All That Matters
A Coda to "Sin City"
By AJ Wesley
Dean awoke with a start, his gasp drawing breath into starving lungs. His chest was heaving like he'd been hyperventilating in his sleep. Maybe he had. This nightmare had been the worst yet.
He ran a shaking hand over his face, let it linger over his mouth as if it could quiet the harsh breaths. But there was no movement from the bed beside his. Sam was dead asleep, thanks in part to the painkillers Dean had administered before they'd called it a night.
Sam's impact with Father Gil's car had left him stiff and sore. From the way the car had looked, and Sam had moved, Dean knew he was hurting. Sam had never said a word, though. Even when Dean had silently handed him the meds and a cup of water, Sam had accepted them with quiet resignation.
Right now, Dean was glad for it. He swung his feet off the far side of the bed and stood on wobbly legs. Using the wall for support, he made his way out of the back bedroom and toward the kitchen. Bobby kept a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet, and it was calling Dean like a Siren.
With a weary sigh, Dean snapped on the small light over the kitchen sink. Even that dim bulb made him wince, but he really didn't feel like sitting in the dark just then. He found the bottle exactly where he knew it would be, and dropped into one of the four chairs surrounding the table. He didn't bother with a glass.
The liquor burned its way to his stomach, but he couldn't drink it fast enough to erase the remnants of the dream, or the fear that went with it.
It's a pit of despair, Dean. Why do you think we all want to come here?
Casey's words sent another spike into his gut. Even demons were afraid of Hell.
Great. Just friggin' great.
Dean took another swallow from the bottle, then set it back on the table with a little more force than necessary. His lower lip quivered, and he covered his mouth with a hand to still it. Yes, he was afraid, damn it. Terrified.
Regrets? Sure, he had 'em. But he didn't regret his deal. Not for an instant. He'd do it again if he had to, give up what time he had left if it would save Sammy. No question.
He knew Sam was still looking—ordering a pizza, my ass—still searching for a way to break Dean's contract. And, God, Dean loved him for that. But there was no way he was letting Sam put his own life in jeopardy. No way.
And yet he had.
The full magnitude of what had been released through the devil's gate was only just becoming clear. The tip of the iceberg. What if…what if they couldn't get a handle on all of it before…well, before Dean's time was up? What then?
Are you sure what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sam?
Freakin' Yellow Eyes, or whatever the hell his name was, still haunted him. If this fight went on, who would protect Sam? Who would keep him safe, keep him from becoming…
Something he was not.
Dean's vision blurred; he told himself it was the alcohol. He sniffed, took another hit, then wiped his arm across his mouth. His skin was dotted with gooseflesh, the house a bit chilly in the cool of the autumn morning. Or night. Whatever. He was developing a little buzz, but it wasn't enough. Wouldn't ever be enough to—
"Dean?"
Dean swiped a hand across his eyes and cleared his throat before turning to the doorway. "Bobby. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
Waving off the apology, Bobby stepped into the kitchen and pulled two glasses from the cabinet. "Ah, I wasn't asleep. Too much caffeine yesterday." He pulled out the chair nearest Dean and sat down. "What's your excuse?" He slid a glass across the tabletop.
Dean caught it and stared into its depth. He shook his head.
"You're worried about Sam." Bobby poured himself two fingers of whiskey and set the bottle between them.
"What Yellow Eyes said…" Dean's voice caught. "I can't…I can't get it out of my head, Bobby."
"He was playing head games, Dean."
"What if he wasn't, huh? What then?" Tears welled in his eyes, and he couldn't stop them. "Bobby, what if…what if I sealed Sam's fate with this deal? What if my actions doomed him to his…his destiny?"
"You can 'what if' 'til the cows come home, it ain't gonna make no difference. But you remember this…" Bobby poked a finger at Dean. "Destiny is what we make it. What path we choose. You gotta trust that Sam will make the right decision."
Dean nodded but didn't say anything. It all sounded so simple. But nothing was simple, not in the world they lived in. Outside forces worked against them. He trusted Sam with his life…he just didn't quite trust Sam with his own. Especially when those outside forces knew Sam's greatest weakness: his brother. Sam would do anything to protect Dean. Anything. Even if it meant undoing everything Dean had sacrificed. And that scared the hell out of Dean.
"Bobby?"
The older hunter looked up at him.
"Promise me that when I…when the hellhound comes to collect…you'll look out for Sammy, okay? Watch his back? Make sure he doesn't…stray from the path." Dean huffed a laugh at how ridiculous that sounded, but when Bobby's hand dropped onto his shoulder, he felt fresh tears pool in his eyes.
"I will, Dean. I promise." Bobby gave his shoulder a pat. "But don't you go countin' yourself out of this fight yet, you hear me?"
"Bobby—"
"Don't argue with me. You just listen. I've seen a lot of things in this business. I've seen things that'll keep you awake at night for weeks afraid to sleep because of what's out there. But I've also seen things that make me believe there's a Higher Power. Don't you give up, Dean Winchester. Don't you dare."
The tears finally spilled over his cheeks, but this time, Dean didn't care. The smallest flicker of hope ignited in him. He wanted to believe what Bobby was saying. He wanted so badly to believe. He wouldn't give up. He would keep fighting until the end, no matter what the outcome. He was a Winchester.
And at least he knew, much to his relief, that if it was his fate to spend eternity in a pit of despair, Sammy would be safe.
In the end, that was all that mattered.
Fin