A/N: Final author's note on the final chapter!
Again, I want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story and made it all the way to this chapter, almost 80,000 words later. Without all of you who reviewed, story alerted, and favorited, I probably never would have finished this. So thank you. This entire story is for you guys.
Also, special thanks to SPNMum, luvwinchesterboys, and PutMoneyInThyPurse for their amazing dedication and encouragement. You guys are the best.
Now, so as not to further annoy anyone who bothered to read this, here is the final chapter.
Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, Supernatural has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me.
AU after episode 7x04
Dean awoke to the steady beep of a heart monitor.
And yeah, that was familiar enough that it took him less than an instant to register the sound and determine where he was.
A hospital. Which meant he wasn't dead. Well, he supposed he could be, but then, his Heaven must be really screwed up, more so than he had even thought.
Anyways, he was going to operate under the assumption that he had somehow miraculously managed to survive and had wound up at a very human, very Earth-bound hospital. And he would have liked to say that that thought comforted him. He would've like to say that he was relieved that he was alive, that he was as happy as he could possibly be, that he wanted to get on his knees and thank every deity he could think of.
Because if he could say any of those things, that would mean he wasn't completely screwed up.
But as it was, he really was completely screwed up. Shocker.
Because all he felt was a heart-stopping, heart-monitor-destroying panic that left him sitting bolt upright in his bed.
"Dean! Thank god! You scared the crap out of me!" That sound took less time to process than the heart-monitor did, and with it, his panic just faded away. Grabbing at his brother's face, he tilted it to either side, searching for the damage he knew there had to be. And shockingly enough, Sam just let him do it. Let him fuss over him and check his pupils for sign of a concussion.
And distantly, Dean realized that he should probably have been worried about that.
Running his fingers through his brother's hair, scratching at his scalp in search of the head-wound that was there in the warehouse, he let himself breathe. Because Sam was there.
"Y'know, the doctors already did that." Yeah, yeah. Dean hadn't expected anything less. But really, they were doctors.
So Dean grabbed his brother's chin, once again staring into his eyes. "Yeah well... Stupid quacks... don't trust 'em any further than I could throw 'em-"
"Which, given your condition, isn't at all." Sam smiled tiredly, like he was indulging a hyperactive child. And no, Dean didn't appreciate that. But he supposed that at least this way, Sam was letting him check him. And that was far easier than listening to Sam shout and whine until Dean sat on him and forcibly completed his examination.
Staring at him for another minute, Dean made sure that there weren't any hints that his brother's brain was hemorrhaging or that Sam's eyes were going to randomly pop out or that he was about to just up and die. Because that wouldn't be acceptable.
After a raised eyebrow from his brother, he sighed and sunk back against the pillows, silently accepting that Sam was okay. "What the hell just happened?" he asked, scrubbing his hand down his face. First, why was he in the hospital? Second, why was he in the hospital and Sam not? because Sam had been pretty bad off at that damn warehouse. Bad off as in dead. Third, how did they even get to said-hospital? Fourth, and probably most importantly, how the hell were they not dead?
"Just happened?" Sam repeated, an incredulous edge to his voice. And Dean was going to ask about that, his forehead wrinkling, but Sam just shook his head as if to clear it and continued. "Bobby got us out after the place'd collapsed. Found our bodies. But uh... Hell saved us."
...Hell.
Hell didn't save anyone. Hell was Hell.
"Technically," Sam sighed, "we were both dead. But y'know, the doorway to Hell hadn't closed yet and were in this like... space between Hell and Purgatory and Heaven that was all three places at once so... like in Hell... We died and were brought back to life."
"So then, if Hell has the miracle cure for everything, why are we here?" And that was the question, wasn't it? Because Sam was fine. Sam wasn't hurt at all, not so much as a scratch on his face. And Dean couldn't feel anything hurt. Sure, he was a little stiff, but that certainly wasn't a hospital-worthy injury. So why was he in a frickin' hospital bed?
But then, when Sam looked up at him, eyes boring deep into his own, he figured that was the wrong question to ask. "Because you wouldn't wake up." And Dean honestly had no idea what to do with the amount of accusation in that statement. It was said in the same voice Sam had used when he was fifteen and Dean had woken up in the hospital after being mauled half-to-death by a black dog. A characteristic voice of a little brother, one who was scared and pissed off and didn't know what to do with either. And though Dean knew he was strange, he honestly couldn't have been more happy to hear it. "You healed and you were fine, but you went into like... a coma, man. You've been out for days." His voice cracked on the last word, more broken than if this had just been about Dean's lack of awareness. And Dean knew that was important. Very important. He just didn't know why.
"So physically... I'm good?" he asked, eyeing the IV and numerous wires sticking out of his forearm. Sam muttered in acquiescence, though it really wouldn't have mattered either way. Smirking, he continued, "Alright. Let's get outta here then. Where's Bobby?"
"Getting coffee- Dean!" Sam snapped, lunging out of his chair too slowly to stop Dean from yanking the IV out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Jesus. Stop it, Dean!" Huge hands locked onto Dean's shoulders in an attempt to hold him down, but Dean just glared up at him.
"Sam-"
"No!" Sam shouted, and distantly, Dean found himself wondering how much longer they were going to be able to get away with this before a nurse came in and yelled at them for being too loud.
But then, when he met Sam's gaze, he realized that that was nowhere near the biggest of their problems. Sam was looking at him with those goddamn wet eyes. The ones filled with tears that Sam never let overflow. Because he was that strong, or felt he needed to be. And Dean knew in that moment that his was much more serious than Sam not wanting him to stand up. "I thought I'd killed you, Dean," he whispered, breath catching.
Shaking his head, Dean returned, "What're you-"
"I cut the bond," Sam explained, and yeah, Dean knew that. He had been there when it happened. "For the first time, I managed to cut it. And then you wouldn't wake up." He turned away, rubbing his hand down his face. "And I thought I'd done something wrong... something to our bond that did that to you. Because you were supposed to wake up. I'd woken up! I'd woken up and you hadn't so why the hell didn't you wake up, Dean!? With everything else goin' on, you couldn't get up!? I thought we were alive and had made it and then you had to go and be you and not get up when you're supposed to because you never wake up and I swear to god, if I wasn't there you'd sleep forever and never ever get up ever and-"
Dean pushed himself up on wobbly legs, crossing the space between them in two steps. Wrapping his arms tightly around his brother, Dean closed his eyes, hoping that Sam would realize that he was here, that they were there, and they were going to be okay.
It took Sam a minute to get with the program, but eventually he did, arms hesitantly coming up around Dean's back, fisting in the material at his shoulder blades. And as everything slammed into him, all the close calls they had had, all of the times he'd thought they were done for, Dean figured he needed the reassurance just as much as Sam did. So he tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Sam's neck and let his little brother bury his face in his shoulder, as if Dean could hide him from the world forever.
Because it had all nearly crushed them both. Between Sam's Hell, Kathleen's betrayal, the leviathans and their kidnappings, the leviathan's, deaths, Lucifer's deal, Dean's, Sam's, and Kathleen's deaths-
Wait.
Deal.
Lucifer's deal.
"I've done something...and you're not gonna like it."
"It wasn't like it didn't have to happen."
"I'm scared."
"You should really talk to Sammy about that."
Talk to Sammy...
Talk to-
Dean's stomach dropped like it was full of lead.
"What did you do, Sam?" Sam tensed, body seizing like he'd been tasered. Because he knew. Shit, he knew exactly what Dean was talking about. There wasn't any question there. "What did you promise him?" Pulling away, his hand squeezed what he was sure had to be almost painfully around the back of his brother's neck, refusing to let him go too far. But despite that, Sam's gaze fell away. He wouldn't look at him. He wouldn't looked at him and that wasn't good. Not at all. "You want me to guess? That it?" he demanded, shaking Sam and now he knew his grip had to hurt. But there was no response. Not even the barest of reactions. "We both know Luci didn't do all that out of the nonexistent good in his nonexistent heart. So what was it? Sammy?" he snapped.
Something in his voice must have finally struck a chord because even though he kept his eyes on the floor, Sam started talking. "I had to do it. I had to, Dean. And yeah, maybe there was another way, but I couldn't find it and you'd be dead if I hadn't. Everyone would be dead if I hadn't and... I don't know-"
"Sam!" In that moment, Dean heard his father. And that scared him, almost more than he was sure it scared Sam. But their eyes finally locked and Sam relented, even as his gaze once again slipped away.
Squeezing his eyes closed, Sam took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "I have to go back to the cage."
Dean's entire body went numb. And he was sure that wasn't a good thing. Not a good thing at all, but he couldn't focus on that. Not as his hands fell from his brother's shoulders, not as he staggered backwards as if he'd been hit. And he was honestly shocked that his knees hadn't given way, that he hadn't wound up on the floor. After a moment, he realized that was because his knees had decided to lock instead.
"The break in the connection's only temporary," Sam continued. "Kathleen said so which means it'll regrow in a couple weeks and I... I had to do something to make him help. I couldn't pull him out of Hell again which is what he wanted so I gave him the next best thing." Entertainment, the horrible, unhelpful voice in Dean's head supplied. The one that had a sick fascination with watching Dean puke his guts up.
Sam shrugged, head tilting to the side as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. And suddenly, the bed behind him was the only thing that was keeping Dean standing. "You're kidding... Right, Sam? This is some sick, warped joke to get me back for goin' comatose on you." He really tried to make that out to be an order, but even he could hear the note of begging slip, inch its way into his tone. And as pissed as he'd be if this were a joke, as much as he knew Sam would never do that to him, he wished with his entire being that this was all a lie. A nightmare. Something - anything - other than reality. "Tell me... Say you didn't sell your soul for this!"
Hadn't he learned better? Didn't he friggin' know better than that after all these years!?
Though, Dean remembered a conversation held what seemed like forever ago in an abandoned living room. Knowing what he knew now, would he still sell his soul for Sam at Cold Oak?
Yes.
Always.
But Sam wasn't allowed to do that. He wasn't. He couldn't.
Sam opened his mouth to respond, but then he just shrugged, an apologetic smile forced onto his face. "I had to, Dean," he responded. "You were gonna die and... I had to-"
"You didn't have to do anything!" Dean shouted. And he could feel himself slipping, sliding into the brother he didn't want to be anymore. "You didn't- You should have stayed away! Like you promised! You should've-"
"And what was I s'posed to do then, huh?" Sam demanded, his own anger coming through. And Dean knew this argument was going to get really out of hand really fast. "Let the leviathans eat you? Watch them rip you apart? No, thanks. I had enough of that in Hell-"
"I trusted you, Sam! I trusted you not to do something stupid! I shouldn't've-"
"What, Dean!? Shouldn't've what!?" Sam shouted, but Dean could barely hear him over the resounding chorus of Shit and Please, God, noechoing through his head. "Trusted me!? 'cuz yeah, you really should've known better! After I let Lucifer-"
"That's not what this is about, Sam!" Dean interrupted, hoping that Sam would just drop that train of thought right then and there. Because really, he couldn't be dealing with that no-longer-an-issue when he was trying to deal with a very current, very real one.
"-But I made sure to do the right thing this time! I made sure it was only going to be me to get hurt! And look! The world is friggin' fine! Great, in fact! And you're alive! I made the right call-"
"No! No, you didn't. What were you even thinking!?" Dean demanded, hand fluttering at his side. "You weren't! You're going to Hell! You're gonna be dragged back into Hell and this time, there's no Cass, no angels, no nothing to drag you back out! Shit, Sammy, I think I'm gonna puke-" Dean doubled over, hand wrapping around his stomach. He saw Sam's feet start to come towards him, but he just held up his hand, trying to keep him back. Because he could do this. Really. He could. He wasn't... He wasn't going to throw up. Nope.
Pushing himself to his feet, he dragged in deep breaths through his nose. If he ignored it, maybe the sick swooping in his gut would go away. "M'kay, so we need a way to permanently break the connection, right? If we do that, he can't get you."
"Dean..." Sam whispered, but Dean just ignored him. He couldn't plot, not puke, and listen to Sam all at the same time. He'd overload. And right now, listening to Sam's screwed up logic was on the bottom of that priority list.
"We'll talk to Bobby, have him call everyone he knows, make them call everyone they know. And let's face it, Bobby knows pretty much everyone so someone out there's gotta know something."
"Dean-"
"We'll get it broken. Just in case, put up extra protection against demons. Make sure we have a gagillion exorcisms ready. Hellhounds... Those things are evil, lemme tell ya, but not impossible. There's gotta be a way. We'll just have to do a bunch of research an-"
"Dean," Sam snapped, and Dean froze, staring down at one of the tiles beneath him. "It's over, 'kay? It's fine and it's done. There's nothing we can do about it. The bond will be back in two weeks, two days exactly-" And Dean realized with a jolt that that was why Sam had been so freaked about the time, about how long he'd been out. Not only had Dean been in a coma, but he'd lost time with Sam. And even worse, had he not woken up when he had, he could have woken to a world without Sam in it. "-and you're not gonna find anything useful that quickly. Nothing. Just this once, let it go." Eyes slowly raising, Dean stared at him, watching as the fight drained from Sam's body and his brother raised his arms, letting them smack against his sides. "I mean... I got a reprieve, right?" he sighed. "More than we expected the first time... That makes it better."
"You really believe that?" Dean asked, because he didn't. Not at all. It wasn't better, could never be better. If anything, it was worse. Because they were working again; they were going to be SamandDean again. Just like they were supposed to be. Dean was going to fix it. And he couldn't imagine, didn't want to imagine, what having that ripped away again would do to him.
It would kill him. Everything that made him Dean Winchester would die.
And he'd die everyday for the rest of forever. Because if Sam went to Hell, there'd be no point to Dean going to Heaven.
Sam forced a smile, dropping down onto the edge of the hospital bed. "Well that's all we have so go with it. Hey, wanna go to the Grand Canyon? That's one place we never got on your pre-Hell binge. Grand Canyon... Where else you wanna go?"
"Sam-" Dean started, shaking his head, but Sam continued on as if he had never said anything at all.
"Could try Canada just to see if we can trick 'em into letting us in." Sam's smile was met head on by Dean's stony expression. Because yeah, Dean'd love to do any of that. Anything at all, really. But not like this. He wanted them to be able to spend time together, as brothers, without the threat of death hanging over them.
Hell, he wanted them to do anything as brothers.
"You and me against the world, Sammy. Always."
...Always...
Staring straight at his brother, he said, calmly, voice quiet yet so full of conviction, "You're not going back there." And this time, just as when he'd said it in the cage, he knew it was true. Sam was not going back there. He wasn't.
But Sam wasn't so convinced. His brother's lips twitched up into a sardonic smile, calling bullshit. "Dean-" Rolling his eyes, Sam's exasperated tone was one Dean had heard so often. The one that said he thought big brother's were stupid. And maybe they were. Maybe they did have issues. But this was one thing that wasn't stupid. This was one thing he knew wasn't crap, wasn't bullshit.
This was one thing he knew to be undoubtedly true.
"You're not," Dean repeated, hardness creeping into his voice. Because he needed Sam to believe it. He needed Sam to know that he wasn't letting him go back there. Because it hurt to think that Sam thought this was okay. It killed him inside to realize that though they had started to fix things, they weren't right yet. Because Sam shouldn't have thought like that. Sam shouldn't have had to be reminded that Dean wouldn't let him go to Hell again. Sam shouldn't have had to be told how much the very idea of him going back there was killing Dean.
Because Sam never should have been allowed to doubt the fact that Dean cared about him, trusted him, more than anyone or anything else on the entire goddamn planet.
"Don't you dare let yourself go to Hell thinking you haven't dragged me right in after you."
And there it was.
The coldness in his voice came as a surprise, even to him, and from the fact Sam looked like he had been slapped, he figured he really should have planned that out better. But he was too terrified, brain too stuck, too pissed to even figure out what it was that he should have done differently.
"No. No, you're not going to Hell," Sam snapped. "Don't even say that-"
"But I am! Did you ever think about what this would do?"
"Yeah! Save a lot of lives! Including yours-"
"I meant, to me. Did you ever think about what this would do to me!?" he yelled, voice breaking. The silence that suddenly stretched between them was heavy, weighted down with everything that hadn't been said. And everything that had. Because again, Sam shouldn't have had to be reminded, shouldn't have had to be told. He shouldn't have had to question that. He should have just known. "You said you made sure it was only you who got hurt? Well, that isn't frickin' possible because you being hurt will always hurt me." The words just started falling from his lips, the way they did only in his rare moments of honesty. Those few times he let himself actually talk to Sam, those few times he let himself tell his brother the flat out truth. "If you go to Hell, my entire life will be Hell. And that's only if I can't find a way to follow you in!"
After that, his chest just deflated. And all the anger, all the rage, all the emotions except grief and pain slipped away, leaving him weak and empty. "I can't... I can't lose you again, Sammy," he whispered, feeling his voice break for the second time in less than a minute. "I jus' can't."
Sam's looked to his hands and Dean just stared at his profile, taking in the lines he couldn't remember there being a few days ago. Biting his lip, he shook his head, eyes falling to the ground as he turned, footsteps heavy and loud as he moved from the room.
He only made it to the doorway. Only that far before Sam's quiet voice made him stop.
"Y'know... She kept telling me that I was s'posed to picture Michael cutting the tie. Which is stupid. But it's an old psychic technique, been used for centuries." Sam took a breath and continued on. "They always said Michael because he's s'posed to be strong, s'posed to be a hero, someone everyone can believe in, someone they know can save them from whatever horrible connection they've gotten themselves... But um... The last time, when we were standing in that warehouse, I knew... Michael never worked for me because I can't believe in him anymore. But it cut because... because I pictured you."
Dean's body stayed in place for three more seconds, three seconds exactly, frozen there. But then he was out the door, all but running down the hallway. He didn't know where he was going, just that he needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. And it wasn't until he reached the safety of the bathroom, slamming the door closed, that he let himself stop, let himself fall against the wall and sink to the floor.
He couldn't say exactly how long he sat there, the silence ringing in his ears. He couldn't say how long it had been since he left the hospital room.
But there was one thing he could say. The one thing illuminated by the numbers ticking down in his head like the countdown on a bomb.
16 days, 11 hours, and 24 minutes, exactly how long Sam had left.
And he didn't realize he was crying until the first teardrop hit the ground.
Did I mention that there's going to be a sequel?
Well, there is.
Come back soon for In the Absence of Light.
As a final thank you to all my reviewers, I'll PM every person who reviews this chapter logged-in a short excerpt from the next story. Just tell me whether you want the Angsty!Dean scene or the Badass!Dean scene that ends up being pretty angsty as well.
What can I say? The beginning of the next story is angsty.
Thanks again, everyone! I seriously love you all!