yeah well, it's worth a few points and Josh will kill me if get bad marks again."
Sam smiled and sat down on Dean's bed, absently scratching around the stitches on his forearm. "Dude, that was so funny." Sam whispered as he remembered the fight Dean and Josh had had over the D in English.
"You speak English, Dean! How can you fail your native language?"
"Dude! Did you even go to school? I'd get a freaking A plus if all we had to do was talk! We have to worry about commas and sentence structure and shit…"
"Maybe if you used your upstairs brain for a few hours you'd get decent grades. Go up to your room… and… and read something!"
"Fine!"
"And not Playboy!"
"Hey. Not all of us are blessed with your freakish intelligence, okay?" Dean teased. Sam looked at him seriously.
"You're smart, Dean." Sam said gently.
"Just not book smart." Dean filled in and looked at his little brother, smiling genuinely. "But that's why I have you, Geek-Boy." He reached out and ruffled Sam's hair affectionately.
"I believe I told you to hit the sack about an hour ago." Josh said from the doorway, yawning, his six year old niece Harper asleep in his arms.
And yes, her mother was a To Kill a Mockingbird fanatic. Joshua had barely talked her out of naming their first son Jem.
"Ben is snoring." Sam explained, rubbing at his eyes. "And besides, it's barely ten."
"You have school in the morning." Josh reminded him and then looked at Dean. "Burning the midnight oil tonight?"
Dean nodded. "Probably. I gotta work on getting this just right." Josh nodded and shushed Harper when she moaned softly.
"All right. I'm going to put little Miss to bed, and when I come back, Sam I don't want to see you up."
"Yes, sir." The twelve year old said enthusiastically and Dean snickered as Sam marched out of the room.
Josh set Harper down on the nearest bed—Dean's bed.
"If she wets her pants…" Dean started and cracked a smile when Harper opened her eyes and sat up angrily.
"I haven't wet the bed since forever!" She cried.
"I thought you were asleep." Josh groaned, knowing she'd be up for another three hours if he was lucky.
She shrugged and stood up, swaying when the mattress dipped under her weight. Josh reached out to her and she latched on to his thick forearms with her tiny hands. She grinned at him and then let go so she could jump on the bed, her little blue nightgown swooshing around her knees. "I woke up."
"I see that." He sighed and ran a hand over his face, he was exhausted. That was the last time he took his brother's kids for a weekend.
"What are you doing?" Harper asked, directing her question at Dean.
"It's called homework, and its hell."
Harper ceased bouncing and pointed a finger at the older boy. "He said the bad word." She gasped. "Send him to the corner, Uncle J."
Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to his paper.
"Actually, how about you sit here with him while I go out and get some air?" Josh asked, smiling. Dean turned around at his desk and glared at the older—but not by much—man.
"Josh, come on man…" Dean whined. Josh shrugged.
"You said the bad word, Dean-o." Josh reasoned and Harper nodded. "You have to be punished."
"I'm so going to get you back for this." Dean growled when Harper jumped off the bed and skipped over to Dean's side.
"What are you writing?" She asked and took his paper from underneath his pen. He groaned loudly, but it did nothing to deter her. She sat down on the floor and stared at the paper, scrunching up her eyes, turning it left and right, bringing it closer to her face and then jerking it away. Her eyes lit up and she poked at the paper. "It's about a pretty, pretty princess, isn't it?" She asked, a big smile on her face.
"How did you know?" Dean asked, faking excitement.
"Is her name Harper?" She asked, handing him his paper.
"It is." Dean admitted and continued writing.
"And does she have a blue pony?"
"Uh huh." Dean guessed. She was much easier to tell stories to than Sam was. She basically told him the entire story and he just had to repeat it. She'd edit it and elaborate for him at random moments and at the end of the night, he'd be the one who got a bedtime story.
"What's her name?" Harper asked, she was standing now, her hands clasped behind her back, rocking on her feet.
"Uh… Tiffany?" Dean asked and Harper made a noise in her mouth and shook her head, her pigtails—which were an absolute disaster, considering not one of the four boys in the cabin knew how to braid or even deal with long hair—swung back and forth. "Barbie?" She burst out into giggles and shook her head.
"No! It's Dena!" She ran and crawled back on his bed. "Dena the pink horse. Not blue, you turkey."
"Did you just call me a turkey?" Dean asked, trying not to laugh. She nodded and laid down on his bed. "I thought you just woke up."
"I'm not going to bed." She said adamantly.
"Sure you're not."
She didn't answer.
"Night, Harper."
"Night, Dena." She whispered and he waited until he heard her breathing slow and even out before he started back on his homework.
Man, that girl burned out as fast and she turned on.
"She out?" Josh whispered, peeking his head into the doorway. Dean nodded.
"Yeah, you girl. You can't even handle your six year old niece?"
"Spend two days with her, Dean-o. Then call me a girl." Josh sat down on the edge of the desk and handed Dean an icy cold beer. "Just don't tell Johnny." He opened his bear, his calloused hands not registering the sharp edges of the top and he tossed the lid over his shoulder. "What are you writing?"
"A paper for Religion Appreciation."
"Sounds like fun. But isn't that illegal? The whole separation of church and state thing?"
"It's an elective, you don't have to take it."
"Oh. I bet Pastor Jim would love to read it when you're done." Josh teased.
"You know he's given up on that." Dean muttered, referring to Pastor Jim's delicate and slight attempts to convert Dean. "I can't believe in God if I don't want to." Josh nodded.
"Seems to me like none of the good hunters do. It just weighs them down, you know, the morals and shit."
"You patronizing me, Sir?" Dean asked.
"Not at all." Josh answered, taking a swig, ignoring Dean's own jab. When they called Josh, Sir, it wasn't to be respectful.
It was exactly the opposite in fact.
"Just making an observation. Your Daddy doesn't believe in God anymore."
"Do you blame him? After what took his wife."
"Took your Mommy too. Still, your little brother prays every night."
"He's also only twelve."
"And smarter than you and your Dad combined."
"Smart isn't the same as wise, asshole."
"Cause you have so much life experience under your belt." Josh said sarcastically.
"Whatever man, I don't need your bull. Just let me finish my paper."
"I heard this one time, "faith is, at one and the same time, absolutely necessary and altogether impossible." Sometimes, we just need something to believe in, to keep us strong and certain that tomorrow the sun is going to rise again and we'll be forgiven for the things we have done yesterday. Even if believing in something we cannot see, and putting all faith we have to give in the hands of a higher power we don't know exists scares the hell out of you, you'll never feel alone if you can conjure that much bravery.."
Dean turned and looked at the man, who was barely an adult himself, just reached legal drinking age a year ago.
"So tell me, oh great one, which religion is right? I mean, we have Christians, Jewish and then we've got the Muslims. I mean, who got it right?"
"They all did."
"They're all right?" Dean asked skeptically.
"Yep." Josh nodded.
"Even those who have a God who tells them to strap a fucking bomb to their chest, stand in the middle of a city and detonate? That God who tells them to kill a thousand innocent people and they'll get their hoard of beautiful virgins is right too? Because in Christianity, a stunt like that would get them sent to hell for sure. Oh, but wait." Dean paused. "If they said they were sorry God would put them in the same place as the little old ladies who never so much as got a speeding ticket. That's bullshit, Josh and you know it. There can't be a God. Too much fucked up shit happens. If there was a God, he wouldn't have let us unravel this far."
Josh smiled and shook his head sadly. "Good paper you've got there, Dean-o." He got up, picked up Harper and left the room.
"And its Dean!" Dean yelled after him. He sighed and leaned back in the chair.
He remembered a discussion they'd had in class one day. Miss Mason had a way of making everyone listen.
Or at least look.
Dean did a lot of looking.
Miss Mason was young, and often her kids just called her Mercy. Yeah, Mercy Mason. Her grandpa had a thing about matching first and last names. When Mercy named her son, whom ironically was born out of holy wedlock, Alexander, he was more upset over the name then the sin. Not that anyone believes in abstinence anymore anyway.
"Religion can be viewed in many ways. Some are better than others, and although no one will say it, except me, because you all know I'm not afraid to say anything." She smiled, her eyes finding Dean's and he smiled back.
She made sure to talk to him everyday. Catching him after class or before, always smiling and asking him about his day. The way he came to class bruised, broken or not all frequently didn't go unnoticed by her. She'd called John several times and checked up on Sam a few times as well. She was different. She cared.
"Some can be worse." She continued. "Let's… liken religion to a medicine. If you take it like… vitamins, those hugemongous green horse pills, to strength you against temptation, that's what religion is designed for. At least that's what I've gathered over the years. Remember, you can draw your own conclusions, and I urge you to. I can't tell you what to believe and I've never want to. We must all come up with our own choices, I'm just giving the information I've been given."
She was always careful—a little too careful in Dean's opinion—not to discriminate or push anyone's buttons. She was a new teacher, fresh off of quitting her old job because of 'personal reasons'. But it was common knowledge around the water fountain that she and the principal had been hot and heavy and she left before things got too intense.
Of course, she had had little Alec a few months before coming to the new school.
"You can take it like an antibiotic, like that amazing night time cough medicine which is keeping me alive with the flu going around and whatnot." She looked pointedly at Lucas Meyer, the first boy in their class to miss a day because of the flu. He looked away and she ruffled his hair lovingly. "Religion can be like medicine to cleanse your system and help you feel good again."
"That seems wrong." Lauren Hansen, the class loudmouth blurted. "You can just use religion like that. You have to always be faithful."
Miss Mason nodded, listening and praising Lauren for being brave enough to speak. "That's one opinion, Lauren, and one that many agree with. But there is truly no right or wrong in religion."
"Sometimes people who've gotten hurt, or lost their way turn to religion for the strength they lacked before. It's like a support to help them get up again." Kyle Rainier, the class know it all, argued.
Miss Mason nodded and smiled, sitting on the edge of her desk. She loved it when they got to debating.
"Or a crutch."
Everyone turned to look.
Dean didn't speak much in class. He normally kept to himself.
The others thought he was just a weird quiet kid. They all thought he was abused. I mean, how could they not? He was always hurt.
This time his arm was in a sling and he thought he remembered his ribs being bruised, but he couldn't be sure.
"How so?" Kyle asked.
Dean shrugged. "Well… if you turn to religion to be your strength… you stop relying on yourself and put all your dependence on something that may or may not be real."
"Are you saying God isn't real?" Lauren asked, shocked.
Dean shrugged again. "I didn't say he wasn't. But I didn't say he is."
"He is." She snapped.
"You believe that. Someone else might believe something else."
She turned away from him and raised her hand. "Miss Mason, tell him."
"Lauren, honey. What am I supposed to tell him?"
"That he's wrong."
"There is no right or wrong in religion." She walked over to Lauren and squeezed her shoulder. "You all have good points." She looked at Dean. "Yours brings me to my next point. Religion can also be used as an aspirin, or like a drug, or as Mr. Winchester put it, as a crutch, to take away the pain of mistake and sin and keep you from confronting the route pain."
The bell rang and the class got up and left within a minute.
Dean hung back.
"It's amazing. They're always late getting here, but they can leave in an instant." She mused aloud and then looked over at him. "You made a good point, Dean."
"Just how I've always felt."
"So, do you believe in God?" She asked.
"Used to. My Mom… prayed with me every night when I was little. But after she died…" He shook his head. "No. Not anymore."
She nodded. "I can understand that. After… when my son was born, he was premature." She grinned. "And I know you've heard the rumors about his father, and me not being married."
Dean tried to stay stoic, but he nodded. "Yeah, I've heard them."
She smiled and continued. "I gave up my faith, hating that something as simple as a silly mistake could make you a sinner. Especially since it was the happiest moment of my life when I held Alec for the first time. Anyway, my point is, when he was born, he wasn't able to breathe on his own. His lungs were under-developed and they told me he wouldn't survive the night. You know what I did?"
"Cried?" Dean asked softly.
She laughed and nodded. "Hysterically. But I also prayed. I hadn't prayed once, not even for his health while I was pregnant, not once for forgiveness for having him out of wedlock. I'd turned my back on God." She walked over to him and sat on the desk next to his. "But he didn't turn his on me."
"How do you know Alec just wasn't strong enough? Or that the doctors saved him."
"They did. He was strong enough. I'm not saying there was some sort of divine intervention. But I had something to turn to when everyone else had deserted me, I had something to rely on when my inner strength just wasn't enough." They were both quiet. "You believe in wind, don't you?" She asked.
Dean looked at her. "I see what wind does. I don't see what God does."
She smiled. "Well, you're just not looking close enough."
Dean stood outside the school, hanging back by the edge of the parking lot, waiting for Mrs. Ross to release her class.
Sam would be angry Dad wasn't picking him up like he'd promised, but the hunt had gone slightly wrong and John desperately needed some R&R.
The door opened an a mob of little first graders ran outside, their technicolored backpacks bouncing up and down as they ran towards their parents' outstretched arms or climbed into mini-vans.
Dean walked towards the front, still limping from that last run in with a werewolf. Those claws were awfully sharp.
Sam was normally the first one out.
Dean had yet to see him.
"Hey kid." Dean called, grabbing the backpack of a kid he recognized to be in Sam's class. "Where is Sam?"
The kid looked back at the building. "He went to the bathroom."
Dean nodded his thanks and went into the school, flashing the woman in the attendance office a smile. "Picking up my brother." He explained and slipped into the bathroom.
He heard sobbing before he'd even taken two steps inside.
"Sam?" Dean called, looking under stall doors for Sam's blue shoes.
"Dean?" Sam asked, sniffling.
"Yeah, dude. Come out."
The last stall door opened and Sam barreled straight to his brother, wrapping his arms around his brother's waist tightly, sobbing against his shirt.
"Sam?" Dean asked worriedly, holding him out at arms length. "What's wrong?"
"We… we were… Michael told me… me… told me that." He was sucking in violent gasps, sobbing so hard he was going to make himself sick, or have an asthma attack.
Dean squeezed his shoulders and knelt down.
"Sam, stop." He said softly. "Calm down. It's okay."
Sam took a deep shuttering breathe and squeezed his eyes shut, two fat tears worked their way out from between his eyelashes and Dean wiped them away.
"Michael said that… if we're not Christian we… spend forever getting eaten by the devil monster… when we di.. die." Sam sobbed and shook his head. "I don't wanna… get eated."
Dean sighed and hugged Sam closed. "Michael is an idiot." Dean assured him. "He doesn't know what he's talking about, Sam."
"But… he said…"
"Sam." Dean pulled back and smoothed away Sam's long hair. "If you're a good person, you go to heaven. Okay? And you're the best person I know."
"Michael said that killers… go to hell."
"They do." Dean agreed and suddenly Sam's eyes widened and he broke down into frame rattling sobs.
"Sammy?"
"You and Daddy… kill things…"
"Bad things, Sammy." Dean corrected, realizing his mistake. Just last week, Sam had watched John and Dean kill a shape-shifter, a person. "We kill bad things, that's okay. We won't go to hell for that."
If there even is a hell.
Or a heaven.
Or a God.
Sam sniffled and looked at his brother with wet eyes. "Promise?" He asked and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "'Cause Becca Miller said…"
"You going to be believe Becca Miller over me? Your big brother?" Dean asked incredulously.
"You did say that broccoli was poison." Sam reminded him. Dean smiled.
"That was a joke. Gees, Sam, you've gotta learn the difference between a joke and the truth or you're not going to survive in this family."
"Mrs. Ross told me that half of what you say when you're joking is the truth." Sam informed his brother, his breath only hitching slightly now. He grasped Dean's hand tightly as they left the bathroom.
Dean only nodded.
Smart woman.
"What else did you learn today?" Dean asked, changing the subject quickly. Sam's face lit up and he jumped while Dean walked.
"We practiced times tables, and learned how to make cranes out of paper, but mine ripped. Then, when we went to recess we played capture the flag and no one could catch me, Dean! I was too fast. And, and, I got a gold star for being Miss Ross's VIC."
"VIC?"
"Very important cougar, because they're our mascot." Sam explained, pointing at the paw prints that decorated the walkway to the parking lot. "Where's Dad?" Sam asked, looking for the familiar Impala.
Dean sighed. "He's resting Sam."
"Did he get hurt?" Sam asked, his hand squeezing Dean's.
"Just a few scratches. He'll be okay in a few days."
"But my play is tomorrow, Dean!" Sam yelled, yanking his hand away from Dean's.
Dean heard a car honk and he watched as a few of the high schoolers drove past the school at dangerous speeds.
Idiots.
Fridays just brought the worst out in the new drivers.
"Sammy, I'll tape it for him."
"But that's not the same!" Sam cried.
The car honked again and Dean watched as it plowed through the chain link fence of the school yard, driving across the small field, heading straight for them.
"Sam!" Dean yelled and had every intention of pushing Sam out of the way, but the driver slammed on their breaks. The car fishtailed in the dirt and the back end swung around, slamming into the both of them. Dean was tall enough that he rolled over the top of the car and landed on the other side. Hurt like a bitch, but he wasn't under the wheels.
"Oh my God! Oh my God!" The passenger, a girl, got out of the car. "Fuck! Kirk you hit them! You idiot." Dean heard the engine rev and the car took off. "Hey!" The girl was still screaming. "You asshole!"
Dean opened his eyes and coughed, tasting blood. "Sam." He croaked and the girl ran to his side.
"Don't move. Oh my God, don't move. I'm calling 911."
"My brother." Dean groaned and sat up. "Where is my brother?"
"I'm so sorry." She sobbed, her blue eyes full of tears. Dean looked at her and she had blood running down her face.
God he hoped that wasn't Sam's blood.
"Where is my brother?" He asked again and she ignored him, trying to give the police their address.
Dean looked around and froze when he saw the familiar mop of brown hair.
Oh, God.
Dean scrambled to his feet.
Sam had been under the car.
Oh, God.
Dean ran to his brother, mouthing a prayer.
Yeah. A prayer.
God, please. Let him be okay. I swear, I'll never look at another one of Tyler's Dad's Playboys ever again. I won't kiss Joana behind the dumpsters anymore. Please, let him be okay. I'll do everything better. Please, let Sammy be okay.
"Sam." Dean whispered, his voice breaking. He reached out to touch his brother, who had curled into the fetal position, and Sam lifted his head.
"Dean?" Sam asked and turned over, instantly scrambling into his brother's arms. "I was under the car, Dean." Sam sobbed. "It ran me over."
Dean nodded, laughing harshly, though it was anything but funny. "I know, kiddo. I know."
"You're bleeding." Sam whispered, touching Dean's lips.
"You're burnt." Dean whispered back, looking at the angry red marks on Sam's leg from where it'd touched the bottom of the car. "But you're okay. We're okay. It's okay." Dean held Sam close and continued the mantra, rocking them back and forth, for the first time in a long time, he thanked God.
He lost faith again a few months later when his friend Tyler was kidnapped and murdered by some man in a dark blue van.
Sometimes you got lucky.
Sometimes you got fucked.
God had nothing to do with it.
She never took any notice of the scars on his face.
He was grateful for that.
She made him feel whole again. She didn't draw attention to what he was missing and for a few minutes he could feel like he had everything again.
"You know." She whispered one night, her hand resting over his heart. "No one else could love you the way that I do."
He didn't doubt it.
Not for one second.
He sat up and rolled out of the bed. "I gotta take off in the morning." He explained.
He watched her mood crumble, but she didn't say anything, too afraid to scare him off for good this time.
"When am I going to see you again?" She asked.
He shrugged. "Not sure. I'll call you."
"No. You won't." She shook her head. He nodded and walked back to the bed, leaning down to leave her with a soft kiss.
"You're right. But you never know, maybe we'll get lucky."
"Just…" She grabbed his hands. "Come back to me alive, okay? If I get a call from Bobby or someone telling me you're dead… I don't know what I'll do."
"You'll move on and find the husband you deserve to have. You'll have beautiful children and name your son Dean." He teased.
"I only want you and your children."
"I'm not that guy."
"You're right. But you never know, maybe we'll get lucky." She whispered and kissed him again. "And I wouldn't name him Dean."
"No?"
"Samuel." She breathed. "I'd name him Samuel."
Dean closed his eyes against tears he'd been fighting for years. Their faces were inches apart, both had their eyes closed, their fingers intertwined, just feeling each other.
"That's a good name." Dean whispered, his voice horse and deep.
She didn't dare speak before he did, so careful not to push him away because one day he wasn't going to come back to her and she knew that.
"I should leave." He whispered.
She kept her eyes closed and nodded. She heard him shift, felt him get up, but he still held her hands.
"You should forget me." He breathed into her ear.
"Couldn't even if I wanted to." She answered and bit her lower lip when he dropped her hands.
The door opened and she stood, her eyes finally opening. "Dean?" She called and he paused in the doorway. "If… if things had been different, could you have loved me?" She asked. "Could we have had a family?"
He grinned. "You wouldn't have wanted me. I've always been broken."
"You've never been broken to me."
He gave her another sad smile. "Goodnight."
He never said goodbye. Not once. Goodbye was too final.
She'd noticed that about him. He never finished anything. Left sentences without periods, never said goodbye.
She just figured he always needed something to go back to, to pick up and continue. So much had been ended for him.
He needed something to fall back on when the ground beneath him crumbled again.
He looked at the gun for the second or eighth time.
It'd be so easy too.
Far easier than he deserved.
He'd thought about it.
Even before…
But he told himself he'd never pull the trigger because someone would have to clean him up. And now matter how many times you've seen something like that, people take that shit—blood and brains splattered on the wall—home with them. And he wanted his suicide to end the pain, not cause more for people who didn't deserve it.
Or at least, he had felt that way.
For some reason, he couldn't find the strength to care anymore.
He picked up the gun, yanked the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around his head sloppily—maybe he could save the maid a little sanity—and placed the gun under his chin.
He took a deep breath, anticipating the feeling as his brains exploded out the back of his skull and pressed down on the trigger.
Or… he would have had the gun still been in his hand.
"The hell." Dean's voice was muffled by the sheet and he wondered if he could just suffocate himself.
Something slapped him across the face and he yelped, the force pushing him off the bed. He landed blindly on the floor and sat up fast, yanking the sheet off his head.
"Are you really that stupid?!"
Dean gasped and crawled backwards until his back hit the bedside table hard enough to knock the lamp to the floor.
"Jesus Christ!" Dean yelled and picked up the lamp, holding it in front of him.
"No. But I'm flattered. And if I was Jesus Christ, what would a lamp do?" Sam laughed, his familiar goofy smile lighting up his face.
"Stay, back!"
"Come on Dean, it's me."
"No." Dean whispered, shaking his hand, the lamp trembling in his hands. "No. It can't be."
Sam took a step toward him and Dean got to his feet, trying to move back even though there was no where to go.
"Stay away from me!" Dean's voice was hysterical and he managed to scramble to the other side of the bed.
"Dean." Sam cooed, his hands out in front of him. "Really man, it's me. It's Sam."
"No!" Dean cried, letting his hands drop. "You're dead."
Sam smiled sadly. "Yeah. Kinda sucks." Sam walked closer, and Dean backed up into the corner. "You don't have to be scared."
"Fuck that. Man, you're a Casper. I saw you die." Sam continued towards him. "I mean it Sam. Stay away from me." Dean saw the gun out of the corner of his eye and dove for it, pointing it straight at his brother. "You're not real. You're not real. You're not him. Sam died." He repeated, his eyes closed tightly.
"Dean. Bullets aren't going to do anything to me. You said it yourself. I'm a Casper."
"Full of rock salt, bitch."
"You were going to try and kill yourself with rock salt?" Sam asked, nearly laughing.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at his brother—no, not brother. "I wasn't going to do it."
"You looked pretty close to me." Sam said softly.
Dean pointed the gun at the floor and pulled the trigger.
"Empty." He muttered and then tossed the gun on the bed.
He'd gotten into the habit of leaving guns unloaded, in case he'd ever gotten the courage to actually pull the trigger. As much as he missed Sam, he knew he couldn't die yet.
"Wait, why am I talking to you? You're not real." Dean sat down on the bed and clamped his hands over his ears. "I burned your bones." He yelled aloud. "I made sure you couldn't come back."
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
Felt it.
Knew it was there.
But knew it was impossible.
Ghosts aren't corporal.
"Dean." Sam whispered, and Dean could hear him. "I came back because you needed me."
Dean shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Sammy. We know that. What's dead is dead, unless they're ghosts, and you can't be because I made sure you couldn't be. It would hurt more to lose you twice. I made sure…"
Dean's voice broke and he let his hands fall from his ears. He looked at his little brother, staring at the familiar features.
"I'm sorry." Dean whispered, trying to keep control on his emotions.
"I didn't come here so you could apologize."
Dean ignored him. "I should have been faster, better… It should have been me, Sam. You're the better one. I'm just wasting it."
Sam grabbed his brother's face and forced Dean to look at him.
"Stop it." Sam demanded. "Stop blaming yourself, okay? It's tired and useless."
Dean kept shaking his head, just staring at his brother, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I hate you so much." Dean whispered and reached out to grip the collar of Sam's shirt. "I hate you for leaving." He added and squeezed the fabric tightly, digging his fingernails into his own palms.
"That's okay." Sam whispered and slid his hands down to Dean's shoulders and then smiled. "Want to hit me?" He asked and Dean laughed harshly.
He smiled and looked down, shaking his head and tears clung to his eyelashes. "How long… can you stay with me?" Dean asked.
Sam smiled and patted Dean's cheek softly. "As long as you need me to, bro."
Dean looked at him. "Good thing I got two beds then, huh?"
Sam smiled sadly and nodded. "Go to sleep, Dean." Sam whispered. "You're exhausted."
Dean crawled to the top of the bed and laid his head on the pillow.
"Promise you'll be here when I wake up?" Dean asked. Sam nodded.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Dean closed his eyes and sleep found him quickly.
Sam sat down on the other bed and watched Dean sleep.
"Dean?" Sam whispered.
"Hmm?" Dean responded, still partially asleep.
"Why do we have lines on the inside of our hands?" The six year old asked.
Dean groaned and sat up, turning on the little light. He squinted against the foreign brightness and watched Sam stare at his palm, opening and closing his hand.
The ten year old looked at the clock on his bedside table.
"It's three in the morning."
"Why?" Sam was persistent.
"They're lifelines." Dean answered, collapsing back to his pillow. "Tell you how long you're gunna live."
"Really?" Sam asked and sat up, holding his hand out towards Dean. "How long am I gunna live?"
"Not very long if you don't let me go back to sleep." Dean groaned and turned his back to his brother.
Sam huffed and stared at his hand, calculating with his fingers how many inches long his 'lifeline' was. "It's not very long, Dean." Sam realized in horror. "Does that mean I'm going to die soon?"
"Jesus Christ, Sam. Let me see it." Dean sighed angrily and sat up; he grabbed Sam's hand harshly, looked his palm over and laid back down. "You're going to live to eighty seven. Happy? Now go to sleep.'
Sam didn't say anything for a while, but then he spoke in a small voice. "How about you?" He asked, his voice trembling.
"I'm going to live as long as you need me."
"I'll always need you."
"Then I'm going to live until you're eighty seven."
"Good."
"Now sleep."
"Night, Dean."
"Night, Sammy."
"I love you."
"Sleep!"
"Hey, Dean?"
"What, Sam? What!" Dean yelled angrily.
"What if God takes one of us away?" Sam asked. "Like Mommy."
"Who told you God took Mommy away?" Dean asked, sitting up.
"Pastor Jim says that sometimes, God runs out of angels and he has to bring wonderful people like Mommy to heaven to be angels."
"God wouldn't do that to us. I won't let him." Dean assured his little brother. Sam shook his head.
"You can't control God."
"Who says?"
"Well..." He didn't have an answer for that.
"Don't worry about things like dying, Sam. Nothing like that will happen to you as long as I'm around."
Dean opened his eyes and flinched away from the form hovering over him. He reached for his knife.
"Dean." Sam snapped. "It's me. Remember?"
Dean relaxed back into the pillow and smiled tiredly. "Sam."
"Yeah." Sam answered and sat back down, his arms crossed over his chest, appraising his older brother.
"See something you like?" Dean asked and sat up slowly.
"You're killing yourself."
"No. The gun wasn't loaded, Sammy." Dean reminded him, one arm wrapped around his middle.
"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Sam said angrily. "I get it, I do. I know how you feel, after Jess… "
"Don't!" Dean snapped and swung his feet off the bed. "Don't compare losing Jessica to losing you, Sam! There isn't even a comparison. Losing Dad didn't even hurt as bad as this. Don't for one minute think you know how I feel."
Sam stared at him for a while, watching his brother.
It was weird.
Sam knew he was dead. And he knew a long time had passed since he'd seen his brother, but for the life of him—or the death, you know what I mean—he couldn't remember where he'd been.
Probably part of the plan.
He hurt too. He missed Dean too. But it wasn't the pain he felt when Jessica died. It was like… the kind of missing you do when you go on vacation and you count the days until you can see your family again.
It was only a matter of time until he saw his brother again, until then he just had to chill somewhere he doesn't remember right now.
Man…
Their lives were weird enough before he died.
"I know, it hurts." Sam continued. "But you've got to keep going. You can't stop living because I have."
"Who says?" Dean pouted. "I'm only alive until you stop needing me, remember? And I promised you I wouldn't let God tear us apart…"
"I thought you didn't believe in God?"
"I don't even know what I believe anymore." Dean admitted and his breath began to hitch. Sam knew his brother was either about to cry, or have a panic attack. "Can… can you just… be real?" Dean asked, and choked back a sob.
"I'm real to you."
"But no one else can see you?"
"Usually how it works."
"Fuck, Sam." Dean whispered and grabbed his brother and pulled him closed. "I miss you." He held Sam as close and he could, breathing him in, feeling him, just being near him. He'd missed Sam so much that he physically ached.
Everyday seemed impossible. He felt like each step he took brought him right back to where he started.
Without Sam.
"Do you remember when you told me that as long as I was good person, I'd go to heaven?" Sam asked. Dean nodded, still holding his brother. "I'm pretty sure you were right."
"Pretty sure? Well, that's comforting." Dean laughed and let go, though he kept a hand fisted in Sam's shirt.
"I don't really remember." Sam admitted. "I don't know where I've been. I remember being with you that night… then nothing for a long time and now, I'm here and I don't remember the in between. But it was warm. And I think it was good. Sorry I can't tell you more; it'd make it easier for you, wouldn't it? Knowing I was going to a good place when I leave again?"
"It's probably better this way." Dean admitted. "I've been fighting the idea of heaven and hell all my life, hate to ruin the surprise now."
"We should go for a walk. You need to get some fresh air."
So, I had to cut this in half. Because it was way massive. As you can tell.
Tell me what you think (Because I'm freaking out over it.)
(oh, and if you got alerted twice, its because I had to edit this chapter. Sorry.)