Hey, everybody! Me again! This story was meant to have an entirely different plot, but somehow morphed into a sort of sequel to "The Finish Line". If you didn't read that, Sam committed suicide out of grief and guilt, leaving only a note. When this story starts, Dean has already found Sam, called 911, had him pronounced dead, and is now back at a motel room, trying to come to terms with what happened. All of what I just mentioned will be written in detail in a later chapter. For now, enjoy and review! My first Dean-central fic, so any constructive criticism is appreciated! Love to you all!
Disclaimer: I still don't own Supernatural. *sigh*
With a heavy thud, the motel room's door crashes open, revealing a bedraggled man in a dusty leather jacket. Head down, he takes a weary step through the door before slamming it shut with a sudden pained yell. As the man looks up, brilliant green eyes bristling with tears shine in the dim light. He trudges toward the bed and slowly eases himself down onto it. As he sits, he puts his head in his hands and shouts in frustration, unable to find the words he needs to express.
"Why, Sam? Why would you do it? Why would you leave me here? God, you… you idiot!" With the last word, he collapses into himself in tears. Sobbing, he remains there for what feels like an eternity, praying that maybe, just maybe, his sasquatch of a little brother will come rumbling through the door to give him one of his world-class smirks and hug him, just one more time, and Dean will never let him go. It doesn't happen, and Dean knows it never will.
When the last of his cries fade away and his eyes, red and swollen, begin to dry, he clears his throat and stands up. As he begins to pace, he starts talking himself through the next steps, immersing himself in what little logic he has.
"Okay, okay. Take a breath. Think it through. What do you need to do?" He takes a deep breath before his eyes light up with realization. "Bobby, gotta call Bobby. He'll know what to do."
He ceases his circling of the room and grabs his phone off of the bedside table. He scrolls through the contacts until he reaches the number. Bobby S. He dials it quickly and sits back down waiting for the answer, bouncing his leg impatiently. Just before the ringing stops, Dean's prayers are answered.
"Hello?" A gruff voice answers the call, sounding as though he had just woken up.
"Bobby, oh God, Bobby…"
"Dean?" Bobby's voice is suddenly laced with concern. Dean was a pretty tough kid, no doubt about that. If something managed to get to him this badly, it couldn't be good. "Dean, what's wrong?"
"B-Bobby… it's Sam. He's gone." Dean heard his voice crack on the last phrase and tears welled up in his eyes once again.
Bobby sighed in relief. The boy ran off every once in a while on some hare-brained quest to help the hopeless or redeem himself from some crap. The idjit. "Well, any idea where he went? How long has he been missing?"
Biting back his tears, Dean took a breath. "No, Bobby, he's gone. Sam… Sam's dead, Bobby, and I don't know what to do."
Silence.
"I'm on my way, boy. Where are you?" Bobby suddenly sounded emotionless, all of the feeling drained from his voice. Somehow, it was comforting to Dean. He needed someone stable, because he sure as hell wasn't.
"Indiana. Springfield. Some motel called "The Ruby Slippers"."
"I'll be right there. Don't move a muscle."
The dial tone reverberated in Dean's ear, a low droning note. All Dean heard was the low beep of the heart monitor from the ambulance. The one that told Dean everything he'd feared was true. His brother, his only family left, was dead. He, Dean, was alone. Forever.