Title: Not for Nothing
Summary: The semi-sequel to Breathe the Dying Breath, but you ain't gotta read it to make sense outta this. I know this has been done and done again, but this is post-AHBL pt.2, the aftermath.
Sam sits, ears to the wind and his eyes out to sea as he lifts the empty beer bottle and chucks it into the crashing waves. Everything should feel different. The wind should be calm and mournful, the sea should be gentle tumbles over Sam's bare feet and legs, the sea like a thousand salty tears shed.
But it's as if Dean Winchester never left. The only difference is the hollow lump of sadness in Sam's stomach, the itching burn at his eyes. But nothing has changed, nothing at all. To Sam the world is a little harsher and much too painful but the sun is still bright and birds still sing.
First there was grief. Dean is gone, Dean is dead, Dean is burning in Hell. Dean sold his soul so Sam could live. And how fucked up is that? How fucked up is burning in Hell for someone who should be dead? And how fucked up is it that Sam feels dead and the only thing that could make his existence mean anything, was Dean? Now none of this shit means anything. Hunting, the visions, and helping people-saving people- it doesn't mean anything.
What good is saving someone if it isn't Dean? What good is dying for someone who isn't Dean? So Sam cries and rages, talks to no one for days and days until everything in him collapses.
Guilt and grief churn like fire in Sam's stomach and tastes like copper. Sam realizes that if he doesn't do something to stop it he might just die from it. And Dean would have sacrificed everything for nothing. This thought only brings on more tears, silent, dry tears that wrack Sam's body and make him want to scream. But after he is done, he stands and he grabs Dean's keys (they will always be Dean's keys and Dean's car), the cold metal pressing into his rubbery fingers.
The car is dirty, weeks unwashed and left to stand against the elements making the once shiny exterior dark gray with filth. Sam ignores the grime and opens the driver's door, it creaks loudly and in his mind he sees Dean's unhappy frown at the state of his beautiful car. He slides behind the wheel and shuts the door. Instantly, everything Dean was, is right here all around him: the smell of fire and gasoline and sulfur, Dean's leather coat beside him on the leather bench. Grief and happiness and longing fill Sam, but he doesn't cry this time.
For the first time in three hellish weeks Sam smiles. And it hurts like hell, but it's a start. The map of southern Wisconsin rests beside him on top of Dean's coat and the roaring of the Impala is like a promise.
He grips the steering wheel with strong fingers. "To the end of the world, big brother, to the end of the world. And into Hell if I have to."
END