AN-this is AU, not a death fic and a twoshot. Second part not yet written. Rated for bad words and mature scenes.
The sunset was glorious.
Vivid scarlets and deep purples were caught by the clouds, like ink on cotton, even as the sun's fingers withdrew its gentle caress to plunge the world once again into icy darkness.
Sam watched with awe even as the growing cold seeped into his bones. He made no attempt to shake it off, though, and instead stretched his long limbs out, letting his the night air settle around him like a cloak of novocaine. For the first time since the start of the end of the world he smiled.
He was going to fix everything.
It was the least he could, Sam mused under the sleepy gaze of the stars. His very presence had brought nothing joyous to the world. No, where he walked death and ashes followed him, and were destined to keep following him. He almost expected that he'd leave nothing but dust where he numbly lay, as though the world was poisoned by his very touch.
Then again, it probably was.
It had been the appearance of Lucifer in his motel room dressed as his dead girlfriend that had spurred Sam onto his current quest. Nothing said, "you can't ignore the problem" like Satan showing up with a sunny smile and an "I've been waiting for you" speech.
It was that moment that had crystallized everything, answered all the "whys". Why had Jessica died? Why had Dean gone to Hell? Why did bad things happen?
But it had also cut through the ever-pressing darkness to show Sam what he needed to do.
He hadn't gone back to Dean. How could he have? His brother already hated him, rightfully so, but knowing that his little Sammy was the anti-Christ would have broken the few parts of Dean that Sam's fuckwittery hadn't been able to touch.
So Sam had to do it on his own.
The first thing he had tried had been a bullet to the head. Simple and to the point. Even Sam couldn't fuck that up.
But when he opened his eyes to a stain spattered wall he had been forced to reevaluate his options.
So he tried everything. Guns and knives, pills and poison. He'd stabbed himself in the heart with a bronze dagger covered in lamb's blood and set himself on fire using Holy Oil. And every time he had woken up to find himself healthy and whole.
But Sam was nothing if not stubborn. He let out a little snort, the noise breaking the still silence. It was probably his greatest flaw as a human being, besides, well, being evil and all that.
But this time he had made it work for him.
Unbelievable it had been Chuck who had provided Sam with the answers. He had been on the site, reading the latest updates to make sure that Dean was still okay, still alive and himself, when he stumbled onto a forum of fans, all asking stupid questions that didn't really matter. He had been about to close the window with disgust when he had spotted the question.
"Why don't they use the colt?"
He'd had to go out and buy the books again. And he'd had to read them, to relive every stupid and pathetic thing he had done since Stanford, before he had stumbled across what they were talking about. About how it wasn't gone.
And everything clicked.
Getting the gun back had been tricky. Demons didn't fight fair.
Then again, neither did Sam.
Sam made his way to his feet with a heavy sigh. He wished that Dean could have been here to watch the stars with him on his lat night on earth. He wished that he had a bit more time. He wished he was going to heaven.
Sam wished a lot of things.
He pulled the out the Colt, admiring the gleam of salvation in the pale moonlight. Too bad it wasn't his salvation.
He ran a hand along the side of the barrel before bringing it to his chin, the soft whisper of metal caress his skin with an icy kiss.
It was as good a time as any to die.
His finger slipped over the trigger.
"Sam." The familiar voice cut through the air like a whip and Sam paused, giving Castiel enough time to step in close, two fingers kissing Sam's brow and sending the hunter spiraling into a different kind of darkness.
x—x-x—x
Noise ripped through the shitty motel room as half a bottle of Jim Bean exploded against the wall, glass and sin peppering the room. Dean screamed at the mess before his fist flew to the spot where the bottle had impacted, his hand punching a hole though the drywall as though it was made of wet tissue.
He pulled his hand out and gripped his hair as his body folded over in a vain attempt to protect his heart. The one that had stopped beating minutes ago.
It had been Chuck who had set off the violent reaction. Dean had almost deleted the email when he saw it. He would have if the subject hadn't been "Where's your brother?" Truth was, he didn't know where Sammy was. At the time he hadn't even cared. As long as Sam was away it had been okay. And then he had opened the email.
There had been no message. Only an attachment that had turned out to be part of Chuck's latest manuscript. Dean snorted as he read about his latest demon escapades, skipping down closer to the bottom until he caught his brother's name.
Then Dean was screaming for Cas.
The angel had come swiftly, appearing in the room with his usual frown, obviously annoyed that Dean had interrupted his search for God. The frown had flowed from annoyed to concerned as Dean tried to explain, tried to make Cas understand, but found he couldn't breath because his heart had stopped. It had stopped and he was still moving and nothing made sense.
Castiel had narrowed his eyes as Dean had desperately shoved the laptop into the angel's hands. Blues eyes had widened before the angel had disappeared in a ruffle of feathers while the laptop crashed to the floor.
But that had been an infinity ago.
Dean screamed into his knees, rocking himself violently as he did the only thing he could and the one thing he hated most; he waited.
And then Cas was there. But all Dean saw was the unconscious figured slumped against the angel's body.
"Is he…?" Dean trailed off. He couldn't ask it, couldn't say it. He wouldn't survive it.
Cas crouched down, guiding Sam's body to the floor. And once again Cas lifted Dean from Hell. "He is alive."
Arms snaked around Sammy, pulling him from the angel's grasp. Dean buried his head in his baby brother's neck and sobbed into Sam's pulse. Both their frames shuddered with the movement as Dean's heart finally gave a beat.
