The woman who leaned over him spoke softly, but Sam couldn't make out the words. She had kind eyes encircled by a halo of blond hair, and her hands were gentle where she touched him.
And Sam smiled.
"Mom …" He breathed.
She shook her head and said something to him, but he couldn't quite catch the words.
Sam reached up and touched the woman's arm.
"Mom." He said again, as his eyes began to clear, and her voice began to penetrate his fog.
"Aw, honey. I ain't your momma, you poor, sweet child." She patted him on the arm. "You got family here though." She said smiling. She nodded to Sam's chest, and he looked down.
A hand rested there.
Sam looked right and followed the hand to an arm and an arm to his brother. Dean slumbered beside him on a large, comfortable bed - too large and too comfortable to be a motel model, and Sam's memory washed over him like a storm, sadness engulfing the boy.
Whatever Dean had done to join him here, there was no doubt in Sam's mind, he shouldn't have done it.
"Dean. No." He whispered, mourning all the years Dean should have had left. Sam's hand found his brother's and he squeezed. "Dean. Why?"
Dean's eyes opened as if on command, and blinked once. He was awake then, and staring at Sam with a smile on his face. Dean raised himself up on one elbow and grasped Sam's fingers in his own.
"Sammy." He grinned. "Welcome back, little brother."
"Dean. No." Sam whispered. "You … why?"
Dean's grin faltered then, and guilt overrode his expression. A single tear welled up and spilled over, and Sam watched it trail down the older boy's cheek until it disappeared beneath his chin.
"Sammy." He said again, voice cracking. "Please …"
"Dean, you shouldn't … you can't be here, okay? It's not … you're not supposed to be here. Mom …"
Dean frowned then, understanding that Sam was confused. "Sam, listen to me …"
But Sam's eyes wandered around the room, taking in the understated, elegant decor and soft illumination. His eyes settled on Dean. "Is this heaven?" he asked softly. "Dean, what did you do?"
Dean's voice broke then, "Holy shit, Sammy. Listen to me, kid. Please."
Sam listened then. He couldn't not listen when Dean pleaded like that.
"This ain't heaven, Sammy. It's the clinic. All of that, Sam, it was ... We had to scare the h'ant and that meant scaring you too. I'm so sorry, kiddo." Dean studied Sam, waiting for the reaction he dreaded. "It was just something to make you sleep, Sammy. That's all. I swear."
Sam's brain tried to process this new information. "You … I'm not … not dead?"
Dean shook his head. "I'd never, Sammy. I'd fight to the death before I'd let someone do that to you. I'm sorry. It was … it was the only way, I swear."
Sam swallowed, thinking of all those miserable days under the h'ant's control. "Did it work?" He rasped out. "Is it g-gone?"
Dean nodded, then, and grinned. "Damn straight it worked. Bastards' gone, Sam. He ain't ever gonna bother you again."
Sam looked away, overcome. He felt like maybe he was falling apart a tiny piece at a time and soon there'd be nothing left. He tried to push the fear and sadness and grief back, but all it took was one small sob for the dam to fail, and after that came the flood.
Dean was on him in an instant. The older boy tugged him close and wrapped a hand around the back of his head. "S'okay, Sammy." Dean crooned. "S'okay, little brother. Let it out. Just let it all out. You're safe now. You're safe, Sammy."
##########
Dean shoulder-bumped Sam, making the kid drop the pumpkin he was holding.
"Dean!" Sam sighed, exasperated. "Just let me pick one, all ready? I just want two little ones to give the girls when we meet up with them down by the state line, something small I can tuck in my pack." He swiped a hand across his sweaty brow, wiping it on the doo rag that covered his closely cropped hair.
It was different look for the kid, but one Dean had quickly grown fond of. The doo rag, coupled with Sam's new affinity for facial hair suited Sam. Made him look a little bad-ass, kind of like a baby biker. Dean snorted at the thought. Still, he couldn't resist messing with the kid. "What about this one, Sam?" He asked, nudging an orange orb with his boot. The pumpkin was one some kid had painted. It had one little eye and one large, garish eye that sort of faded up and away over the pumpkin's top. "Sort of looks like you, even."
Sam looked and giggled.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude. You can't wear the rag on your head and the hair on your face if you're gonna giggle like a little girl. It's disturbing."
"Ooh, big word, Dean. Did you hurt yourself?" Sam teased, returning to his perusal of the pumpkins on display. He frowned.
Dean saw and wasn't having it. "What's wrong, Chicken Little. Sky falling?"
Sam shrugged, "I dunno. Just … buyin' one from the lot isn't the same as picking it out yourself out in the field. It's too bad we missed the last hayride out." He lamented.
Dean looked and pointed. "Right there." He said, gesturing to the hay wagon that was just pulling out from the platform where families had just boarded.
The boys exchanged looks and grinned, then both hiked up their packs and took off running to catch the last ride out. And nearby, a local lifestyle reporter froze those two grins forever with a simple click of his shutter. He looked down at his screen and smiled, realizing he finally had the photo for next day's front page.
########
"'Morning Dad." Ty yawned, padding into the kitchen and heading straight for the refrigerator.
"Morning, Ty." Carl replied, "Juice is over here." He tilted his head to the carton of orange juice that sat sweating on the table.
Ty changed direction with the flexibility only the very young or young at heart can manage. He flopped down across from his father and reached for the carton. As he pulled it toward him, a bead of water dripped off the bottom and fell onto the front page of the Frederick News, and two pair of eyes followed it down.
Ty gasped then as Carl began reading the featured story out loud with growing glee.
"Pennsylvania Pumpkin Patch Delights Kids of all Ages"
Two unidentified visitors to the Berks' County Pumpkin Patch enjoy the day's festivities as twilight begins to set over 13 acres of munchkin, magic lantern and rascal pumpkins on the Beddingfield Farm south of New Ringgold yesterday. The Beddingfield Farm has been a declining tourist attraction for the past five years but is enjoying a new popularity this fall. It's estimated nearly 1,000 visitors, both local and from as far away as Sioux Falls, South Dakota, were on-site yesterday to enjoy hayrides out to the farm's locally famous pumpkin patch.
Owner Dave Beddingfield attributed the sudden uptick in business to the company's new, catchy slogan that refers to the farm's notoriously formidable corn maze, "Tell your friends you got lost in Berks County, PA."
The slogan was penned by 13-year-old Deena Beddingfield as part of an assignment for her 7th grade writing class."
Carl and Ty exchanged incredulous looks. "Dad! That's Sam, right?"
Carl nodded, smiling and sitting back in his chair, taking the paper with him. He studied the photo that took up the entire space above the fold. "And Dean too, I'd say. It appears they found each other, son."
Ty grinned and took a noisy drink of his juice. "They sure do look happy."
Carl nodded, feeling an odd sense of peace sweep over him. "They surely do, son. They surely do."
- THE END -
Author's Note: Thank you :)