TITLE: After the Fall
AUTHOR: Obi the Kid
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Tag to "Sacrifice." After the angels fall, Dean's concern is only for his brother.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of Supernatural do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story. Any typos/errors are all mine.
The angels had stopped falling.
The rain continued.
The brothers sat pressed against the Impala and against each other.
Sam still struggled to breathe. Unfathomable pain. Fever.
Dean sat now with a protective arm around his brother's shoulders, keeping him still. Keeping him close. Keeping him alive.
They'd sacrificed the world this time. Not their own souls. Not their own lives. In a last desperate plea, they chose each other over everything else.
The area quiet around them, they didn't move. The angels had fallen. Thousands of them. All of them? And if so, what did it all mean? What of Metatron? And Cas? What of Crowley? Dean closed his blurry eyes tight as those thoughts and worries crowded for attention and then…and then he cleared every last one of them from his mind. Forced all of them away…except one. Because here at this moment? There was only one that mattered. And it didn't involve Heaven or Hell or Cas or Crowley. It was all about Sam. It had to be. For Dean – for his entire life since the age of four - it had always been about Sam.
Clearing his throat, Dean repositioned himself against his brother. Sam responded
by battling for another breath; the guttural sounds coming from him, terrifying and heartbreaking all at once.
"S'okay, Sammy. I've got you, little brother."
Sam croaked out Dean's name, but it snagged into a coughing fit. The blood dribbling down his chin was quickly washed away by the steady rain that continued to roll down saturated strands of his long hair and into his eyes, mixing with aching tears, before soaking into his water-logged shirt.
"Don't talk, Sam. Just breathe. That's your only job right now, okay?"
Sam's response was to let his head fall into Dean's chest.
"Damn it, Sam, breathe! Follow my rhythm. In and out, man. Come on. You stop breathing, and I swear I'll kick your ass."
As difficult as it was, Sam heard him – the order and the brotherly threat - and he did follow Dean's breath. Feeling the rise and fall with his head on his brother's chest, he found a sudden comfort in the cadence and after a few minutes, settled into a pattern. A rough and ragged pattern yes, but a pattern nevertheless. The breaths were quick and unsteady, but they pulled and pushed air in and out of his lungs and that was enough.
"That's it, Sammy. Just like when you were a kid, huh? And those killer clowns tried to get you? Well, they weren't really killer clowns. It was a Ronald McDonald convention, wasn't it? Dad was in town for a job and gave us money for cheeseburgers and milkshakes. I think you were five or six. We walked inside and there were about 70 dudes dressed up like friggin' Ronald. Scared the living crap outta you. And that was before you even knew about monsters. You've held an unhealthy fear of clowns ever since. And damn if you weren't freaked out that night. Bad dreams and all. Stuck in that foul smelling hotel room. We didn't know when Dad was due back. You kept waking up and babbling about clowns trying to eat you. Couldn't hardly catch your breath it got so bad. I got you settled though. I promised you I would. You remember, Sammy? Just like this."
Dean paused a minute to catch his voice at the long ago memory and a much smaller but just as insecure little brother back then. This time though, it was a hell of a lot more than clowns.
"Just like this, Sam. You eventually fell asleep and my arms were numb the next morning from hanging onto you all night, but you made it through, just like you'll make it through this. We'll figure it out, like I told you. We always do. I promise."
Sam swallowed hard, breaths coming a little easier now, but in rapid succession. He listened closely to what Dean was saying. The memory. The past. The present. Dean had promised him that night that he'd keep him safe from anymore killer clowns, even if they were only after cheeseburgers and chocolate shakes. He'd promised; just like he did now. But Sam's emotionally distraught and self-doubting mind needed to hear it once more to believe it.
"Promise, Dean?"
"Yeah, I do, Sammy."
Corners of his mouth twitching in a pained smile, Sam clutched his hand to the arm of Dean's jacket just as another round of torture passed through every nerve ending in his body. He hadn't known that saving himself instead of the world could be so painful, but he hadn't let Dean down this time - and that's all that mattered. Dean had told him to stop the trial - begged him to stop. Had told him without saying the actual words that he loved him more than anything on the whole damn planet…no matter the past. And those words – the depth and insistent sincerity behind them - was making the unbearable pain a bit more bearable, knowing that he hadn't let his big brother down…again.
The familiar voice of that big brother shook him out of his thoughts.
"Sam?"
"Huh?"
"You're thinking too much again, aren't you?"
"Huh."
"Thought so. Stop it, okay? We're good, you and me. Better than we've been in a long time. Of all times for that to happen, right? And once we get you better…"
"Better, Dean?"
"Yes, better. I promised it, didn't I? We'll get you home and rested. You've gotta let me take care of you though and if that means jabbing a thermometer under your tongue every few hours and then force feeding you chicken soup and that tasteless Vitamin Water Zero crap that you love so much, then that's what it means. And no lip from you about any of it. Got it?"
"Promise."
Dean snorted, the water droplets on his nose bouncing in various directions as he did. "Uh huh. We'll see how that goes."
Another wave of pain. Sam's breathing changed again and the intense struggle to maintain the battle ascended once more.
"Hurts."
The older brother tightened his hold and cupped a hand around Sam's face, still lying on his chest as the trusted Impala continued her solid, metal support behind them.
"I know it does, Sammy. Remember your breathing though. No matter what, don't forget. Follow the rhythm."
And Sam did. Again. Trusting his brother above all else. His head rose and fell on the soaked, flannel-covered chest. Sam still couldn't quite match the stableness of Dean's cadence, but breath came and went. For what seemed like hours, this went on. They sat huddled together in the rain, against the Impala, breathing in…and out. And finally, at some point in the middle of the night, Sam found breathing a bit easier and found the energy to raise his head and lean it back against the car.
"Dean?"
"Right here, Sam," he said; the arm that had been tucked around his brother, now settled with a hand on Sam's bandaged arm.
"M'ready to go home."
Dean smiled sadly, not only at the thought of finally having a home, but at the solemn pain in Sam's voice. That aside, he was ready too.
"Think you can handle five hours in the car?"
"Not really, but I wanna go home."
"Then home we will go, little brother."
There was renewed pain when Sam slowly stood. Dean sat him in the car and circled around to the driver's side to get behind the wheel, removing his water-drenched jacket in the process.
"Dean…our things inside the church. And Crowley."
"Hell no, man. We're walking away. None of it matters right now. It will eventually, but now? Just me and you, brother. For once, the rest of this – the rest of the damn world - can wait. We'll get you home, into a shower, food in your stomach and then you can sleep for a week."
Lifting his heavy head away from the passenger window for a brief second, Sam replied.
"Or longer. Dunno what the trials have done…inside."
"Doesn't matter. I'll look after you. It's what I do best."
"Yeah. Angst and worry are two of your favorite pastimes."
More pain. Sam yelped, pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around his rain soaked jeans and held on. A comforting and familiar hand on his shoulder tried to ease him past this bout. Long minutes passed before Sam loosened the death grip on his knees.
"Hurts like hell. Like…nothin' I've ever felt before."
"Sam, here." Dean pulled him down by the sleeve of his shirt, to lie on his side on the car's bench seat, legs bent over onto the floorboards, the top of Sam's head pressing into the outside of Dean's thigh. Almost immediately, Sam reached for a clutch of Dean's jacket - a lifeline to make it through the next five hours of his life. The only lifeline he'd ever known. His brother. The brother he was certain now would always love him…no matter what.
"Dean. Thanks."
"We're brothers, Sam. No matter what," Dean responded, echoing Sam's thoughts of seconds before.
The grip on the jacket got stronger and Sam didn't worry over the water blurring his vision. Dean had seen him at his worst tonight, completely lost, ready to die…confessing his greatest fears and insecurities…and none of it made a damn bit of difference. To Hell and back and beyond, they were brothers.
Setting a soft hand down on his little brother's shoulder, Dean could easily feel the surrounding emotion. His own eyes welled up, and like Sam, he didn't fight battle to stop them.
Squeezing the shoulder gently, voice steady, he said simply, "Let's go home, Sammy."
The End (NOTE: This story has a sequel called "I Tried…Because this is Home " and will be coming soon)