Three Days Gone
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam(-centric), Dean, Mary, John
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Spoilers for AHBL 1 & 2, character death
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Winchesters, just borrowing them for the time being.
Summary: The cold hand of fear wrapped around his heart, icy tendrils bruising and squeezing the bloody flesh until he thought he would choke on it. Gasping, he hauled himself upright, breathing ragged, eyes watering with pain.
THREE DAYS GONE
It starts and ends with a brief flash of color and light behind his eyes and a burning pain that quickly faded into the darkest black of oblivion. And for a while he knew nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing. He was nothing.
Then slowly, bit by bit, it came crawling back. It started with a warmth that spread from his toes all the way up to the top of his head. Soothing sounds of birds chirping and whispering voices. Bits of color speckled the inside of his eyelids, floating and drifting about. He felt his body slowly relax into the soft cushion and enjoy the alien yet completely welcomed feelings of being safe. Of being home.
But his reprieve was short lived as a blinding pain bit into his back, making him gasp. His eyes flew open, searching the unfamiliar scene for a spot of comfort. Why was he in so much pain? He wanted to move, to get up and figure out exactly where he was, but the simple act of craning his neck to the side caused a five alarm fire to race up and down his spine. Getting up was most certainly out of the question.
Dean. It hit him out of the blue, like a lightning strike to a lone tree. Cold Oaks. The Yellow-Eyed demon and his band of 'special kids'. Ava's betrayal, Andy's death, the evil look in Jake's eye as he landed the first punch. And then Dean was there, running towards him, screaming his name in terror then … nothing.
The cold hand of fear wrapped around his heart, icy tendrils bruising and squeezing the bloody flesh until he thought he would choke on it. Gasping, he hauled himself upright, breathing ragged, eyes watering with pain.
"Dean!" He fisted a hand and held it to his lips as he squeezed his eyes closed tightly in an attempt to control the pain. Counting backwards just like dad had taught them, breathing through it. Why wasn't Dean here with him, helping him, comforting him? He could feel himself slowly controlling the pain, the white hotness of it dimming at the edges. "Dean," he whispered through a sob.
"Easy there, kiddo." Warm, familiar hands gently rubbed his shoulders as a voice whispered gently in his ear. The pain faded another degree as one of the hands cupped the side of his face; the other gently squeezed the back of his neck the way his …
"Easy, Sammy."
Sam snapped his head up and found himself staring into the warm eyes of his father. A lump formed in his throat, cutting off any reply he had. His father, his dead father, was standing before him. He shook his head, pressed a hand to his eyes, trying to gain clarity on the situation. But when he opened his eyes, his father was still there, kneeling in front of him with a sad smile gracing his lips.
"Hey there, kiddo. How ya doin'?" The soft, gentle voice crashed over him and Sam felt relief vying with confusion deep within his chest. "Just relax and breathe."
Sam shook his head and tried to pull away. He only ended up leaning in closer to his father's warm embrace. A shiver wracked his form but he didn't fight his father any more. He couldn't deny the comfort it brought, how the pain was ebbing away, fading faster and faster with each passing moment.
There were questions running on a continuous loop through his mind. Like where were they? The room, though it seemed like it should be familiar, was foreign to him with its white-washed trim, its overstuffed white furniture, and the pale blue wallpaper with big, pink roses. And how was his father here, kneeling in front of him, his flesh pink with life, when Sam knew for a fact that his father was dead. He had salted the body vigorously while Dean added the lighter fluid and tossed on the match. And where was Dean? Why wasn't he here taking care of Sam? How had he gotten hurt in the first place?
As the questions ran through his mind again, Sam found his lips working overtime to keep up. The words tumbled out incoherently, beginning and ending with hitching sobs that he found himself unable to control. Everything was reeling out of control too fast and he couldn't catch up.
"Sam. Focus." His father's slightly sharp voice brought him back in a snap. He took a shuddering breath, fighting down the panic and fear and confusion as his father's thumbs wiped away the few tears that had escaped. When he seemed to have some semblance of control over his emotions once again, his father slid his hands down Sam's arms, giving them a firm squeeze. "Try again."
"What – where are we? How are you here? What is going on?" The words rushed out before he could stop them, but at least they were more coherent this time.
His father gave him a small smile as he answered, "We're home." When Sam made no response, John tried again. "We are at the house in Lawrence, Sam. We're home." He spread his arms out for emphasis.
And then Sam did look, saw the pictures of a happy family in front of a house he recognized, scattered books and newspapers and finger-paintings, baby toys and soft sports balls. He didn't know how he recognized it now, but he did. And he felt … safe. Comfortable. Loved.
"But that's impossible. Someone else lives here. And you're …" and that's where he trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to say the word even if he had said it hundreds of times before in his head.
"Yeah, Sam. I'm dead." His father said it so casually, like it wasn't a strange occurrence that he was sitting here with Sam, chatting it up when he should be in Hell. He was about to point that fact out when another voice came from behind him.
"So am I, Sam." A smile formed on his father's lips as he stood up and took someone's hand. He watched dumbfounded as his mother glided over to his father's side, her arm hooking around his waist as he wrapped and arm around her shoulders. She looked deep into his eyes, a sad smile on her face.
"What- How is this possible?" Sam could feel his hands shaking again, but it wasn't from pain; his back barely bothered him now. It was fear he realized belatedly. He found himself searching for an escape even as they sat down on the couch next to him, flanking him.
"You know Sam. You know what happened, you know where we are. You have all the answers, you're just afraid to look." Her voice was soft, her palm warm as she held his hand between hers, her eyes torn between happiness and sorrow.
"Am I …" he couldn't finish, couldn't bring himself to accept it. But there was no other explanation for how he was sitting in a house he never knew, but felt like he'd been here his whole life. How he was sitting flanked between his two dead parents and having them embrace him with warm flesh and soft hands and sad eyes. How the worst pain he'd ever felt his life was now nothing more than a twinge, his last memories fading only a might bit slower. He swallowed thickly, "Am I dead?"
"Yes, sweetie." His mother brushed a sweet, gentle kiss to his temple as his father squeezed his knee comfortingly.
Only it wasn't a comfort. It fueled the fire deep within him. He jumped off the couch, hands fisted in his hair as he paced back and forth across the carpet. "No. I can't be. Dean needs me!" Placating words were spoken in his direction but Sam never heard them as his panic rose. "We aren't done yet. We have so much work to do. The demon. We didn't get the demon. Dean will be so reckless without me, he's gonna get himself hurt without me there."
"Sam, Dean hunted without you for nearly four years. He's got a level head on his shoulders. He'll be okay." John slowly stood up from the couch, and cautiously approached his near raging son.
"No! You don't understand!" Sam yelled as he turned on his father, arms thrown out wide. "You don't understand! You weren't there. You left us! It was just me and Dean, against the world. He can't- he won't- He isn't good at research, he'll never find a good hunt let alone what he's hunting." Sam turned back away from his father, mostly muttering under his breath as he continued his pacing.
"We were running low on rock salt. He never called Bobby about the run-in with the Jinn. I stashed a hundred dollars between the Impala's seats for an emergency, he's not gonna know where it is!" Sam turned back towards his father, the carpet showing the path as he moved forward once again. "He's not good with the Latin in the exorcisms, he stumbles over the ending. He's gonna think I killed those people! I never got him his stupid pie." He ended in a whisper as two hands grabbed his arms.
"Sam." Slowly Sam picked his head up and stared blankly into his father's eyes. "He'll be okay, Sam. He's strong. He knows what he is doing." There was something that closely resembled conviction in his father's eyes as he spoke. He'd probably had the same conversation with himself before he had made his deal, Sam realized. Had he done enough to prepare his boys, had he taught them everything, showed them everything? Was he ready to say good-bye to them?
Shakily, Sam nodded his head before he dropped it onto his father's shoulder in defeat. His father's arms closed around him as he felt his mother's hand rub soothing circles between his shoulders. Dean's face was staring back at him from behind his closed eyelids, eyes alight with terror as he screamed Sam's name. He just hoped Dean would understand that it wasn't his fault. It had been Sam's mistake, only Dean had to pay for it.
He let out a deep sigh as the last of the pain faded away, and along with it those last terrifying moments of his life on Earth.
"So, if I'm dead, where am I?" Sam was reclined back on the couch, leaning into his mother's side, soaking up the warmth and love he'd been missing for over twenty years. His father was sitting on his other side, feet propped up on the coffee table, leaning back in the semblance of relaxation.
"You're in limbo, Sam." At his father's answer, Sam snapped his head up and stared at his father in curiosity.
"Limbo? But you're …"
"Supposed to be in hell? I was, Sam. But your powers pulled me here, pulled us here." John cast a knowing look to Mary, a small imperceptible nod and she was picking up the conversation.
"Your father was in hell, just like I was in heaven. Then when you died, your powers summoned us here, to your limbo, so we could help you cross over." She laid a comforting hand on Sam's arm as she spoke in a sweet, soft voice. And the way she explained it, so patiently, he couldn't help but accept it.
"Why am I not in heaven or hell?" He turned wide, wondering eyes upon her like a child eagerly awaiting the next part of a story. Curiosity overtook his fear of this place. How could he fear a place when he felt so safe?
"Not everyone goes directly to heaven or hell, son." Sam's attention snapped back to his father. "Those are only the extremes, but they aren't the only places spirits dwell after death. Most spirits dwell in limbo until they move on either one way or another. Only those who make the greatest sacrifices go straight to heaven," John's eyes fell upon Mary for a moment before he turned back to Sam. "And those who commit the greatest sins go straight into hell."
Sam stared at his father's downcast face for a moment while it all sank in. Then suddenly he was spinning in his seat, fully facing his mother. His mouth was working, trying to form the words his heart wanted to deny. "What?"
"Yes, Sammy. I sacrificed myself to the demon. I had to protect my boys." She ran her fingertips across his cheek as she spoke. "I need to make sure my little boy lived on."
He swallowed thickly as he nodded in acceptance. But where did he go from here? Sam pulled himself up off the couch and stood in front of the shelves of pictures, his back to his parents. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of not seeing Dean again, but he hated the thought of leaving here. They were almost a family again, he was finally in a place where he was loved and felt safe.
John laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "Take your time, Sam. There's no rush." Sam met his father's gaze over his shoulder. "You'll cross over when it's your time."
He watched as his parents walked out of the room, hand in hand, then turned back to the wall of pictures in front of him. Before him was a life he had never know, shown to him frame by frame with each picture he passed. A much younger John and Mary hugging and standing in front of the house; John leaning against the hood of the Impala with a proud smile on his face; Mary standing sideways, smiling at the camera as she held her hands over her protruding stomach. There were pictures of John holding his baby boy, and Mary gently rocking a baby Dean to sleep. Pictures of a little Dean taking his first steps, his first birthday cake, first Christmas and every other first to celebrate. Dean on a tricycle with John following nervously behind, the boys playing ball in the yard, Mary and Dean baking and gardening. All things that Sam had never gotten the chance to celebrate, moments he had never shared with the rest of his family.
Sam smiled when his gaze fell upon a picture of Mary, pregnant belly sticking out away from her. And there, standing in front of his mother, hands placed on her stomach with wide eyes and a smiling mouth, was Dean. Another picture was of Mary holding a newborn Sam. Another of Dean leaning over a crib and kissing his newborn baby brother.
The last picture on the shelf caught Sam attention. With careful hands, he picked it up and brought it closer. A young Dean sitting on the couch cradling a baby in his lap. Eyes wide with wonder stared down at his precious bundle, but he was smiling and proud. Sam could feel his heart constrict in his chest, tears prickling behind his eyes.
The constriction in his chest gave way to a gentle tugging and a warm familiar feeling. It felt like … Dean. Sam wanted to bring his eyes away from the picture in front of him, to look around and find out why it felt like Dean was here with him. But he couldn't pull his gaze away. He watched in amazement as the world in his peripheral faded to a dull gray while his reflection in the glass before him slowly morphed into another picture entirely.
'Sam.'
"Dean," he whispered. He recognized the scene now. Cold Oaks. Dean was kneeling on the muddy ground holding Sam's limp and lifeless body close to him.
'Sam. Hey. Hey, come here. You're okay, champ. Hey. Look. Look at me.'
"Dean," Sam drew in a deep breath, tears in his eyes. Didn't Dean know? Didn't he realize?
'It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, right? Sammy. Sam.'
Sam had never heard Dean that close to panic, that close to devastation and tears before. He wanted desperately to look away, didn't want to see Dean's breakdown. But he couldn't pull away. Now that he felt Dean, he realized what spot of comfort and love had been missing this whole time.
'Sam. Hey, listen to me.'
'I am listening, Dean' he thought. The first tear slipping down Sam's cheek.
'We're gonna patch you up, okay? You'll be good as new. Huh? I'm gonna take care of you. I gotcha ya.'
Sam felt a sob slip passed his lips. 'No Dean, you can't fix me this time.'
'It's my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother. Sam? Sam.'
He watched as realizations slowly dawned across Dean's face. Dean pulled Sam away from him, one hand holding Sam up while the other cupped Sam's cheek, trying to keep his lulling head still.
'Sam. Sammy! No.'
It was the hardest thing Sam had ever watched, seeing Dean sob, pulling Sam's body back to him, rocking them both back and forth.
'No. No, no, no. Oh, god. Oh, god. Sam!'
"DEAN!" Sam screamed as the scene before him suddenly disappeared. The tugging in his chest was gone, leaving an empty hole behind. "No, no. Come back. Please, Dean. Come back." He didn't realize he was on his knees sobbing, clutching the picture to his chest until Mary and John came in, pulling him close and rocking him back and forth like Dean had done. Only it wasn't the comfort that Sam needed. He needed Dean.
To Be Continued
The second part should be up shortly, its already in draft form awaiting to be beta'd.
Thanks for reading and remember ... feedback is love, so if you wouldn't mind taking a few more minutes to leave a review, I will be forever grateful! Thanks.