Sorry for the delay! Had to go to the dentist yesterday … and the injection the guy gave me put me down.

The End Of Days

Chapter 10 ~ A New Beginning?

THEN:

The hunter laid his flat palm on the back of Sam's head and pressed his head with gentle force against his chest, making him feel the closeness between the both of them. Making him listen to his heartbeat.

„It wasn't your fault. - None of what had happened was your fault.", Dean whispered into Sam's ear softly, his lips nearly touching the curve of his ear as he did so.

And with that, the younger man broke apart in Dean's arms …

NOW:

Sam cried.

He cried hard. Cried himself into oblivion, in the safety of strong arms.

He cried until he was dry and the weeping ebbed away … until he was drained and exhausted.

And Dean held him. He held him close. Not talking, nor moving. The hunter didn't know why he had done it. Didn't think about it right then. It had just seemed to be the right thing. It had felt like something had been calling to him. - His instincts or Sam. Maybe the instincts he had lost a long time ago.

Not the ones of a hunter. The ones of beeing human, feeling like a human. Being able to sense what the other one needed.

The hunter felt Sam shift, felt a long arm sneak around his torso and fingers warping into the fabric of his shirt, fisting it tightly, tearing on its seams.

Sam's face was buried in the hunter's chest, the fabric there heavy with salty tears. He didn't care that it was Dean Winchester holding him. He didn't care that it should've felt embarrassing. He didn't question why and how the hunter had decided to do THAT. Because he had needed it right then.

He was about to give himself up. Sam knew that.

What had he been living for? All those years, ever since his parents had died it was just about survival and living – somehow. He had worked all those years as something he didn't want to be, to have what? Food? Water? And a decayed roof over his head?

And that was it? That was what he had sold himself for? Without any chance to ever change his life? Without the smallest chance to start a new life – somewhere else?

Right in the moment, when Castiel had seen what he had needed to see. In the one moment he was about to get back to conciousness he had already decided. He had decided that it wasn't worth to go on like that.

He had decided to leave this world behind.

After a long time the hunter noticed Sam's breaths slowing down, felt the grip of his hand easing, until it slid down limply, letting go of the abused fabric that was Dean Winchester's shirt.

Finally Sam had fallen asleep.

Now also Dean started to feel the grip of tiredness getting a hold of his body and mind. He blinked a couple of times, trying to keep his eyes open, holding desperately onto vigilance.

But his body wouldn't obey, as his limps grew heavier and the warmth under the blanket and the heat radiating from Sam took its tall on him.

After a few minutes he didn't fight it anymore and allowed himself to drift off into a fitful sleep.

A sleep both had needed so bad, ended a couple of hours later.

They had nestled closer into each other while they had slept. Dean held the younger man protectively, as if to shield him from every possible threat. Sam lay curled up, his head buried in the hunter's chest, sleeping fitfully for two hours streight, before he started to get restless and his past came back to haunt him in his dreams.

So bad. So violently.

Causing his body to twitch and groan and his mind to fight its way back to consciousness.

Dean lazily blinked his eyes open, gazing at the mop of hair, on wich his chin rested. He blew out a long breath through his nose.

Sam's grip on his shirt tightened again, burying his face into the hunter's chest.

„It's fine, Sam.", he whispered huskily. „You're gonna be fine."

Dean grunted, as he felt the knuckles of the man's fingers dig into his ribs. „It's fine ..." … Sammy. How bad he wanted to call him that – it was odd. Every time he intended to call the younger man by his name, he saw the shield on the wooden bed before his mental eyes.

„Sam?", he winced, but refused to push him away, or even try to get out of the man's hold. „You gotta wake up, man. - Wake up …" Dean knew that it was just a nightmare. But now that he had an idea of WHAT he was probably dreaming about … lets just say: It was different now that he literally EXPERIENCED the same as Sam had been. He wouldn't be able to blame the guy for any of his behaviour anymore.

After another moment of thinking, he laid his hand on the back of the younger man's head and started to stroke him gently.

But he didn't talk. Because he didn't know what to say … didn't know what to tell him that could possibly make it better. Dean wasn't much of a talker anyway.

A gasp and Sam's eyes snapped open, his whole body tensing for a split second, before he started to tremble. He released the hunter's shirt as if he had burnt his fingers on it, pulling his arms against his own body in between himself and Dean. He then inched backwards, bringing distance in between the hunter and himself with a pained wince.

Dean let him. He pulled his hands away from the younger man and stayed still. Right where he was.

Sam was heavily panting, his flat palm pressing against the gashes on his right shoulder. Sure they were healing, but still pretty nasty and sore, aching with every move he made.

„You okay?", Dean asked. … because you look like you're not.

Sam sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm down, trying to reassure his racing heart that it was all okay.

„You hurtin'?"

Sam shook his head, not able to look the man in his eyes.

Silence.

„Fine ..." Dean cleared his throat and sighed. „Look ..." actually it was too early after awaking to start such a conversation (even if it'd be just one man talking). „... I get it. You want it to stop. You don't see any reason why you should go on. - You've fought and don't know what for." Dean paused. „Then you stumble across a hunter, who's giving a shit about you. - Because he thinks he just needs you to solve a case and kill the monster that's after a bunch of people. - Not caring about collateral damage. A man who's treating you like not even a whore should be treated." Maybe not one of his best speeches, but it'd hopefully do. „And i'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have acted like that. I shouldn't have been such an ass. - Because you don't deserve this. I know you don't. - So what'd you say? … Do I get a second chance?"

Dean watched him carefully the entire time. Scanned Sam's face with his looks, trying to figure out if his words got through to him. „I mean … we can't forget about what happened that day in the bathroom. I know that. But maybe …" A deep sigh. „...I wanna try, huh? To make it better. I want to make it up to you – if that's possible."

Sam wouldn't look up, wouldn't meet his gaze. He didn't want a do-over. He didn't want that anyone tried to make anything better for him. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted peace and silence. He wanted the end of existence of his miserable life. Eternal peace.

Whatever the hunter aimed at … he didn't care. They had everything now. The angel knew everything about Sam's life. Knew about the fact that he probably wasn't human. - There wasn't any good about keeping him anymore. Sam didn't want to be kept anymore.

Sam had accomplished his purpose.

He was done.

Done with everything and everyone. So should this people be with him.

Dean got up soon after, gathered a fresh set of clothes from his bedroom and went back into Sam's. He didn't dare to leave the man alone for too long. He wouldn't let him try to kill himself again. Not under his roof.

So when he went back into Sam's room he hogged the bathroom there. He let some warm water run into the sink and cleaned himself up. They needed to save water these days. Sure, in the bunker they were damn lucky. No one could say that they've the same a luck with electricity and the water. They were even able to drink it from the faucet.

What other people couldn't.

The men of letters had thought about everything back then, and the hunter wondered if they possibly knew ...

And though … they needed to live more economical now. Because who knew how long it'd last? The electricity, the water, the heater … Nothing lasted forever. Not even the generators that worked in the basement, from whom no one knew where they got their juice from.

Dean put on the fresh set of clothes (since wearing the other one for three days streight now) and went back into the bedroom, his gaze instantly aiming at the bed, checking unconsciously at Sam.

He lay there – on his side, his back towards Dean.

The hunter could see the slow rise and fall of his chest, saw the man's fingers on his shoulder, gripping it tight.

Dean glanced at the table, where books and loosen papers lay scattered.

Castiel had spent the first two days after regaining his straight with writing down Sam's story. He had also told him about what Sam had seen in himself in the mirror. - Just because he had to. Because Dean needed to know. Because it was something essential to figure out why the demons let kill these people.

People who obviously didn't even know that they were different – wich possibly weren't even a bit human.

They stuck with their research. They hadn't come any further in the past couple of days … with nothing. Okay, maybe they had gathered a couple of pieces from their puzzle. But they still didn't know WHY. WHY they wanted those people out of the way?

There had to be a reason.

With a sigh, Dean walked around the bed, giving the desk a last longing look, before he sat down on the edge of the bed, where Sam was facing the wall. His eyes were open, staring into nothingness.

When the mattress tipped down, he flinched, his eyes focusing and he looked at Dean.

Dean looked back down at him.

„I need to check on your bandages ..." … because I won't let you go without trying.

Sam thought about to verbally disagree for a moment. But then again …

He sighed.

Why not? If the hunter'd be at peace then …

Against Dean's expectations the younger man sat up awkwardly. Dizziness claimed him in the very moment as he was halfway up and came into a sitting position, burying his face in his hands, trying to stop the spinning in his head.

„Wowowow kiddo." Dean laid his hand on the man's good shoulder to steady him. „Go slow." He frowned, noticing the beads of sweat forming on Sam's neck. „Lay back." It wasn't a suggestion.

The younger man obeyed and sunk back into the pillow, closing his eyes.

„Just so you know. - You're gonna eat your damn dinner today. If you're making troubles with it I'm gonna force feed it to you."

Sam sucked in a shuddering breath, looking at the older man with unfocused circles. He had just heard something about dinner and force feeding. But he could well imagine what the guy meant. And he assumed, that the hunter would stay true to his word.

„No." Sam could at least try. „Just let me go. - Leave me some pills … or whatever. - And go."

Dean's face darkened with anger, green blazing fire flaring up in his eyes. No Dean Winchester wasn't a patient man. „So it be."

Dean did understand, but then again … he didn't. He had never thought (no matter how screwed up his life had been, how mad he had been at himself) about killing himself.

Sam thrust his yaw forward and stared in his direction with determination.

„Fine." Dean jumped to his feet, fumbling for the gun that he wore in the holster of his upper thigh. „There you go." He pulled the weapon free and put the safety off, then thrusted it into the man's hands.

Stuttered, Sam stared at the silvery gleaming form, feeling the cold metal in his hands.

„Go ahead." Dean rose his voice, but couldn't hide the terrified anger. „Might as well get it over with."

Sam swallowed hard. Did he mean it? Would the hunter really let him go? Let him have what he longed for?

He turned the gun in his hands, heavy and cold and a silent promise of peace right before him.

The room fell calm.

Dean stood there beside the bed, eying the younger man warily. A mixture of emotions playing over his face. But non of them was anger or fury.

Sam positioned the gun in his hands, looking through it. Though he pointed the barrel at himself, tentatively ghosting with the thumb of his left hand over the trigger, letting it linger there.

His look darted to the hunter, who remained in place, heavily breathing, his face screwed up gruffly in tension.

The younger man guided the barrel towards his forehead, feeling the cool circle of it against his clammy skin in between his eyebrows. Sam's eyes fluttered shut and then with a trembling finger, he pulled the trigger …

A soft click echoed through the room.

He pulled the trigger a second time.

And again there was just an empty click.

Dean's eyebrows rose slowly, his orbs blank for a couple of moments as he heard the click a third time.

Sam's eyes snapped open and a desperate sigh fell from his lips, as he stared with dilated pupils in the hunter's direction. He frowned. His hands started to tremble even more, as the gun sank down into his lap.

The Winchester kept his voice calm. „Gratulations, Sammy. - You're dead and in heaven." The hunter walked slowly forward and took the gun from Sam's shaky hands.

Tears gathering in the younger man's eyes and he felt the weapon taken away from him. So close and though so far …

The hunter looked at him a moment longer, before he turned around and left the room, closing the door behind himself. Outside the room he leaned against the wooden door with his back. The gun still in his hands. His eyes closed. Swallowing around the lump in his throat. Taking the first deep breath since he had laid the deadly tool into Sam's hands.

Maybe Sam'd get the hint … Just maybe he'd understand what he meant by letting him do THAT.

He tugged the gun back into the holster and secured it there, shaking his head slightly.

Sam needed to understand …

It was later that evening, when Dean stirred in the bowl of warm oatmeal, adding another spoon of sugar.

Castiel had decided to take his turn, since the hunter had left Sam's room. Kevin sat in the library, trying to find a lead on the demon who must've summoned the daevas. Because they wouldn't just come by themselves – that much they knew. Daevas had to be summoned and controlled by someone. High likely another demon in the higher ranks, with enough power to control them. - And there sure as hell weren't a lot around.

So Kevin had figured out that they needed to talk to one those bastards. (More torturing, less talking, probably.) Because they wouldn't find the answer in any book.

Dean filled four bowls with the warm meal and put a spoon in each one of them. Then he put them on a tray and made his way through the library, placing one of them beside the prophet, who gave him a thankful nod.

„Hey … Dean?" Kevin leaned back and rubbed over his face tiredly.

„Yeah?" The hunter stopped in his tracks.

„When're you and Cas leaving?", he asked hesitantly, dark brown eyes looking up at him worriedly.

„In the morning.", the hunter answered calmly, a worried expression on his face too. He knew what Kevin left unsaid. The boy was afraid of staying alone with Sam. That all the responsibility was on him then. Because usually, such a demon-interrogation took the both of them a couple of days, since Dean refused to get those black-eyed bastards into the bunker. (Even when they had a dungeon …)

„Don't worry, Kev. - We'll hurry up." The hunter gave him a reassuring smile and winked at him with a wicked grin.

„But … what if ..." The young man sighed and shook his head.

„There are no if's. Just don't leave him alone with sharp things …" He cocked an eyebrow, and Kevin simply rolled with his eyes. „I don't think that he is going to leave the room anyway. - You got this."

The kid sniffed and glanced at the bowl with the steaming contents and then back up at the hunter, shaking his head slightly.

Dean frowned at he came closer to Sam's door. He heard muffled voices from behind it. So he stopped in his tracks … and listened … intensively.

He was just able to understands pieces of Castiel's and Sam's conversation. But they definitely were talking about … God? Fate? No … they were talking about something else … about Sam and what he had seen in the mirror …

Yeah – even when the angel hadn't been quite emphatically in the past (before the world broke apart), he sure as hell was now. At least sometimes. Maybe he had to be because of Dean. Because the hunter had turned into something un-caring over the past years … Castiel had learned how to talk and deal with people, while Dean had given up the habit of trying to save everyone. Not to mention that he had never been the sensitive guy either.

When he heard sobs from the other side, his frown deepened and he knocked. Though he didn't wait for an invitation anyway. This was his bunker. - He didn't need an invitation to get inside any of the rooms, did he?

So the hunter went inside without further hesitation. He caught sight of Sam, who rapidly wiped with the sleeves of his hoody over his eyes and cheeks, turning his heat to the side, so Dean wasn't able to see.

Castiel leaned back in the chair, big ocean-blue eyes looking back at his hunter-friend, with an undescripably sadness in them.

„Dinner.", Dean stated and placed the tablet on the end of the bed, handing one of the bowls to Castiel.

He then picked up the other both and walked to the empty half of Sam's bed, where he flopped down, putting one of the bowls into Sam's lap without asking. Dean then inched back, until he was sitting against the headboard, just like Sam.

Castiel stirred in the grey-brown goop, lifted his spoon and let it sink back into the bowl, burying it deep. „Dean … we talked about this ...", he glanced up at the hunter.

Dean just shrugged and scooped up a spoon full, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing it with a low moan. „It's healthy, Cas."

„It may be healthy … but not very tasteful.", the angel gave back.

As Sam didn't make an attempt to even check out what the hunter had brought him, Dean put his bowl onto the nightstand and reached over to Sam's hands, placing them to the left and right of the bowl in his lap.

„Oatmeal.", Dean said and went back at his own, stuffing another spoon full into his mouth. „Eat.", he glanced at the younger man.

Sam frowned and sniffed, letting the warmth soak into his open palms. He lifted the bowl and sniffed at the contents. It smelled sweet and it was warm …

Before any memories of his childhood could come to the surface, Sam felt for the spoon and pulled it out of the sticky mixture. He then licked at the spoon, tasting it. A faint smile – just for a moment – ghosted over his face before he licked off the rest, until the spoon was clean and he stuck it back into the bowl, repeating the whole procedure.

After half an hour the bowls were empty and on the tray again.

„Thanks.", Sam muttered.

They just sat there – stuffed with oatmeal. Because Dean always made huge servings, so no one would have to go hungry after their meals.

Sure, he had made a smaller one for Sam, since he wasn't sure if he'd even look at it. Not because he was greedy. - Because they couldn't afford to throw food away. Not in times like these. NOW he wished he would've made some more, now that he saw how clean Sam had scrapped the bowl with his fingers.

Dean checked on Sam's bandages, when Castiel had left. The bandages were clean and dry and so the hunter decided to leave them off. The gashes seemed to heal up nicely too, so he told Sam that he'd remove the stitches in a couple of days.

Sam let himself being helped into the bathroom (not because he was cool all of a sudden with his situation. No. Because he KNEW he wasn't able to make it to the toilet and back into bed again).

Dean let Sam sneak under the bedding and covered him with an extra-blanket, since the generator in the basement shut down at 10pm and would get started again at 7am in the morning. It was something automatically, non of the three men were able to figure out how to change the rhythm of the generators.

And before they'd be completely without heater, they decided to leave it be as it was. The temperature in the bunker wouldn't drop below a certain temperature anyway.

„Good night.", Dean said silently, as he walked towards the room.

„Dean ..." The younger man looked in his direction, though it seemed like he was looking through him.

The hunter stopped in his tracks and turned around. „Yeah?"

„Now that I'm dead and in heaven ...", Sam started hesitantly, not quite sure if he got it right just then with his head full of despair and determination … and darkness, „... I could really use a shave at some point."

The corners of Dean's lips twitched. Yeah, the kid wasn't stupid – he got it right. „Sure. First thing tomorrow morning, Sam."

A small smile formed on Sam's lips and let his eyes lighten up in joy for a moment.

…... to be continued

THANK YOU for all those who still stuck with me & the story.

* sigh *

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