May 2, 2006
It was all his fault. If he'd just been able to hold it a little longer, bugged Jess to take him out instead of Sam, been more alert, sensed the things he's sensed last time, then it never would have happened.
Whining, Dean struggled out of his little brother's death-grip just enough to look over the younger man's shoulder at the smoldering remnants of the apartment building that had once been their home. Theirs and Jess's.
It was an all too familiar scene for the canine, the cops rushing around, asking questions, the firemen making sure everyone was safe and accounted for. And everyone was. All except one.
"It's not fair," Sam whispered into his neck, wrapping his arms tighter around Dean's body, holding on for dear life, determined to never lose another loved one if he could help it, "why me?"
Dean wished he had an answer for that, wished he had the answers for a lot of things. He wished he could wrap his own arms around his brother, say something to comfort him, just like when they'd been kids, but that was impossible. He didn't have arms, didn't have a voice, wasn't even human.
Sammy shook his head. "It's taken everything. It… it killed her."
Dean looked up at him, hoping Sam picked up on what he was feeling and thinking. He'd lost her, too, lost the only thing that had gotten him into a happy, normal home and let him keep his family. He would have told his brother, but, again, it just couldn't happen.
One of the firemen walked up to where they sat on the grass across from the apartment complex and held out a charred photo. "We found this," he said softly as Sam took it from him, "only thing that wasn't completely destroyed."
Sam looked down at the picture as the man walked away. It was the one Dean had shown his father so many months before, the one of him and Sammy and Jessica. "Why me?" Sam asked again.
Dean stared at the picture, remembering the night his father had returned, how the older man had offered an escape from the mundane life of a house pet. He backed out of his brother's grip, nearly toppling Sam over.
"What?" Sammy asked, voice hurt. He'd needed the comfort, needed the proximity to something alive and well and caring.
Dean barked once, worming back under his brother's arm to sniff at the younger man's jeans pocket. Sam just stared at him, confusion replacing raw pain and fear. "What is it?" he asked, pushing Dean's nose away from his pants and reaching into the pocket. He pulled out his phone.
Dean backed up a couple of steps, barking again, tail wagging as the cell made its appearance. "My phone?" Sam asked, obviously confused, "what do you want my phone for?"
Spending nearly a year as a dog had vastly improved Dean's skill at charades. So much so that he didn't even really have to think about what he was doing. He balanced on his hind legs, something else he'd gotten better at that year, and stared at Sam expectantly.
Sammy looked from his brother to his phone and back again. It all clicked together in his head, the realization chilling him to the bone. Of course. Jess had been the one to take Dean in, had wanted him. Sam had said no. Now that Jess was gone, there was no reason to keep the dog around. Dean had to take care of himself again, and it would be so much easier if he could talk.
"You want me to call dad?" Dean nodded. Sam gulped down the panic that had suddenly overtaken him. "You want to change back?" Another nod. Because Sam had said no. Because Sam had run away and hadn't wanted him to stay. Because it was Dean's turn to leave. "All right."
o0o0o0o0o0o
Dad wasn't answering his phone, had actually left a message telling people to call some chick named Ellen in his absence. That wasn't the weird part, though. The weird part was the final sentence of the voicemail, the one that told Sam to check his PO box.
The name, address, and phone number of a young woman in Michigan had been there, all ready for him. He'd driven the distance with Dean on the seat next to him, head and one paw resting on his leg the whole way.
He stood in the woman's apartment, staring at the door she'd disappeared behind with his brother. John had dropped Dean's clothes off a few months before, obviously expecting him to tire of his domesticated life. He'd been right.
Sam watched the door, knowing that as soon as his brother walked through it, the older man would leave. After all, Sam had said no. It had been a long time ago, before he really needed a friend, but he's still said it. And Dean had a damn good memory.
So he watched the door and wondered where life was going to take him. He actually wanted to go back on the road, find the thing that had ripped his future wife from him, taken his home, taken his brother. He wanted to hunt.
The Impala had been parked in the woman's garage, awaiting its owner's return. Sammy was sure Dean would take it and run. Because Sam had said no.
The door opened slowly, creaking on old hinges, and Sam held his breath. He looked at his brother, all six-foot-one of him, taking everything in, committing every detail to memory in an instant. He didn't want to forget.
Dean walked into the room, unsteady on two legs after spending so much time on four, nearly tripping twice. Sam was sure he would walk past, would ignore him, would hate him forever for leaving and not wanting him.
Dean wrapped strong arms around him, falling into the embrace as his shaky legs betrayed him and spilled him forward. Sammy caught him, waiting for his brother to disengage the embrace and back away, leaving him behind, abandoning the abandoner. But he didn't. Dean straightened and held on tight.
"It's ok," the older man whispered, his words shaky and a little slurred, voice raspy and cracked, "it's gonna be all right. I'm gonna hunt that thing down and kill it if it's the last thing I do."
Realization hit Sam like a ton of brinks and he couldn't help but start to cry. Dean was never scared for himself, would never leave his brother. Of course. It had been for Sam, to give him someone to talk to who would talk back, who could wrap warm arms around him and try to comfort him when the nightmares got to be too much, let him keep his best friend. Even though he'd said no.
"I'm going with you," Sam whispered back, "we'll do it together."
Charred picture in his pocket, supporting his wobbly brother, Sam left the woman's house. He settled into a car he'd never thought he'd see again with a brother he'd been sure would leave him, offering to drive until the older man was a little steadier on his feet. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it, driving off into the great unknown.
He couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up as Dean rolled down the window and stuck his head out, tongue waggling in the breeze.
The End.
So, any final comments before we part ways once again?