Disclaimer // Supernatural belongs to Kripke and probably a whole lot of other people. Sadly, I'm not one of them.
Author Notes // This is a tag to Mystery Spot and a stand alone sequel to "Lost And Never Found". You don't need to read that one first but it might give some more insight.
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Lost And Never Fine
You can't change who people are without destroying who they were.
– Butterfly Effect
The shot was loud and clear in the dark night and left a trembling silence in its wake. Nothing moved except for the few leaves that rustled in the soft breeze and a small cloud that, for a second, blocked out the moon.
Everything had just stopped.
Dean was on the ground, his back against a tree, blood running down the side of his face and his eyes wide and disbelieving (scarred) starring straight at his brother.
Sam stood in the middle of the clearing – face calm, blank, unresponsive – with his gun pointed at the spot where a possessed little girl had been standing only seconds before. Seconds before when Sam had shot her straight through the head with the Colt. No hesitation.
And then time started up again as Sam lowered the gun, put it back in his belt and in two quick strides were kneeling beside his brother.
"You ok?" he asked, long, pale fingers running over his brother's face staining them with his crimson blood.
Dean stared at him a second longer before he cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah, 'm fine."
"You sure?" Sam asked and met Dean's eye for the first time.
"'Course I am," Dean said, turning away from his brother's searching gaze and steadying himself against the tree as he got up. He threw a quick look over at the girl (the corpse) before walking away. "You comin' or what?"
The walk back to the Impala was quiet, tense, and with Dean throwing glances at his brother every few steps but turning away as soon as Sam looked back. Once inside the car, with the motor roaring under the hood as they sped down the deserted road, it became suffocating.
"So," Dean started, his eyes focused on the road, "that was new."
"Yeah, kinda sick that they've started using kids now," Sam answered. "Shouldn't really be that surprising, though. I mean, they are demons."
"That's not what I meant."
Sam turned a confused look at his brother. "What?"
"That's not what I meant," Dean said again, his voice calm and controlled.
"Well," Sam said slowly. "What did you mean, then?"
"The . . . The shooting," Dean started, his voice suddenly unsteady as he threw a quick glance at his brother.
"What about it?"
"It wasn't like you."
Sam turned away, his jaw set and body tensing. "You would've preferred that I'd let it kill you?"
"There was a girl in there, Sam," Dean said, voice rising. "A kid! You don't just go around shooting kids!"
"I shot a demon, Dean!" Sam screamed, turning in his seat and looking ready to strike. "I shot a fuckin' demon that was trying to kill you!"
"We could've saved her!" Dean yelled right back.
"It would've killed you! Why can't you get that?"
"Because it's not like you!"
The words felt heavy as they rang between them and Sam looked ready to keep yelling but, with a sigh, he sank back down in his seat and ran a tired hand over his face. "I'm fine," he whispered tiredly.
Dean gave him a look, his eyes flashing fear, sadness, confusion, and then he turned back around. "You're not fine."
The rest of the ride was quiet, both brothers lost in their own thoughts, and by the time they got back to the motel they were both tense and ready for the next pin to drop.
They shuffled inside the room, Dean heading for the bathroom to wash of the blood and Sam dropping the duffle on the floor before sitting down on his bed. His hands came up to rub his face – tired from weariness and trying to shoulder the world – and then ran through his hair and cupped the back of his head as he rested his elbows on his knees.
He did not look up as Dean came out from the bathroom and, throwing his brother a quick look, started to ruffle through his bag in search of a clean shirt.
"I'm not fine."
The words were whispered but they seemed loud in the quiet room and Dean froze with his hands in the bag.
"I thought I could fake it, you know," Sam whispered. "Thought it wouldn't be so hard. We lie all the time – I lie all the time – and I thought this wouldn't be so different. But it was."
Dean moved slowly, leant back against the desk opposite his brother and stuck his hands inside his jeans-pocket as if afraid that any sudden movements might scare his brother of.
"God, Dean, I can't do it," Sam's voice hitched but he still did not move or look up. "I can't pretend that everything is like it used to be when it's all turned upside-down. Some days I wake up and I think I'm alone again and I freak until I see you on the bed next to me. And it's all horrible but then, some days, I don't even freak 'cause I'm so used to it that I've turned it all of."
Sam's head shot up and he stared at Dean with so much fear in his eyes that it was heartbreaking. "I don't want to be used to you being gone."
Two quick strides and Dean was kneeling in front of him, hands on either side of his head. "I'm right here, Sammy. I'm right here."
"But you weren't," Sam whispered. "You wouldn't wake up and for three months I couldn't either. I just wanted to wake up but I couldn't and you were gone."
"What are you talking about?" Dean said, thumbs rubbing small circles over Sam's cheeks. "I thought the loop started over right away?"
A choked laugh, or maybe it was a sob, broke its way out of Sam as the first tear fell. "Yeah, but I broke the loop. I broke it and I let my guard down and then you were dead. Paling on the sidewalk as blood poured out and I couldn't wake up anymore."
". . . Jesus . . ."
"They tried to take you away, tried to bury you, but I didn't let them. I poured salt and gasoline over you and then I lit a match. I watched you burn but I didn't wake up."
"Sammy, why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked, hands falling down to grasp his brother's arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Sam met his eye, shoulders hunching and hands shaking. "Because then you would lose me too."
"No, no, Sammy!" Dean said, desperate, as his hands gripped Sam tighter. "I won't lose you!"
A sad smile. "But you already did."
"No. You're here and I've got you now. I've got you, Sammy, and I'm not gonna lose you, ok?"
"You don't understand," Sam said with a small shake of his head. "I lost myself. I lost myself because I wasn't me when there was no you."
"But I'm here now," Dean whispered, tears running down his cheeks too.
"It doesn't matter. I lost myself on the way and, when I finally woke up, you were still the same but I was gone. I changed, Dean, and I can't go back now. It's too late."
"It's never too late, Sammy. We'll fix this, together, like we always do."
"No. I tried, Dean, for you. I tried to pretend that it was all alright but it wasn't. I wasn't and I'm just so tired now. I can't pretend anymore."
Sam slipped out of Dean's grip and slowly lay down on the bed, curling up and burying his face in the pillow. "I'm so tired."
Dean stayed kneeling at the foot of the bed for several minutes after Sam had fallen asleep and then he, slowly, got up and put the blanket over him. He ran his fingers gently through his brother's long bangs and over his tear-stained cheeks before he took a step back and sat down on his own bed, his eyes never leaving Sam.
When the sun rose up over the horizon several hours later Dean was still watching over his brother, just like big brothers are meant to do.
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