A crumbling stone wall encompassed a group of tombstones. Although beaten by both time and the elements, it continued to bear witness to the long, forgotten stones that resided within it. Inside its confines, stood a gnarled oak tree, low hanging branches providing shade to the moss that grew in abundance among the grave markers.
Weathered to the point they were no longer legible, the headstones rested haphazardly in two rows. A single headstone, larger than the others, stood in a position of prominence at the base of the tree.
Against this stone, a young man rested, his dark, shaggy, head hanging, elbows resting on drawn-up knees. Silent and still, he sat, seemingly too absorbed in his thought to notice his surroundings. To the people that walked the cemetery paths, enjoying the evening air, he was little more than a shadow. Slowly, as darkness claimed the skies, the graveyard emptied, leaving him alone.
Eventually, he risked a glance around. Noting the absence of others, he released a pent up breath. He'd been sitting here for over an hour now, lost in his thoughts, waiting for the sun to set. Lost in his thoughts...there's a place he'd been spending a lot of time in lately.
As time marched swiftly past, bringing the anniversary of his brother's bargain ever closer, he'd become more and more withdrawn. His attention focused on his relentless search to break the deal Dean had made.
His search hadn't gone well. As the final countdown wound down, he'd become more and more desperate, convinced he would soon find the hounds of Hell stalking his brother. Wiping a hand across his eyes, he never noticed the figure that approached from behind. Unable to sit still any longer, he gained his feet in one smooth motion. Wiping his eyes once more, he jumped when a voice called out to him.
"Losing your touch there, Sammy. You're supposed to be on lookout."
Sam turned toward the voice, his gaze taking in every detail of his older brother. Dean stood, his hands tucked into the pockets of his faded blue jeans, his slightly bow-legged stance giving him a deceptively laid-back look. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Dean Winchester was a soldier through and through, hardened and honed by a lifetime of constant struggle, and life on the road. The past year tracking and destroying a multitude of demons had served to harden him even more.
Sam once again felt his eyes welling up. Wiping a sleeve across his face, he turned his back on Dean, choosing instead to focus on the stone before him. Tonight was it; the stroke of midnight would usher in Dean's last day on earth. This was their last chance for success in a long line of failed plans, their last hope to break the deal. Sam again wiped his sleeve across his eyes, silently grateful Dean was still there when he blinked again.
888
Dean stepped over the low wall, his gaze focused on his younger brother. He'd known this scene would be unavoidable. After the last of Sam's ideas failed to break the contract, his younger brother had become increasingly quiet and sullen. It had taken more and more effort on his part to keep Sam from sinking into total despair, not unlike right after Jess died.
Dean's gaze remained fixated on his brother as he wondered who would comfort Sam this time. Who would be the one to remind Sam that life was worth living, that he owed it to Dean to keep going? He could only hope that the combined efforts of Bobby and Ellen would be enough. As time had moved forward, his hope that the deal could be broken, like Sam's, had dwindled. Also like Sam, Dean now found himself plagued by nightmares, but unlike Sam, his dreams, didn't involve fire and brimstone, torture and pain. Instead, his nights were riddled with nightmares of Sam, his baby brother, lost and alone.
Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck, gathering his scattered thoughts. Knowing that time was short, Dean dropped down on the hard ground, his back against the largest of the tombstones. Indicating that Sam should join him, he waited for his little brother to drop down next to him.
Sam settled his long, lanky body next to his own, their shoulders lightly touching. Dean took a moment to admire just how well his brother had turned out. The nearly overwhelming sense of pride Dean felt as he watched Sam was nothing new. A sense of fairness, empathy toward others and a dogged determination were all qualities his kid brother embodied. Sam was the best of both Mary and John, a combination of heart, and courage that never failed to amaze Dean. Unable to stop himself, Dean reached out and elbowed Sam on the shoulder.
Sam frowned at the blow. "What was that for?"
Dean ignored the question and said, "Why don't you tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours."
Sam's eyebrows disappeared beneath his shaggy bangs in surprise. "You want to know what I'm thinking?"
Leaning back, Dean rested his head against the top of the stone. Staring up at the star-filled sky, through a canopy of leaves, he waited. Ignoring his brother's shocked tone, he prepared himself to hear what was going through Sam's mind.
"You're going to die...because of me." Dean could barely hear his brother's whispered words.
Dean winced at Sam's certainty. "It's not your fault Sam, I chose to make that deal." Drawing a deep breath, Dean released it slowly. "I've known for a while now that I don't have the strength to go on without you. I just don't. Maybe if Dad were still alive I'd feel differently, but I don't think so."
"Yeah, but Dean, it's my fault. If I'd been willing to finish off Jake when I had the chance, then he couldn't have stabbed me." Sam kept his head down, unable to meet his brother's keen gaze.
Dean shrugged. "It worked out for the best, Sam. The yellow-eyed demon's gone and you're safe it's more than I could have hoped for."
Sam jerked his head up, eyes blazing, and said, "And that's enough for you? You can die happy now? Sam's safe, and the demon's dead. So who cares about burning for all eternity in the fires of Hell."
Dean actually grinned. "Exactly."
Sam's gaze filled with tears as he leaned toward Dean. "Don't you get it? You're not going to Heaven. Hell, you're not even winking out of existence or being reincarnated as a cockroach. You're going to Hell! Can't you get that through your thick skull?" Sam's final words echoed through the night.
Dean's temper snapped. "I, don't regret what I've done, Sam. Not once since I sealed that deal, have I regretted my decision. I may wish things had worked out differently, but I've never regretted." Nearly shouting, Dean continued. "You act as if I'm too dumb to understand what I've done Sam. But that's bullshit. I know exactly what I've done. I've ensured that you have a chance to live. For another minute or another fifty years, I've done what was necessary to give you that chance."
Dean pulled up short, realizing he was within inches of Sam's startled face. Swallowing, he continued in a calmer tone. "I've been responsible for you since the moment Mom put you in my arms. I've been your brother, your mother, and even, on occasion, your father. Your goals and dreams were my goals and dreams. I've lived my life through you. Why would you think I'd allow you to die without doing everything in my power to save you?"
"Where does that leave me, Dean? Alone. Without Mom, without Dad, without you, where does that leave me?" Sam said in a broken whisper.
"Free." Dean whispered the words, almost afraid to say them aloud. "Free to live the life you want, not the one that's been forced on you."
Free. That word had driven Sam nearly his entire life. Those four letters encompassed everything he'd ever wanted, to be free from his father and his crusade. To be free from his brother and his example of what a good son should be. Free from the yellow-eyed demon determined to use Sam to his own end.
Funny how a word that once stood for everything Sam had ever wanted now conjured images of Sam alone, his brother's lifeless body before him.
"I don't want to be free. I don't want to live a normal life. I want you, and the Impala, and saving people. I want this life." Sam's words rang out clearly in the quiet evening.
Dean nodded, wrapping one hand around Sam's neck. "I know, Sam, but really, when have the fates ever cared what we want?"
Nodding, Sam whispered, "You don't regret it?"
"Not for a minute." The words were said with such conviction, that Sam had no doubt they were true.
Sam drew a hand across his face once more. It didn't escape his attention that Dean also wiped a hand across his eyes. "Alright then, we've got one more shot."
Gaining his feet, Sam held out a hand to Dean. As his brother's strong hand reached out and grabbed his own, Sam felt his spirits lifting. Smiling slightly, he took a knee near the duffle bag, Dean had brought with him. "So," he said, glancing at Dean from the corner of his eye, "you know that was the chick flick moment to beat all chick flick moments? You gonna be able to live with yourself, if I end up saving your ass?"
Dean grinned, his smile lighting up his face, even in the dark. "Nope. If I don't die, I'm calling a do-over. Everything I just said gets forgotten."
Sam laughed for the first time in days. Grinning, he asked, "What are you, seven?"
The End...