Chapter 11

"The dead could only speak through the mouths of those left behind, and through the signs they left scattered behind them."

― Robert Galbraith, The Cuckoo's Calling

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSSPNSPNSPN

"I remember that one time when you were nine years old and you still believed in Santa Claus... Dad would leave us in motel rooms for days without coming back, even during Christmas, or New Year Eve... You'd ask me when he would come back; you would me ask if Santa would give you what you asked for. Sammy, I hated to lie to you, I always did, but every time a lie left my mouth, I finally got to see that happy and excited face of yours staring back at me with hope, so I could not let you down just yet... I'd say dad was gonna come back to us to celebrate Christmas, and explain how stupid Santa read all the letters that were sent to him, including yours... When you turned ten, dad told me that you had to grow up, meaning I had to let you get hurt by reality in order to do so..." murmured Dean, staring at the still,cold, and pale dead body that was once his brother, his green eyes never leaving Sammy for more than a few seconds to see if a shadow could be seen on the other side of the door while he talked to his brother's corpse. It had been twenty-eight hours since Sam was murdered, but he was too in shock to see the signs of a decomposing body. His pink lips were now deep purple, his skin was grey and not soft anymore, but the total opposite. His cheeks were sunken and his tall body was skinnier than usual.

Dean could not see that or smell the odor coming from his brother's body, because he could only the focus on the beauty in him, even if life had already abandoned him. He saw those curly eyelashes he always teased his brother about when they were younger, he saw those big hands of his, remembering the times his little brother stitched him, so he wouldn't bleed out after a hunt went sideways. His arms were now resting on each side of his body, rigid as a damned rock. He wanted to touch his left wrist, check if he had a pulse. Dean wanted to hold his brother one more time, tell him all the stories he never did, even though Sam asked to hear them when he was twelve years old or so.

"Dean, did... mom sing a lullaby to me when I was a baby?"

"Dee, you think she loved me like she loved you?"

"Dean, do you remember something about her?"

Sam stopped asking about her after the elder sibling yelled at him and threatened to tell his mistakes while hunting to their father. When Sam was eighteen, a few days before he left for Stanford, he asked something similar, insisting one more time...

"Dean, do you think we will ever get to have a normal life like mom did?"

"What?... Sam, we talked about this. Innocent people are dying as we speak, and it's our job to look after them. We will never have a normal life. Deal with it" said Dean bitterly, wishing his brother would stop complaining about their lives.

"But De-"

"Drop it, Sam! I've had enough of you and your stupid questions" answered the elder sibling

A minute passed and the boys did not say a word to each other. Dean was pissed, but so was Sam. He would not tolerate to be treated like a child again. He had recieved the letter from Stanford that day, so he had to test Dean to know how his reaction would be when he told him he was quiting the hunting life to have a safe one. Needless to say, his older brother was not gonna accept the idea of him leaving for good to become a lawyer. John wouldn't either, but he knew he had to go.

"Mom would want us to be happy, you know? She would want us to have a normal life, the life she could not have" murmured the younger hunter

Sam's words hit Dean in the gut, and dammit, they hurt like hell. He knew that too. He knew Mary wanted them to be happy, but their father became obsessed with hunting the thing that killed her to the point where he wanted to kill it too, even if it was the last thing he did. He was not happy neither, but he was not bitching about it.

Without thinking twice about it, Dean punched Sam in the face, rage consuming his entire body. He did not mean to do it, but he was done with Sam's attitude. That kid needed to grow up and stop saying the wrong things.

He felt guilty but kept a neutral face and did not say a word as Sam left the motel room to take a walk. The elder brother knew he chose to take that long walk to clear his mind, so he wouldn't end up beating the crap out of him. Sammy wouldn't come to the motel until night, drunk and tired. Little did Dean know, his days with Sam by his side were counted.

"I'm sorry Sammy. You had the right to know everything. I was just trying to protect you from pain, but I didn't know how to do it properly" said Dean, this time, not daring to look at him. Sam had never had a normal life before Stanford, and whenever he questioned about Mary or something other kids did, such as practising a sport, he shut the door in front of him. The truth was that John and Dean kept Mary for themselves, trying to keep their memories of her intact. Sam did not remember her, since he was just a baby when the fire killed her. Sam had all the right to know her, and when they got her back, she vanished in the thin air again, leaving them heartbroken.

He could imagine Sam waking up again, stretching his sore body, moving it towards Dean, being happy to see him again, forgetting the fight they had a few weeks ago. The truth was far from what he almost hallucinated though. Sam walked out that door when he said that his little brother was just another monster, not knowing that he would never get the chance to say he was so fucking sorry! Sam was lying down in Dean's mattress, mainy because Sam never liked his own one. In his room, there were just a small computer, a notebook, some pens and some other books he liked to read when they didn't work on a hunt. Sammy's room was just another empty space of the bunker. On the other side, Dean's room was full of their old guns, photos of his family, some adult stuff he used when feeling "bored", and many things he did not care about right now. All that mattered was his brother, or what was left of him anyway.

There was a deep wound on his brother's stomach and many lacerations everywhere, which he could not cure off. Castiel wanted to heal his wounds, but Dean did not want anyone to touch his baby brother's body if it wasn't necessary. He had taken care of Sammy since he was a Rugrat, so he could still do it , even if he were not breathing any longer, right? It was just a small act he chose to do because it was too late to save him now. Thinking about that hurt him in every single way possible, so he rubbed his hands together and covered his face with them to try relax his tense body. He was warm, but his baby brother was ice cold. It was not fair. He should have been the one that died, not Sammy. Somehow, Dean was always hurting the people he loved the most.

"You would probably kick me if you'd seen me bathing this big body of yours, man. I had to clean all that blood though, you know? I swear that you got me soaked and that's never a good thing. I'll probably get sick, but I don't care about my health, I won't if you are not around to take care of my stupid ass. You always managed to take care of me, even in the smallest ways, with gentle words, still insisting when I tried to ignore you, you were always there, never judging me for what I did or said... I-I should've- I'm so so-" Dean could not finished the sentence, since he started to sob aloud,losing the control of his feelings, his teary eyes blurring the world. Maybe that was better than seeing everything in High Definition. Yeah, it was much better,but he could not cry for too long. He had to act like everything was okay and "believe" the lies Cass would told him. It was a Winchester thing after all. He had to be strong for Sam, for Jack. He lost his fatherly figure when Sam died, and he knew how that felt like.

"It's gonna be okay, Dean. We will get him back, you know that, right?"

"Dean, we are trying to contact a witch that may help us find a solution to bring Sam back"

"Dean, don't loose hope,-"

"Dean, we are here you if you ever-"

And so it kept going, just like a freaking broken recording machine that always played the same sound over and over again. He was tired of Cass' stupid pep talk, so he decided to lock himself in his room and be with Sam. He would not drink, eat or sleep until Sam did so too. He deserved that and more. He was sure Sam would do the same, even if he would want him to take care of himself for a minute instead of sitting next to his dead body. Again, it was a Winchester thing. A painful tradition they learned through many deaths and broken hearts.

Hours passed without mercy,Cass kept making contact with angels, witches or demons for help, and Dean kept sobbing until he fell asleep without meaning to. A knock on the door woke him up two hours later though. His whole body was covered in sweat, probably because he had a dream with his brother. He could see him with that big smile of his, laughing with some old Stanford friends in a crowded bar. He called his name, but Sam could not hear him. He tried calling him louder, but nothing happened. When Dean got tired and walked towards him, he realized he could not even touch him. Sam was a ghost, a memory of the happy man he had been, before he went to pick him up at college and ruined everything. Sam was gone for good. SAMMY WAS DEAD.

"Dean!" yelled Cass from the other side of the door, desperate to see the elder Winchester. He was worried sick about him, since he was not talking, eating or sleeping anymore. It almost seemed that he wanted to die too, to see his younger brother one more time. He lost many brothers and sisters as well, so he knew the pain he was going through. Gabriel was the one closer to him while growing up. He protected him and took care of him when no one else did.

Sometimes, angels and human beings had problems with accepting the nature of Death and its consequences. He had to take care of Dean, because that was what Sam would want him to do. Jack wanted to do it too, but he told the Nephilim to stay away from the elder brother for a few days, until Dean accepted the reality he was living. It was quite heartwarming how much Jack reminded him of Sam, sometimes moving like he used to. He was innocent, he wanted to be good and the words he said were spoken with true kindness. Jack cared about the world, tried to help everyone instead of himself, cause he felt he would never be good enough to anyone. It was something Sam had felt and done many times in the past.

He would be by Jack's side no matter what. Kelly and Sam believed in him,but so did he, since the very first moment he touched Kelly's belly.

According to what Jack talked about Sam, he had good memories of him, being a fatherly figure to his broken soul when he needed him the most.

Cass was too lost in his thoughts to see Dean opening the door. The elder hunter was a mess. His eyes were swollen from crying, his lips were bloody cause he kept biting them when feeling anxious, and the spark of happiness in his eyes was gone.

The angel attempted to say something to Dean, but before he had the chance to open his mouth, Dean closed the door in his face and locked it.

Cass decided that he would focus on the angel radio inside his mind for now, until Dean would come out when nature called, as he would say. Sam would not stay dead for long.

"Castiel, come here!" yelled Jack

Cass ran towards the Nephilim, feeling panick consuming him. He thought something was wrong, but what Jack said in response made him smile. There was a way to bring Sam back. The only problem was that they needed one item that didn't have.

They needed Archangel grace. If they wanted to bring Sam back, they would have to find Lucifer...

TBC...

Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for the long time without an update. If you still want me to continue this story, please review :) See ya soon!