DISCLAIMER: Nothing you'll see here belongs to me, except for the plot.
AN: This is just a little thing that came to me while I was listening to the Treasure Planet soundtrack, and I felt I had to get it out before my head exploded. It is my first—and probably my last—true deathfic. But it's just a one-shot, so it won't get in the way of my posting In Omnia Paratus—a new chapter of which I plan to start writing tomorrow at the latest, though it'll probably take another week at least to post.
Anyways, yes, it's gonna be kinda sad, but it's not heartbreaking like some of the fics out there. But it might be a little happier if you read the lyrics to the song.
- - - - - - - - - -
It's good to see the sun
And feel this place,
This place I never thought would feel like home.
And I ran away forever,
Far away and I,
I always thought I'd end up here alone.
Somehow, the world has changed and I've come home
To give you back the things they took from you.
It was raining the day that Dean Winchester went up to the angels that he didn't believe in.
Not that there was anything remarkable about this. A dark cloud seemed to follow the Winchesters wherever they went, so it wasn't as if they noticed little things like rain anymore. But they probably should have taken a moment to notice, because the rain would end up being the very reason for Dean's demise.
It wasn't a drawn-out fight by any means. The whole thing had gone down in less than five minutes, once the Winchester brothers tracked down the water-demon they were supposed to be hunting. And they'd found the thing…in the park.
Outside.
With water falling in sheets around them.
So it wasn't really surprising that the fight had gone badly.
And I feel you now.
I'm not alone.
I'll always know where you are.
When I see myself,
I'll always know where you are.
Where you are.
Looking back, Sam would never clearly remember exactly what had happened. It often seems to be that way for those left behind—the details become hazy, and the haziness is welcomed, because what sane person wants to remember the death of the person they love most in the world?
But in this case, there wasn't much to remember anyway. The battle had been a doomed one from the first tossing of holy water. The burning sensation had only seemed to anger the thing, and in seconds it was using its power to manipulate the rain into a lethal, driving, killing weapon. It had unleashed the whole arsenal on the one who had burned it, and the rain, usually so harmless, had cut Dean to ribbons.
Sam didn't recall killing the demon at all. His memory was a blank stretch from the moment Dean fell to when he pulled him into his arms. But at that point, everything became crystal clear. He remembered every detail after that—calling the ambulance, trying to get Dean to stay awake, completely ruining his jacket and shirt in an effort to stop the bleeding, and finally, Dean just getting fed up and pushing weekly at him.
Dean could barely talk at that point, but he managed to choke out the words, "Leave me alone, Sammy." Of course, as soon as he finished the sentence—which took forever, because of the rattling gasps he had to drag in between each syllable—he vomited up blood onto the muddy ground next to him.
Sam ignored his words, of course. He usually did. But though he stretched his brain to the limit, though he stripped to the waist and rendered three layers of clothing utterly useless, the blood just kept coming, and Dean just kept fading.
Neither brother said another word, after Dean had tried to get Sam to stop. Sam had nothing to say, and Dean's voice was long since gone.
The ambulance arrived way too late. Dean's blood had already saturated almost all of the clothing Sam had, and it was a miracle that he was still breathing at all. Sam was sitting with his brother, clad only in jeans, still holding his previously white T-shirt to Dean's stomach, where the worst of the blood was coming from, when the large squareish vehicle pulled up.
Sam started to hold up an arm to wave them over, but froze when Dean's hand began to move, inching over to clasp Sam's. His grip was weak, could barely even be felt, but Sam returned it with enough strength to more than make up for the frailty. Dean's eyes met Sam's, and his bloody lips twitched in a tiny smile.
By the time the medical team reached them, it was over.
And I found something that was always there.
Sometimes it's gotta hurt before you feel.
But now I'm strong and I won't kneel
Except to thank who's watching over me.
Somehow, I feel so strong and I've begun
To be the one I never thought I'd be.
Sam buried his brother in Lawrence, Kansas, next to Mary Winchester. It seemed…right. There was no funeral—Sam didn't even call Missouri, though the old psychic probably knew what had happened already. This was something that he had to do on his own.
The grave marker, too, was simple. There were so many things that Sam had wanted to say, so many things that he thought the world needed to know, but in the end, he carved only a very small cross and a very short inscription into the granite slab.
Dean Winchester--1979-2008
My Brother, My Protector,
And My Best Friend
He called his father late that night. John took the news well, all things considered, just making sure that Sam was all right, asking if he needed to come and join his son, and saying very little else. He didn't ask for any details. It didn't matter.
In the end, Sam just said that he was fine, and that John should just stick to the job he was on. He did, however, explain where he'd buried Dean, so at least John had the choice to come later if he wanted.
He called Missouri next—once he'd buried Dean he had no reason not to—and as he'd expected she knew already. She immediately offered him everything from cash to a place to stay, and though Sam appreciated it greatly, all he really wanted was to be alone.
After Missouri he called Cassie, and she took the news worse than any of them, probably because things had been left so open-ended between her and Dean. All she was able to do was cry, and make a couple of barely-coherent inquiries, and Sam ended up hanging up on her in annoyance, and practically crying himself at the thought of Dean's reaction if he were there.
The last call Sam made was to Sarah. That one was mostly for himself, and the two of them ended up talking for nearly an hour—mostly about absolutely nothing. It was noon when he hung up, and the sky was still cloudy as he sat down cross-legged in front of the gravestone.
He hoped it didn't rain. He didn't think he'd ever be able to handle rain again.
And I feel you now.
I'm not alone.
I'll always know where you are.
When I see myself,
I'll always know where you are.
Where you are.
Sam wasn't aware of time passing as he sat cross-legged in front of the gravestone, his arms wrapped around his knees. He just stared at the words on the stone, and tried to keep his mind free of all thought, because if he didn't think he didn't feel.
His reflexes must have been down, too, because he didn't react at all to the footsteps sounding behind him. He didn't so much as twitch until a hand cracked over his head, hard enough to sting but not really hurt. Then he moved—scrambled to his feet with an angry "What the hell?" and turned around.
And stumbled back against the grave with a choked yell. The hard granite dug into his back, leaving marks that would be noticed in the morning but for right now were ignored in the face of much more important—not to mention shocking—things.
Dean smirked. "Y'know, little brother, it's kinda sad how you fall apart without me. I'd think four years at college would cure you of that." He took a step forward, and Sam's back pressed more firmly against the stone slab.
"W-what are you?" Sam asked, and was ashamed at how his voice shook.
Dean shrugged. "Well, dead, mostly, but you know that, I guess."
Another step, and Sam's gun was in his hands. "Don't," the younger Winchester said softly, sadly. "You're not him. I know you're not." But his hands shook uncontrollably all the same.
"How do you know?" Dean asked simply.
"Because I just buried him, damnit!" Sam hissed, most of him concentrating on just keeping the gun in his hands. He was not prepared for this. Not so soon…
"Buried, huh? Not…burned?" Dean asked lightly. "Well, I know that, otherwise I couldn't be here. But seriously, man, that was kinda irresponsible. I mean, if I wasn't the awesome guy I am, I may have come back just to be some kind of egomaniacal ghostie."
"Just go away," Sam said in a small voice. "Please."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Jeez, you'd think the whole world fell apart when I died." Then he saw the water in Sam's eyes, and his face softened. "I'm sorry. That was…harsh." He sighed. "Okay, I'm handling this all wrong. Let's just…start over. First of all, you can put the gun down."
"No…I…I like it this way, thanks."
Dean looked a little irritated. "Y'know, Sammy, I love you and all, but you're as stubborn as the day is long. Can't you tell it's me?"
"I thought it was you two years ago, too," Sam said softly, looking carefully into Dean's hazel eyes.
And then he put the gun back into his belt, and jumped forward to grab his brother in a hug.
Dean felt wonderfully solid, but somehow not…alive. Not at all alive. Still, as his arms came up to squeeze Sam comfortingly, that didn't really matter all that much. They stood like that for a long time, but then Dean pushed Sam away, gently. "Listen, as much as I'd like to continue this little moment until we start giving each other makeovers…we need to talk. I don't have a whole lot of time to stick around here."
Sam's throat tightened at what those words must mean, but his voice was as steady as he could make it. "So…so you're a ghost, then?" He felt a wild, crazy desire to laugh and cry at the same time as soon as the words were out of his mouth. They just sounded so strange!
"Yep. Don't tell Dad."
Sam did laugh then, only it came out more of a sob, and he fell silent until he got ahold of himself. The silence went on as he sat down on the ground again, and Dean joined him. He wanted so badly to curl up close to his big brother like he had when he was little, back when Dean would let him, but that was…out of the question.
"So what are you doing here?" he asked instead, and though it still seemed so bizarre to be talking to Dean at all, he managed to say it calmly.
"Well, I have some things I need to take care of before I go, so I got special permission to take a few hours down here."
"Oh, you got permission. From who?"
Dean smirked in that old way of his. "Well, they do owe us up there," he said, pointing to the sky. "We're shoo-ins for Heaven, by the way. Kinda surprising…"
"You had a chat with God while I was driving to Lawrence?"
"Aw, hell—heck—no. It's impossible to see Him. I talked to the guy at the gate."
"And what are these all-important things that sent you back here?"
"Well, you, mostly. I thought maybe there would be some things we needed to talk about, and I can see now that I was right."
Sam almost—almost—managed a smile. "You? Talk?"
"Well, I did die—" He winced when Sam went pale. "Sorry. The point is, things have…changed a lot in the last day."
He was quiet for a lone time after that, and Sam didn't push him, just enjoyed the time he had.
"Did you call Dad?"
Sam started a little, not having expected Dean to speak so suddenly. "What?"
"Did you call Dad?" Dean asked again. "About…this?" He gestured to the grave, not seeming at all perturbed that it was his name written on the thing.
"Oh. Uh…yeah."
"How'd he take it?" Dean asked, deceptively casual.
"Um…fine, I guess. He didn't really say much, but you know him. He's…stoic. I think he'll be fine. I called Missouri, too. She already knew what had happened, obviously, and I think I may go and stay with her for a couple days." He left out the part about Cassie—upon reflection he wasn't sure Dean needed to know that.
"Oh. Good. Good. So is Dad coming here?"
"He wanted to, but I told him it was probably best if he finished up his hunt. I…don't think I could stand talking to him right now."
Dean just nodded thoughtfully. "And you're taking care of my car, right?"
"You know I am."
"And you won't sell my tapes or anything?"
"Wouldn't dream of it." I couldn't, because they remind me of you.
"Good. 'Cause if you let anything happen to that car, you will pay." And now it seemed that Dean had reached the part that he'd been waiting for—the real reason he'd gone to all the trouble to come back—because now he lost that half-distracted manner and turned to face Sam fully, and looked him right in the eye. "And what about you, Sammy?"
"What about me?" Sam asked carefully.
"Oh, come on, Sam," Dean said, exasperated. "I know you better than anyone, and I know you've been trying to avoid thinking about what you're gonna do now."
"What's there to think about? I'm gonna…go back to the hunt, obviously. I just need a few days and then…"
"No."
The one word was enough to silence Sam completely, and he just stared at Dean.
"No," Dean repeated firmly. "I don't want you to hunt again."
"W-what? But, Dean, I—"
Dean shook his head. "Look, Sam, I'm dead now. Dead. I've had time to get used to it, and to do a lot of thinking. And it's not like I've never thought of this possibility before. I have, a lot."
"What possibility?"
"Well, leaving you by yourself, obviously."
"But I'm not by myself—"
"Do you want to hear me out or don't you?" Dean asked impatiently, and Sam stopped talking again. "Thank you. Now, like I said, I've thought about this, and it's time for you to make a move. It's time for you to do what you want now."
"What are you talking about?"
"Sam, you've always done what Dad or I wanted you to do. Except for those few years at Stanford, you never did anything for yourself. I never…really realized it before, but it's true. Dad and I…we always knew, deep down, that you didn't want our life, but we ignored that. I know it's too late now to completely repair the damage, but…I want you to do what you want now. Instead of what Dad wants."
"So…you're telling me to leave Dad?"
"Yes," Dean said instantly. "I want you to stay with Missouri like you planned, and while you're there I want you to call Stanford and tell them you want to come back. And then I want you to take my car and go and be Mr. Normal. What I don't want is for you to continue the life you hate because you think it's the right thing to do."
"Dean, I—"
"You do still…want to go to college, don't you?" Dean asked, a little uncertainly.
Sam nodded vigorously—he couldn't lie to Dean. "More than anything." Except having you alive. "But…Dad…I'm all he has left now."
"He'll learn to live with it. It's not like he can't visit. You're not leaving him alone. You're just going to have a life. And it's…it's what I want, Sam, I swear."
Sam took a quick swipe at his eyes, and Dean pretended not to notice. "I love you, Dean."
Dean grimaced—he couldn't ignore that. "Quit it, before we enter Chick-Flickdom." Then, so quietly Sam almost missed it, "And I love you, too." After another silent moment, Dean said, "Oh, and one last thing, bro…I know you're not exactly happy with this arrangement, but…don't react to this like you did to Jessica. Please. I don't regret dying, I really don't, so you shouldn't regret it either."
Sam didn't say anything, and Dean sighed.
"Look at me." Sam looked. "I'm only gonna say this once, and you'd better listen. I want you to live, okay? I already know you're gonna join me up there, but I also know when, and I swear, if you show up early, and it's your own fault, I won't forgive you for it. Got me?"
"Yeah, I get it, but…it's such a long time, Dean."
"I know, but it'll be okay, and hey, I'm like cheese."
Sam managed a watery laugh. "You said that a lot when I was little." He sighed. "Okay, okay, I promise."
That seemed to satisfy, because Dean smiled and, in a flash, reached out and clapped an arm around Sam, and didn't say anything else for a while.
Sam wanted, more than anything else, for Dean to just stay here forever, but he was never really one for pretending, and he knew what was coming before Dean said, "Well, I…I should go," and stood up.
Sam didn't say anything—just got to his feet and put his arms around Dean and held on for all he was worth. Dean hugged him back, and it still felt weird, which was comforting, in a way—to have something you could always count on.
"Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"I know this is lame, but…"
"I'll tell them as soon as I see them."
Sam pressed his forehead into his brother's hair. "Thanks."
Dean tightened his arms momentarily, and then stepped back. He picked up Sam's hand and put something into it, then closed his fingers over it and let him go. "I'll see you around, Sammy."
Sam looked down at the thing in his hand, then looked up again with a small smile. "It's Sam, you jerk."
But only the soft whistle of the spring breeze was there to answer him.
Now, it's all so clear and I believe
That everything's been opened up to me.
And I feel you now.
I'm not alone.
I always know.
I always know where you are.
It was raining the day that Dean Winchester went up to the angels he didn't believe in.
And the sun was out the day that Sam Winchester went back to the life he'd never believed he'd have.
All of his friends had graduated by then, but Sam found that he didn't really mind having to make new ones. He rather enjoyed it, actually. No one knew him anymore. No one knew that Sam Winchester was the one who'd watched his girlfriend die and then dropped out of sight completely. That news was long past old now. No one asked him where he'd been or why he was back.
And no one asked him about Dean.
It wasn't that Sam didn't like to think about his brother—in fact, the man was never far from his mind. But Dean was really a sacred memory, and Sam hated sharing that with anyone else.
But even if they never alluded to Dean directly, people did tend to comment on the black '67 Impala that he drove everywhere, and on the pendant he now wore—always—on a length of black cord around his neck.
And every time that happened, Sam wouldn't say anything, but rather he'd brush his fingers gently over the silver charm, and his eyes would shine just a little bit brighter.
When I see myself,
I'll always know where you are.
When I feel the sun,
I'll always know where you are.
When I see myself,
I'll always know where you are.
Where you are.