A/N: This story has been in my hard drive from the start of the year. While working with the other fic that is indefinitely on hiatus *insert groveling feet here*, I came across this and decided to polish it up and publish it.
Unbeta-ed. It's not going to be long, a couple of chapters at most, but I hope you enjoy it.
*SnSnSnSnSn*
2004
Dean wasn't scared of death. He had encountered too many deaths, gone close to the edge a few times himself, to be fearful of them.
He was, however, scared of dying. More specifically, he was afraid of dying alone. He was afraid that one day, while on a hunt, he would slip up and something fatal would happen and he would die slowly without anyone beside him, and that his body wouldn't be found until weeks later, and by them his body would have rotted, covered with maggots and flies, and his remains would be nearly identifiable. There was also a good chance that he would be buried as a John Doe, or under one of his fake aliases, and neither Sam nor his Dad would know that he had died. His baby would be towed to a junkyard, or worse, sold to an ungrateful bastard who wouldn't know how to treat her right and gave her the proper and loving care she needed.
All these ran through his mind as he lied there, bleeding slowly from the gash on his stomach, unable to even crawl away because the poltergeist had threw a chair at his legs as a last act of revenge, rendering the right one broken. He wanted to move, to get to the Impala that had been his home for most of his life, but his legs wouldn't co-operate and his head felt too heavy to lift up. And now he couldn't get up, his vision was fast fading and to top it all off, his cell phone was shattered into a dozen pieces when he hit the floor.
This is it, he thought as he struggled to stay awake and find a way to get out of the stupid house. This is the day that I'm going to die. And the only things I'm gonna leave to my family are my leather jacket, my Impala and my amulet.
And those weren't even really mine to start with.
*SnSnSnSnSn*
2007
"Are you really okay with this, Dean?" It was clear that Sam wasn't too sure if his older brother was okay with this.
"Dude, I was supposed to ask you that, not the other way around," Dean deflected his brother's question.
"Yeah, well. " Sam bit his fingernails, a habit from childhood that he had recently picked up again. He was nervous, and it showed.
Dean waited a beat. He didn't want to push.
"So, are you really okay? Do you want to do this? Or do you need me to turn this car around?"
Sam took a deep breath and Dean wondered if he was questioning his decision.
"Ask me again when we get there."
"Okay."
*SnSnSnSnSn*
2004
He had only managed to move about a foot in the last half hour, the drag marks marking the floor with red streaks, and it was wearing him out a lot faster than he had thought. But Dean didn't want to give up. He didn't want to die right indoors in a creaky old house with no one but himself to accompany him until his last breaths. He'd rather die outdoors, at least.
The front door was about another three feet away, but that seemed to be the longest three feet he'd ever encountered. There was this gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that told him whatever he wanted to do would not make much of a difference, and that he was going to die anyway.
Dean's stubbornness, however, willed his body forward. By God, he would get out of that miserable place if it was the last thing he did.
It was looking like it would be.
*SnSnSnSnSn*
2007
Both car doors slammed at the same time, and Dean smirked slightly despite the gravity of the situation. It was hilarious how the synchrony had driven their father mad during their teen years. He was convinced that the both of them had done it on purpose.
Dean took another deep breath and looked over to the building in front of him. Although it had been about two years, give or take a few months, he could still recall the way to Sam's former apartment in Palo Alto. He had a feeling that information was not going to disappear from his mind completely in the near future. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the phantom flames licking at his heels as he pushed his brother out of the room and out from the apartment. And if he concentrated slightly harder, he could smell the ash and the smoke and something burning.
His eyes flew open. He was in no particular hurry to revisit that memory. He just needed to concentrate on Sam, who would probably be feeling even worse than he was now. He turned towards his brother.
Sam was staring intently at the building, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. He looked determined, resolute, and, if Dean hadn't read his brother wrongly, angry. The last emotion was a bit of a surprise to Dean, but he figured that Sam was mentally shoring up his pain and he would much rather see his brother angry than bawling his eyes out.
"Sam, you good?" Dean wanted another confirmation, reassurance, that Sam was okay with this.
Sam's eyes flickered briefly to Dean, and nodded. Dean nodded back, took a deep breath and sauntered over to the trunk of weapons. He opened it, grabbed the EMF meter and the flashlights and slammed the trunk back down. The sooner they finished this, the sooner they could get out of here.
"Ready?"
Without waiting for a reply he walked over to the front door and stepped into the blessed cool interior of the building.
*SnSnSnSnSn*
2004
"Hey, buddy, wake up. Come on, open those eyes."
The voice was unfamiliar. It didn't sound like Dad or Sam. Dean decided to ignore it.
"Come on, man. Wake up." A cold palm slapped his cheek gently, but the lack of heat from the hand caused him to jerk up in surprise.
He lifted his left arm to push the offending hand away, but apparently his arm was weighted down by something heavy. Dean could hardly lift it. This revelation managed to pierce through the fog in his brain and with a burst of adrenaline he managed to push his entire body up against the stranger.
"Hey, take it easy! Come on, lie back and just open your eyes. Slowly."
Okay, the stranger had great ideas. Lying back sounded good, downright heavenly when his back was eased of pressure of gravity. He then tried to open his eyes, but something was keeping them closed. Dean tried harder and after what it seemed like hours, his eyes finally fluttered open.
"Okay, here we go. What's your name, son?"
"Dean." The single word was croaked out.
"All right, Dean. My name is James. Can you answer my question? Are you allergic to any drugs?"
"No." Still a croak.
"Okay good. That's good. We're going to the hospital right now. Can you tell me where you hurt?"
"All over." Another croak.
Great, I'm the frog prince now.
"Okay. Just hang in there all right? You're going to be okay, I promise."
Dean wanted to tell him to shut up, that promises weren't worth a single damn and everyone lie to him anyway and why shouldn't he be any different? He wanted to pound his fist into the man's face and then get to his car and drove off, never looking back.
He didn't bother. Why would he want to expend the energy to beat the shit out of someone who wasn't even the source of his anger anyway?
"Come on, Dean, don't go to sleep. Talk to me, man."
Dean ignored the voice in favour of the cool silent darkness that was welcoming him.
"Come on, stay awake!" And the cold hand made another appearance.
Dean flinched and groaned. Dammit.
"That's it. Just talk to me. Do you need me to call someone? Your parents?"
"Sam."
"Okay, Sam. Is he your brother? Sister? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
"Brother." This was excruciating.
"Okay, great. I have, like, three friends named Sam too. Do you need me to call him?"
James' unintentional threat was enough to rouse Dean momentarily from the stupor he was in. He did have Sam's new number programmed into his phone, courtesy of some hacking into the Stanford's records. Of course, seeing Pastor Jim's name in the Person to Contact in Case of Emergency list caused a sharp stab in his heart, but hey, at least it was someone he knew, instead of some random stranger.
"No! He doesn't know I'm here. He doesn't want anything to do with me." It was a bitter pill to swallow, but what was it about truth hurts?
"Okay, okay, I won't call him. Calm down, Jesus, your heart's racing!"
"Don't call him. Promise me!" Dean clutched James the medic's sleeve and started hyperventilating. The idea of his brother receiving the call that Dean was injured just blocks away from his apartment was enough to scare him. The idea that his brother might not even bother to come and get him even though he was so near? That was unbearable.
He couldn't seem to get any air into his lungs, and his vision started to dim. Exhausted, he surrendered the fight, keeping just one thought in his mind as he slipped towards unconsciousness.
Sam.
*SnSnSnSnSn*
You've reached the end! The next chapter will be in a few days. Thanks for making it this far!