It's perfect here. In this place it seems like time is suspended. It's like the world has drifted away from the brothers. No cars drive along the dusty road behind and no boats cruise the lake in front. It's like the Zen centre of their own little world. They are leaning against the Impala's hood, each with a beer in one hand, the other resting on the car, little fingers just touching. It's all the contact they need to know their other half is still there.
The last hunt was one of the more dangerous ones they'd recently faced; a handful of hungry vampires yearning for hunter's heads on sticks. They had been fighting for hours when everything suddenly froze for Sam. In that one long heartbeat he thought that bitch was going to get Dean and for longer than a heartbeat he thought his brother was dead. Sam remembered running towards Dean, shouting his name. The last vampire tried to stop him but suddenly it just became a silly little spirit, afraid of table salt. In seconds a head rolled across the floor, soaking blood up in the thick hair.
Dean was limp in Sam's arms. It was strange how still and peaceful he seemed, not surprised or in pain like when his heart collapsed. Warm blood covered everything; Sam couldn't even tell if it was his brother's. Tears blinded him for a second before gravity took over and pulled them down his cheeks. Sam hauled Dean as close to his chest as he could, trying to pull his brother inside him so they could share his heart and keep him alive. Suddenly Dean shuddered and the jumbled words that had been tumbling unbidden from Sam's mouth stalled. Then his green eyes opened and stared brightly back at him.
"Sammy?" He groaned, pressing a hand to the back of his head and bringing it away, sticky with blood. "That bitch must have knocked me out." Sam couldn't have spoken even if he could manage to form coherent sentences. Instead he just hugged his brother as tight as he could, trying to reassure himself that Dean was alive. For a moment the older Winchester stiffened, then his fingers wrapped around the back of Sam's neck, stroking gently. Dean muttered something about 'fucking pansies' but he didn't let go.
That wasn't the worst hunt they'd been on or the direst situation they'd encountered. They'd fought demons for fuck's sake. Still, there was something different about it. Maybe it was the peaceful look on Dean's face as he lay there covered in blood. He seemed so at ease, as if he was ready to die and leave his brother. Sam shuddered at the thought. Both of them knew he wouldn't be able to handle losing his brother again.
"Maybe we should get out." Sam's voice sounded weak, even to him, so his eyes didn't leave the ripples of the wind over the lake. Dean chuckled blandly and shifted his stance, little finger not leaving Sam's.
"Come on Sam, what are you talking about?" Already he was regretting voicing his thoughts. "Some domestic life? You know we can never do that, not after everything we've done."
"Yeah, you're right." His hand nudged Sam's and he turned to meet his brother's concerned look.
"There's no happy ending for us here, you know that. Our lives end bloody, that's how we get out."
"Yeah, I know." He replies robotically. Of course he knew. It's the mantra that goes through his head at night. 'Our lives end bloody. That's the only way out.' It's stuck in Sam's head, rotting his brain, pulling at the threads of his determination to save people and hunt things. Dean was so sure that this was it, that no matter what, they were nothing but Hunters. It's as if he has already seen the end, killed by a demon that was too powerful or by a spirit that happened to get one up on him. Sam thinks his brother sees them dying together, side by side. It would be a good death he supposes. Sam can't see anything but hatred and revenge allowing him to function without his brother.
At night he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling. Dean is always asleep before him, breath warm on his neck. He breathes so much deeper at night, almost on the verge of snoring. Every now and then Sam's gaze subconsciously flickers down to watch the rise and fall of his back. In his mind, dreams of domestic bliss unfurl. To him it seems as if they could have a small house in a small town with a small group of friends. They could be the wayward sons making the most of what little time they might have left. In these dreams he sees them growing old together, sitting on the porch enjoying the sunshine. Of course they could still turn back to ganking spirits if something threatened their town but mostly he just wants to enjoy life with his brother at his side.
'Our lives end bloody. That's the only way out.' Sam's eyes turn back to the ceiling as the phrase loops over and over. Dean's voice whispers the truth in his ear as the dreams dissolve. Sometimes he stares so long that he can see Mom up there, the fire dancing around her paralysed body. He can see Dad next to her, collapsing on the ground with Azazel looming over him. Then the parade begins through the darkness, all of them passing by the bed. Mom, Dad, Jessica, Madison; every one of them leaving this world. Somewhere in the middle Sam falls asleep but their faces invade his dreams. There they find their voices, hissing at him as they die. '...You're watching us get killed whilst you sleep with your own brother... Freaks... So wrong... Abnormal...'
At the very end his cruel mind takes him back to the basement and forces him to watch Dean collapse as his heart splutters and fails. He sees his brother's face, the pain and the shock as he leaves Sam alone in the world. Sometimes the real live Dean will have woken him up before the last scene, Sam's screams rousing him, but sometimes he isn't quick enough to stop the finale. Sam sees yellow lights, painting a halo around his brother through the misty glass. He feels the world tear and rip at the seams as the Impala spins off the road from the impact. Then Dean is lying on the hospital bed, dwarfed by the machines that cluster around him, keeping him alive. The scene cuts and Sam wakes up, screaming his brother's name.
"Dean." Struggling to keep the exhaustion from his voice, Sam turns to his brother, hand still glued to the Impala. "How are we supposed to keep doing this? How am I supposed to keep doing this?"
"What do you mean?" There is honest confusion in his voice and concern still showing in his eyes.
"I can't living my life thinking that you or I will die at any second," Sam replies, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.
"Why not?" His brow is furrowed and voice tight as if his words hold more meaning than they really do. "Any of these people could die at any moment in a fucking car crash." Sam ignores harsh reality his brother stabs him cruelly with. "You think a domestic life doesn't have its dangers?"
"That's not the point, Dean, you know it's not."
"Then what is? If you have some grand scheme in your mind about a little house on the prairie then please, tell me." Putting the beer bottle down he stretches his arm out and plasters a fake grin on his face but a crease lingers between his eyebrows. Still Sam knows the tiny laugh-lines growing in the corners of his eyes map his face better than his frowns ever will. For just a moment he considers telling him about the domestic dreams. His eyes flicker down to his brother's chest, heaving angrily, watching it rise and fall. In his mind he crosses to the small house in the small town but in the daylight he can see the fake film grain that is worked into the image eating away at the detail. They're just silly fantasies he realises, nothing more.
"Never mind," Sam sighs, dipping his head to stare at his shoes. "I don't know what I'm talking about." A hand tilts his chin up and his surprised gaze meets uncharacteristically loving eyes. Carefully a soft mouth presses the lightest kiss to Sam's lips. It's barely the brushing of skin but Dean doesn't even hug him in public if he can help it. It's barely a kiss but there's a depth to it that scares a small part of Sam. For a moment Dean doesn't pull away, resting his forehead against his brother's. Instead they just stand there, sharing breaths although Sam barely dares to move in case he breaks the moment.
"I know," Dean whispers, eyes fluttering shut. Suddenly Sam is acutely aware of the way his brother's pinky is carefully curled around his own. "I know you have nightmares and I know you want an apple-pie life but I can't-" for a heartbeat his voice chokes "-I can't give it to you." He leans forward heavily, the side of his nose pressing against Sam's, thumb rubbing almost forcefully against his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Sammy." Then he is gone. Dean is back in control, beer magically appearing in one hand, eyes fixed on the lake.
Sam's heart is hammering and his breath is coming in short gasps. A thousand thoughts run through his head. In a seconds time the dream of the small town in gone. Instead a road runs through his mind, the Impala rumbling along it, Kansas blasting from the open windows. Sam is sitting in the passenger seat, watching Dean drum on the steering wheel as he drives them to the next godforsaken community plagued by supernatural beings. This is a new fantasy, a new dream for the future and yet the old worn corners of the road tell Sam this is more memory than imagination. It is the place where he belongs, where his life fits to the tune of hunting.
Then the image is gone. It is replaced by voices whispering. Some of them are familiar, some strangers, but all of them laced with disgust. He can make out phrases and words in their mutterings; 'freaks', 'they're brothers', 'so wrong'. Sam tries to push away the voices but they crowd around his mind. He needs to get away. He needs to stop before he is in too deep. He needs to get away from his brother before he falls-
Sam is about to run as far and as fast as possible but he finds he can't. Dean's little finger is linked tightly with his own, clinging to him like a lifeline, anchoring him to the Impala. As hard as he may try, Sam can't bring himself to let go.