Grieving a Brother
Missing scene from Season 2: "All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2"
Dean Winchester sat in an abandoned house in the middle of Cold Oak, South Dakota, next to a bed with an unfurnished mattress on it. Lying cold and pale on the mattress was Dean's younger brother Sam. Dean's red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes stared at his little brother's dead body. He could not really believe that Sam was gone. Every time he looked at Sam's pale, lifeless face, he flashed back to that horrible moment.
"Sam, look out!" Dean yelled towards his brother.
Everything about this place reminded him of when his brother was stolen from him.
Sam arched back as the knife plunged into his lower spinal cord. He groaned in pain as the knife twisted inside him.
"NOOO!" Dean yelled as he sprinted towards Sam.
Dean looked down on his brother's corpse, wincing as the memories came unbidden.
Sam collapsed onto his knees, and Dean slid to his knees in front of him. He grasped the front of Sam's jacket.
"Sam!" Dean yelled.
Sam winced and let out a pain-filled breath, his arms weakly rising towards Dean in a request for help. His weight fell forward onto Dean's shoulder, his arms falling to his sides.
"Whoa, whoa, Sam!" said Dean, grabbing at Sam and pulling him away to look him in the eye. "Sam! Hey!"
Sam's shoulders heaved slightly as he struggled to draw deep breaths.
Tears threatened to well up in Dean's eyes as the memories hit him one after the other.
"Come here," said Dean, pulling Sam into his arms. "Let me look at you."
Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's back, putting his hand over the blood-stained tear in Sam's jacket.
Dean looked down at his left hand, still feeling his brother's blood on it.
Dean pulled his hand away from Sam's back, his entire palm covered in blood.
"Hey, look at me," said Dean as he pulled Sam away from his body. He had to hold onto Sam's arm and the front of his jacket to keep him upright. "It's not even that bad." He tried to reassure his brother that everything would be okay. "It's not even that bad, alright?"
Sam's lids were drooped halfway down his eyes, and his jaw hung slack. Dean could see that Sam's attention was not completely there.
"Sammy?" said Dean, trying to get through to his brother.
Sam's eyes tracked off to the side. Dean could see that he was losing Sam's focus, which was not good in this situation.
"Sam!" Dean yelled, trying to get through to his brother. "Hey, listen to me." He tried to put on a brave face for Sam, whose head was sinking further and further towards his chest. "We're gonna patch you up, okay?"
Sam's eyes rolled up once more before falling shut, and his head fell forwards onto his chest.
Dean's chin trembled as he remembered that exact moment that Sam had let go.
"Huh?" said Dean. He moved his hand to Sam's collar, pushing Sam's head back up to eye level. "You're gonna be good as new. I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna take care of you. I've got you. That's my job, right? Watch after my pain-in-the-ass little brother?" He chuckled a little. "Sam?"
Sam was not paying attention to him.
"Sam?" said Dean.
Sam's eyes were closed, not looking at Dean.
"Sam!" said Dean.
He ran a hand over Sam's forehead, trying to wake him back up. He could not let his brother fall unconscious; he had to keep Sam awake.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, trying to break through to him.
It wasn't until that moment that Dean realized he was the one holding Sam up. Sam was not moving…he was not breathing…
He was not alive…
"No…" said Dean. It couldn't be true. "No, no, no, no, no…"
Dean pulled Sam into his arms, wincing as he felt Sam's head fall heavily onto his shoulder.
"Oh, God…" muttered Dean.
He wrapped his arms around Sam frantically, unable to grasp onto the obvious…that his brother was dead. Tears began to fill his eyes as a lump formed in his throat.
"Oh, God," Dean forced out, barely able to voice it.
Now, hours later, Dean could still feel that horrible obstruction in his throat.
Dean grasped Sam close to him, his knuckles white in his brother's jacket. He held his brother tight on the cold, muddy ground beneath them. He could not feel Sam's breath moving through his body. He could feel the warmth that should have been coming from Sam's body begin to dull and fade. He could feel the slackness in his brother's muscles, muscles that would never move again—a body that would never live again.
"SAM!" Dean yelled into the darkness in desperation.
Tears fell down Dean's face as he buried his face in Sam's shoulder.
Dean looked down at his brother as those same tears began to come again. However, he clamped down on them, unable to let his grief loose yet. Looking down at the floor, he took a couple of calming breaths before staring back up at Sam.
Sam's head was turned towards Dean on the mattress, pale and slack.
"You know, when we were little…" began Dean, staring at his brother, "you couldn't have been more than five…you just started asking questions."
Sam always was a curious little kid. That little shaggy head of brown hair was just full of questions to ask his brother, and those soulful brown eyes and chubby little smile…
Dean smiled as he thought back to when Sam was so innocent and happy.
"How come we didn't have a mom…" said Dean, "Why do we always have to move around…Where'd Dad go when he'd…take off for days at a time…"
Sam lay still on the mattress, oblivious to Dean's reminiscing.
"I remember, I begged you…" Dean told him anyway. "'Quit asking, Sammy.'" He couldn't remember how many times he had told his brother that. "'Man, you don't wanna know.'"
The smile faded slowly from Dean's face.
"I just wanted you to be a kid," said Dean. "Just for a little while longer."
He wasn't sure when exactly Sam had hit that stage where he wanted away from the hunting life and away from their family…but it had been too soon. Sammy had grown up way too fast.
"I always tried to protect you…" said Dean, "…keep you safe…"
Sam's dead face stared up at him, reminding Dean that he had failed to do just that.
"Dad didn't even have to tell me," said Dean. "It was just always my responsibility, you know?"
Of course, Sam would know. It was just who Dean was; he was the protective big brother. It was in his nature to protect Sam. Tears threatened to fill his eyes as he thought about how he had failed that responsibility.
"It's like I had one job…" said Dean. "I had one job…"
He only had one job to do, and he couldn't even do that right.
"And I screwed it up," muttered Dean, his throat beginning to close up again.
Tears filled Dean's red-rimmed eyes as his chin trembled a little. He was trying so hard to keep the sobs back.
"I blew it," said Dean, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
Of course, he blew it. He can't do something as simple as watch after his own brother. His father gave his life to save him, and he couldn't even fulfill his father's last wish…to save Sammy.
"And for that, I'm sorry," Dean told Sam as tears began to fall down his face.
He raised a hand to his face, wiping the tears away. He could not believe that he had really wrecked things this badly.
"I guess that's what I do," said Dean with a chuckle, looking back at Sam. "I let down the people I love."
He looked down at Sam, who seemed to tell him with each moment that, yes, Dean had let him down.
"You know, I let Dad down," said Dean, rubbing a hand over his face.
Yes, he had let their father down. It had been his fault, after all, that John Winchester was dead.
Dean lowered his hand. "And now, I guess I'm just supposed to let you down, too?"
The very thought of how he had basically ruined Sam's life was more than he could bear.
"How can I?" said Dean, shaking his head a little. "How am I supposed to live with that?"
How could he go on, knowing that his brother was dead?
"What am I supposed to do?" Dean asked, restless for a solution.
Dean's chin trembled as the tears began to come again.
"Sammy…" Dean said, desperately hoping his brother would answer him. "God…What am I supposed to do?"
He was asking his brother for an answer to all the pain and suffering, to the mistake he'd made. He stood, unable to sit still any longer. Dean took a deep breath and kicked his leg back, knocking the chair over.
"What am I supposed to do?" Dean yelled in bitterness and anger.
Once that anger was unleashed inside of him, it boiled over and consumed him. Unable to keep it inside, Dean spun around and grabbed the chair he had knocked over. He flung the chair into the wall, breaking a couple legs off. He grabbed the nearest thing—an empty beer bottle—and tossed it at the wall. It shattered upon impact.
Dean grabbed the dresser next to the bed and shoved it over, sending it sliding a few feet. He picked up the broken chair and slammed it into the wall, breaking it into pieces. When the wooden pieces fell from his hands, he pulled his fist back and slammed it into the wall, bracing himself with his other hand on the wall.
Dean slammed his fist into the wall over and over again, trying to make the world feel the pain he was feeling inside. He couldn't really feel the pain in his hand—correction, he could feel the pain everywhere. It seeped into every part of him deep inside and only got worse and worse by the moment. Tears began to fall down his face as the plaster splintered and crumbled under his fist's impact.
After twenty or so punches, Dean's hits began to slow until he banged on the wall with his whole hand, the tears falling freely now. As he hit the wall one last time, his strength simply left him, and he crumpled onto the floor, sliding down the wall. He collapsed against the wall, his gaze finding its way to the mattress and his dead brother again.
Dean's eyes closed in anguish as the tears fell again. How could he have done this? How could he have let his brother down like this? He should have been able to protect him. He should have protected him like their father protected them—
Dean froze, looking down at the floor in front of him. Yes…John had protected them, Dean especially. He had given his life so Dean could live. He had made a crossroads deal to save Dean…to protect him from death. That's what Dean could do. Of course!
But…the pain Dean had felt when he knew John had given his life for him…that he was the reason his father was dead…He couldn't do that to Sammy. He knew what a horrible burden that was to carry. He couldn't force that on his little brother. He was supposed to protect him from stuff like that. No, he couldn't make Sam face that—
Dean's gaze fell on Sam's pale, dead body, and his mind came to an instant conclusion. Yes, Sam would hate him for it…but at least he would be alive to do it. This was why John had given his life for Dean…so Dean could use it to save Sam. Yes…he had to do it.
Dean's strength suddenly returned to him, and he pulled himself to his feet, marching towards the front door with determination on his face and not a single look back. He jumped into the Impala, intent on driving to the nearest crossroads and setting all this right.