A/N: Haha sorry for the cliff hanger! (Well, not really!) Getting closer to the end soon guys! Thanks for sticking with me and my little fic that I had never considered writing! I really appreciate your support, it's, as always, what motivates me! And also, as always, I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. All rights reserved.
Chapter 11
"Cas! What's happening to me?" Sam grabbed the angel by the shoulders, struggling to control the fear that was overcoming him; because deep down, he had a suspicion that at this very moment, Sam Winchester was on death's door. And he felt a surge of grief hit him like a ton of bricks. It wasn't so much the fact that he was dying; that would actually be a relief, come to think of it. He would be with Bobby, Ellen and Jo, Rufus, his mom and dad…
But then, he thought of Dean, his brother and the intense grief that he would be experiencing. Sure, it was Dean's job to look out for him, but job or not, the love, the bond the two of them shared, that was real. And Sam had a feeling that even if John had not given his firstborn that order, Dean would have given life and limb to protect his kid brother. And Cas, he was just sitting there, cool as ice, and not caring? How could he? What kind of angel…?
"Sam." Cas' voice brought Sam back from his reverie. He had stopped shaking the angel a few moments earlier, and now was staring into those hypnotic blue eyes. And though it could very easily have been a trick of the eye, but Sam was almost positive that he had seen something (was it emotion?) in his gaze. Castiel had never been an ace when it came to social concepts; hell, the angel didn't even know how to leave a voicemail, let alone understand the grasp of sarcasm, but he was aware of human emotion. He had admitted as such when he had told Sam that he and Dean had shared a "profound bond", whatever that was. He had risked his life to save his own when Anna had been hell bent on killing him. Maybe, just maybe, Cas understood what he was going through.
"Sam, I'm sorry." Cas' soft, gravelly voice confirmed what Sam was thinking. He did care, or at least, seemed to. Whether it was enough to bring him back from the edge of the grave, well that was a different story. Finally free from the angel's mesmerizing gaze, Sam looked down, eyes moist. "I can't die, Cas. Dean needs me. You saw how he was that year he was alone. You know damn well that he was faking that happy apple pie bullshit with Lisa and Ben. You can't let him go through that. Not again."
"Sam, it's not my choice to make…"
"Bullshit!" The words spat out like poison, Sam's eyes brimming not only with unshed tears, but anger. "You pulled Dean out from Hell, for godsake! If you can do that, you can definitely pull me out of a fucking coma! Dean is broken. He has such a low opinion of himself that he would blame anything that happened to me on himself. Fuck, I could get cancer or something and Dean would hate himself for not catching it sooner."
"I could look out for him."
"Really? Do you honestly think that would work? Seriously Cas, the man hates himself to the point that he's reckless. If something happened to me…" Sam's voice trailed off, as if the words he were about to utter were vile. "If something happened to me, I honestly think he would kill himself."
And Sam cried, for the first time since his brother's death in New Harmony, sobbing to the point that nothing Cas could do would be able to console him. Finally, the sobs began to subside, when Castiel gently laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. Sam looked up, cheeks wet with tears. "Please, Castiel," he whispered. "If not for me, then at least for Dean. I'm begging you…please."
"But Lucifer." Cas was grasping at straws, he knew that, but Sam seemed oblivious. "I know that he has been haunting you, Sam. Should you recover, you will no doubt be subjected to further torture. I couldn't possibly…"
"I don't care," Sam replied, slowly regaining his composure. "I can't have my brother go through this. I just can't. Please Cas. I'm begging you."
Cas stood for a moment, torn. He so badly wanted to heal Sam, but he wasn't sure if he could even be able to. After all, he was not of his physical form, only a dream, a manifestation of Sam's mind. Would that be enough? He had failed to tell Sam this fact, afraid of getting the man's hopes up only to have them come crashing to Earth when proven to be unsuccessful. But Sam was his friend, and he was suffering. Dean was suffering. There was no way that he would let the Winchesters endure any more torture than necessary. If only it would work…
"Alright." Cas finally relented, and Sam looked up at the angel gratefully. "To be honest, I am not certain if this will work…"
"But it's worth a shot," Sam interrupted.
Cas nodded, for once oblivious to the figure of speech. "Yes. It is… um, worth a shot." The angel closed his eyes, and gently placed a hand on Sam's forehead. I hope this works. If there was ever a time I need to believe in you, Father, it's now. Please let this work…
The room became engulfed in a brilliant, gold light. Sam winced, sensitive to his surroundings. Cas, however, felt a twinge of hope. Perhaps this would work after all. He allowed himself the indulgence of a fait smile as the aura surrounded Sam, giving him an almost divine presence.
And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the angel was gone.
Xxx
"Starting chest compressions." Dean closed his eyes, unable to watch. "Please, Sammy, please," he whispered, clutching to the kind orderly for dear life. The room suddenly seemed deathly quiet, the only noise the man being able to hear clearly the incessant hum of the flat line.
"Come on, son, breathe." Dr. Blake continued the chest compressions, as a nurse tried to pump oxygen into Sam's lungs, but nothing seemed to revive the young man. Dean clutched his stomach, a sudden urge to vomit overcoming him, but fortunately managed to keep what little contents in his stomach down. He watched in horror as the doctors worked on his brother, to no avail. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few minutes, the doctor stopped.
"That's it, call it." Dr. Blake looked up at the clock, the expression on his face doing little to hide the real emotion. "Time of death, 1:01 PM." The room went deathly silent as one of the orderlies switched off the sea of machinery which had kept Sam Winchester alive.
"No." Dean couldn't breathe. A sharp pain more intense than any physical injury surged through his body, like an electrical current. Beside him, the kindly nurse reached out, but Dean pushed her away, unable to take his eyes of his brother's body. It couldn't be. This couldn't be happening. Not to Sam, not to his baby brother. Nonononono…
By now, some of the doctors had grabbed Dean by his shoulders, trying to lead him out of Sam's room, but the young man refused. He couldn't leave his brother, not now. He could see the doctors carefully remove the machines from Sam's body, with a tenderness that would have surprised him had he been in a more stable emotional state. But now, he felt trapped, as if he were drowning, wrapped in heavy chains of guilt and sorrow which were ever pulling him under. At one point, he felt a prick in his shoulder, and Dean realized that he was being sedated. He tried to fight, willing himself not to succumb to the drug, but he soon felt his body relax, give in to the sedative. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, for it could be a blessing to slip into unconsciousness, perhaps never to wake up) it seemed to have been a light dose, enough to keep him awake but allow him to be escorted from the premises without incident. Dean tried to protest; his body was relaxing under the cocktail, but not his mind, or his aching heart. "Sammy…" he murmured, heart breaking. "Sam…"
What happened next was so unbelievable many of those who witnessed had questioned their sanity on more than one occasion. Dr. Blake himself had questioned his abilities for years before finally admitting that something supernatural had occurred. For what had happened in that OR would surely have been considered a miracle.
For the man lying on the bed, pronounced dead not five minutes earlier, suddenly bolted up, eyes wide, gasping for breath. Dr. Blake backed away, dumbfounded, his medical chart crashing to the floor. "What the hell?" The man was gazing around the room, scanning, obviously in search of his brother. His hazel eyes were wet with strain as he struggled to breathe, his lungs burning with each gasp. Somehow, between heaves, he managed to gasp out a name: "Dean."
Xxx
Those five minutes had been among the worse in Dean Winchester's life. Those seconds after Dr. Blake had pronounced his brother dead, Dean had flashed back to that horrible night when Jake had stabbed his brother, when he had held the boy in his arms as the life drained from him. He had endured the worst pain humanly possible those few hours before he had made his life altering deal at the crossroads. He had felt the heartbeat that was once strong and steady, flutter, and ultimately fade, like a match extinguished in the wind. No bullet, stab wound, even the excruciating agony of the hellhound's teeth, had been as painful as those few moments. But now, he was reliving it, that nightmare in Cold Oak replaying like a CD caught on skip. And at that moment, he had thought of the ways that he could end his life, be done with this miserable existence. Probably just a bullet to the head: quick, painless, no fuss. Just there one moment, gone the next. It would be a relief, actually, to be done with monsters, demons, the goddamn Leviathan…
But then, a gasp. Dean looked up, willing his drugged body to co-operate, only to see his brother, his Sammy, sitting bolt upright in his bed, gasping for air. For a moment, Dean could not speak, his shock overwhelming him. And then, a surge of joy, relief so intense that it was almost painful, overcoming him. It was as if someone was pulling him from beneath the waves, bringing him to the surface. "Sam," he called, struggling to his feet. He repeated his brother's name, listening as his gasps eased and his brother had regained composure. The sweetest sounds he had ever heard. Amidst the commotion, Dean could hear his own name being called, faint at first, but stronger as Sam began to breathe normally. "Dean!" If Dean had not known any better, that call seemed to be almost panicked, as if Sam was aware of his brother's suicidal thoughts, and wanted to make sure that he had not grabbed a scalpel or some drugs and just ended his life then and there. "It's ok," Dean murmured. Suddenly, he seemed very sleepy, and he began to wonder if he had been given a larger dose of whatever that shit was after all. The last conscious thought he had before slipping into much needed unconsciousness was an echo from that night in Stull Cemetery in Lawrence, that night when Sam had jumped in the pit: It's ok, Sammy. I'm not going to leave you…
