A/N
*steps in and grins guiltily*
Ahem. That's… phenomenally late. I know. Sorry. I just… can I say this chapter was REALLY hard to write, apart from the fact that I was pretty busy with my newest big bang, as well as RL? I did go through several rotations between now and then in my internship, though.
So. This chapter is huge. I hope you guys are prepared! And no, I definitely wouldn't abandon this story with just a chapter and an epilogue left, would I? :)
Just to confirm before you read this chapter — unlike the show, I chose to count the two phantom years in between where Sam was in Hell and Dean was in Purgatory, so this fic takes place in mid-late 2015. And it was necessary to confirm this. It's for a tiny little dialogue, but it's important. You'll know.
You'll need a bit of time to read this chapter. This story has been an emotional ride to me, and I tried my best to give it a good send-off. Of course, an epilogue follows, but this is technically the last chapter of this fic. Yes. We're here. :) There are some notes in the end, giving my views and thoughts on certain things, if you're interested.
Finally, and most importantly, I really, really, am grateful to several people —
You guys, for sticking with this story and encouraging me. I honestly never expected this amazing response when I'd started, but you guys were wonderful with your feedback, and you boosted my confidence. Thank you so much!
SPNxBookworm, my co-author for said big bang fic, has been amazing moral support and a great cheerleader for a long time now, and, hon, you're one of the best people on this planet. :D
And then there are my amazing, amazing betas, BohemianMoose and quickreaver, and they're the reason you might notice that my writing has changed (for the good) between the prologue and this chapter.
I hope you guys are enjoying season 10 as much as I am. On with this chapter, then!
STAND STILL AND BREATHE
25. Almost There
Hey, Dean.
Sammy, come back, man.
Look who's being all emotional now.
Less girly than you, dude.
... You're a jerk.
You're a bitch, too.
The pain was excruciating. Dean was cold and uncomfortable. He could feel something vibrating underneath him, and he dazedly recognised it as his car when he heard the purr of the engine. If Cas was right and there was no Sam, Dean didn't know who he was talking to. And who was driving? Was it... was it Sam?
"Sam is d-dead."
It felt like Dean had just heard the words from Cas's mouth, but he wouldn't believe him. Because Sam wasn't dead. Sam had helped him fight the angels. Sam was alive... He was right here.
"Not dying that easy, Dean," Sam said suddenly, his voice making him sound equal parts exasperated and concerned. "Stop the Niagara Falls that you've got going on that ugly face of yours."
The voice was almost divine to listen to. Dean's eyes seemed to be glued shut and he vaguely felt shivers run down his body until a large, warm hand rubbed his shoulder. He opened his eyes weakly to see Sam sitting on the far end of the seat, his thighs touching Dean's booted feet. Dean was curled up and on his side, cold sweat running down his face in torrents as sudden nausea took over his senses. Sam looked concerned. He gently lifted Dean's legs and laid them on his lap, pulling off the boots and socks and throwing them to the floor. "Almost there," he said, rubbing the bottoms of Dean's feet slowly. "We'll keep your legs elevated, yeah? Don't go shocky on me."
Dean shut his eyes again.
0
He is at home, seated at a small table that's covered with a ton of food. It's Thanksgiving and his mommy has told him just a few days ago that in a few months, he is going to get a really nice new friend. Whether it's a boy or a girl, she doesn't know, but she has promised Dean that whoever it is, they will grow up to be the best friend he's ever had.
Dean's best friend right now, is a boy named Alex. He lives down the street and they play with their Hot Wheels together. Dean wonders how he can get a better friend, but Mommy never lies, so he believes her.
They have a great dinner, though Dean's new best friend isn't letting his mommy eat in peace without her feeling sick. Dean doesn't know how exactly his friend is doing that, but it's pretty mean. Alex never does that to Dean's mommy.
Later on, once they're done with dinner, Dean's daddy takes the big bone — they call it the 'wishbone' — and Dean knows that they have to break it every year. When his parents are holding each side of the bone with their pinkie fingers twirled around it, Dean's mommy bends towards him and whispers, "Make a wish, baby."
And he wishes for his best friend to turn out to be a boy, because that will be really nice. Then maybe he can join Dean and Alex with his own Hot Wheels and they can race their cars together.
Dean is happy when his mommy gets the bigger piece of the wishbone.
0
"Hey, you with me?"
Sam's voice was difficult to make out, but Dean nodded. "W-Wisssssh- wishb-bone," he confessed.
"Huh?"
Dean didn't elaborate. It was his secret. He wouldn't tell Sam about how his wish had come true — wouldn't give his brother that kind of satisfaction.
The car hit a pothole, driving spikes of pain through Dean, and he vaguely registered a moan that escaped his lips. A hand squeezed his ankle. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay." A pause. "Cas, be careful, he's hurting."
"S'mmy..."
"Yeah. Yeah, Dean."
"S'mmy."
0
A baby is curled up in Dean's arms, giving him a toothless grin and cooing as it nuzzles its face against his chest. Mommy smiles at him from her place, lending him a hand so that he can hold Sammy properly.
Sammy's been around for four months now. He was bald, pink and chubby when he came around. Now he has a bit of hair and is still pretty chubby, but he hasn't done much other than keeping everyone awake with his nightly crying. And he has stolen Mommy and Daddy from Dean. Dean isn't sure best friends are supposed to behave like this. Alex says that best friends don't do it, but baby brothers do. Alex's baby brother is like this too. But then, after making Mommy sick for so long, Sammy absolutely doesn't have the right to be this way. He is so stupid.
For the longest time, Dean had hated Sammy. Cried and begged his mommy to put Sammy back wherever he came from because he doesn't want to share her with anyone, and he thought Sammy was a terrible baby brother.
But Mommy had stroked Dean's face and promised it would get better. That Dean would love being a big brother, and he just needed to give it a chance. So Dean believed Mommy again and gave it a chance. He had to give it a lot of time to actually start liking Sammy but now, as Dean looks at the baby in his arms, he thinks Sammy is okay. Besides, he can be cute.
"Aw, look at him," Dean's mother says happily as Sam coos at Dean and smiles again. "He adores you, baby."
"He's okaaaay," Dean replies, letting his mother take Sam in her arms. "When can we play with my Hot Wheels?"
His mother leans forward and kisses his forehead. "Soon, honey. Soon."
0
"Almost there."
Sam was blurring in and out of Dean's vision. The pain was ebbing to numbness and Dean wondered if he should be worried about it. He glanced at Sam, trying to decipher his expression (because if Sam was worried, it meant that Dean was definitely dying). Sam seemed serene, though, as he rested his head against the back and kept Dean's legs elevated, so Dean figured he was doing okay.
"Dean," Castiel called out in a panicked voice, from behind the wheel. Dean turned his face to Cas, where he could see his boyfriend or manfriend or whatever Cas was calling himself, flicking glances at Dean.
They were going to crash the Impala if Cas didn't take care. But when had Cas learned how to drive? Wasn't it supposed to be Sam behind the wheel?
But Sam was here, at the backseat with Dean. Why was he even letting Cas drive?
"Dean, please talk to me," Castiel begged, his voice thick. He turned again, and Dean wanted to ask him to switch places with Sam. Dean didn't know why Castiel was so scared. Looking at Sam, Dean didn't think he was all that badly injured.
Sam patted Dean's foot. "Just answer him, man. He's really worried."
Dean blinked slowly, and took a deep breath. "M – M'kay, Cas," he said. His blurry vision was making him nauseous, and he shut his eyes again, watching the cool black flood his mind and revelling in it.
0
"Dean?"
Sam's eyes are large and inquisitive from beneath his fringe as he looks up at Dean. He's just arrived from kindergarten and Dean sits him down on a chair so he can undo Sam's shoelaces for him. Dean kneels down to his brother's tiny feet hanging off the chair, as Sam pushes himself back to lean on the backrest. He swings his legs once, and Dean catches them, steadying them, before starting to undo Sam's laces.
"Dean," Sam repeats in a small voice, "where's our mom?"
Dean freezes while pulling off one of Sam's shoes and looks at his brother, who is blinking at him with wide eyes. Dean blinks back at him, as his memory goes back a few years and he remembers the white, bright light, tinged with orange and yellow. And it had been everywhere.
"Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back!"
There was a bundle in Dean's arms and his father was frantic, eyes shining. "Go, Dean, go!"
It was hot… so hot…
"Dean?" Sam asks again, pulling him out of the memory. The whole thing is so vague in Dean's head, and yet, Dean feels like he remembers everything. Sam pouts at him, lips trembling. "Where's our mom, Dean?"
"With us," Dean replies to Sam, taking the other shoe off and sitting back on his haunches to lock gazes with his brother.
"But—"
"She's always with us," Dean repeats, before getting himself up from the floor and moving to the kitchen. "Lucky Charms, Sammy?"
0
"S-Sammy…"
"Almost there."
Sam had being saying that a while now, but Dean still believed him. He knew that he had been in the car long enough that they should be nearing the bunker now. Home.
… Or was it the hospital that they were going to?
Did Cas say something about it? Dean wasn't so sure. His brain wasn't cooperating, and…
"Hospital, Dean," said Sam, stopping the loops that were Dean's thoughts. "I can't patch you up like this. But you're with me, right? You'll stay with me?"
If Sam couldn't patch him up… was it bad? Was Dean really dying? He couldn't remember… what had just happened?
He'd know if he were dying, if he could look at Sam…
"Dean?"
"W-Wi' you, S'm…" Dean managed to mumble. His lips weren't working and everything was slipping away like water trickling down the gaps between fingers. And he was completely numb now — the pain had dissipated — just like those spirits, when they were shot with rock salt. The numbness felt uncomfortable, but Dean would take it any day to the terrible pain he'd been feeling.
There had been a lot of pain in Dean's life. Too much pain.
0
"Where's Sam?"
Dean swallows as he locks gazes with his father. John doesn't look happy at all, and the smell of whiskey on his breath proves just how great his mood's been tonight. It's the last week of October and like every year, he's pretty much crawled into a bottle. Sam hates this, and as usual, he's been whining about it for days and spending increasing amounts of time at the library.
"Dean," John says menacingly. "I asked you a question."
Dean lets out a sharp exhale. "I don't know, sir."
John's jaw clenches, and Dean takes a step back. His father puts a hand to his own forehead, possibly to stop the pounding there, and speaks again. "Didn't I ask you to keep an eye on him?"
"He's fifteen, Dad," says Dean, "how much more of an eye can I keep on him? I can hardly ask the guy to stay home all the time — he has a life!"
"Yes, and that 'life' of his has probably led him into trouble," John replies. "You know that, don't you?"
Dean blinks, clutching at the phone in his hand. He's tried calling Sam, but Sam's phone is switched off. He's tried looking in the library and called all of Sam's friends too, but nobody knows where Sam is.
"I know, sir," Dean replies to his father. He looks at the grimy floor. "I'm sorry."
His father sighs. "We gotta start looking for him now."
"Yeah."
"Do you have any idea—?"
Dean licks his lip. "I checked the library and his friends and—"
"Check his friends again," says John. "I'll drive back to the library and ask them and try to retrace his steps from there. Got it?"
Dean nods, then hesitates. "What?" his father snaps, catching the hesitation.
Dean looks at him. "You… uh — probably shouldn't drive… like this…"
"Yeah well," John says, "you should have thought of what this would take before you let Sam go missing on your watch."
It's a gruelling two weeks before they somehow dig up Sam's whereabouts. He's in Flagstaff, and John rattles off some information and curse-words about the situation, but all Dean hears and knows is that Sam is alive, and that's enough for him.
But oh, how stupid he was to think that this was the worst that could happen.
0
"Almost there," Sam repeated soothingly.
"Y'gotta s'op s-ssayin' tha'…" Dean breathed out to his brother. "I kn-knnnow, Sam. Je…sus."
Sam chuckled. "Dude, stop talking, will you?"
"Y-You shouldn'a… g-gone t'F-Flag…ssstaff."
The statement just slipped out of his mouth, and Dean had no clue why he'd said it. He felt Sam's grip on him stiffen. "That was years ago, man, why are you bringing it up now?"
Dean didn't reply, remembering the horrendous mood that their father was in when neither of them had found Sam. He didn't want to talk to Sam about it, because Sam was right. It was long gone. They had faced so much worse and Dean had lost Sam in other ways since then. The two weeks' anxiety was nothing in comparison to the edge that Dean had lived on for the last few months and he'd do anything to just have to deal with things like the Flagstaff situation, rather than Sam having freaking cancer.
"Dean," Sam said softly, "I never told you this, but I'm sorry, okay?"
Dean snuffled out a small laugh. For what?
"Flagstaff," Sam said, as if he knew what Dean was thinking. "I shouldn't have… I didn't realise…"
Dean stretched out a shaky hand until he found Sam's forearm, and he squeezed. It's okay. You're forgiven. You were forgiven long ago.
"Thanks, Dean," Sam said quietly. "We're almost there, yeah?"
Dean let out a weak chuckle again. Sam needed some new words in his vocab. Seriously.
0
"You coming?"
Dean glances up at his little brother. Sam looks heartbroken and pissed off, bags slung over his shoulder and containing the few possessions that he can boast about. Sam and Dad have had a terrible fight, and right now, Dean can't quite believe the words that came, and are still coming, out of his brother's mouth.
"What?" he asks, surprised.
"To California," Sam replies. "We could work a few small jobs before the start of term and use the money to rent an apartment."
Okay. Dean heard it right then. Not that his heart doesn't warm a little at the fact that his brother still doesn't mind having him around, but he knows there's a problem here. They can't exactly do this — dump their current lives in favour of higher education. So Dean takes a deep breath, knowing exactly where this is going to go. "What about Dad?"
"I told you," Sam says, "if he's ready to take back his words—"
"Come on, Sam, don't do this. Let Dad come back. We can talk this out. All three of us." Dean is not beyond begging now. He knows that Dad won't relent, and Dean can't change his father's mind but Sam could maybe listen to him. They can't break apart like this. They're family. Of course, Sam has every right to go to college, but maybe they can work something else out. And Dean will sort it out. He'll talk to both Sam and Dad.
Sam interrupts him. "There's nothing more to talk about, Dean. As for Dad, if he cares, he'll make an effort."
"He's our dad."
Sam lets out a small sigh. "Are you coming or not? I think you should apply for a course too. You're brilliant, Dean. You deserve better than this."
"Better than this?" Dean is incredulous as he says it. "I save lives, for fuck's sake. We save lives, Sam. I'm better off like this, rather than being in some prissy lecture hall with a few douche-y kids."
And that does it. A look of determination and sadness crosses Sam's face and Dean realises that Sam is going, and he also realises that Sam knows that Dean won't come along. No. No, this can't be it. This can't be it.
Sam looks down and sniffs, and when he looks up, his cheek is damp. Dean's heart lurches at that, but he ignores it. "You're not coming with me," Sam says, heartbreak showing clearly on his face.
Dean blinks. "I just want to help Dad out." He shakes his head and turns away, blinking more when his eyes prickle. "Sammy, don't leave, man. Not like this." He wishes he could look his brother in the eye, make Sam believe it, but this is not enough. And fuck, Sam is leaving… leaving for real.
He hears Sam sniffle. "I guess you've made your choice, then."
"Sammy, please." Dean is actually begging now, and he faces Sam, his vision blurring traitorously. He blinks the tears back. "Just… just wait, okay?"
"Forget it, Dean." Sam sounds defeated. "Dad's more important. I get it."
"No, no, Sammy, I—"
Sam turns around and starts to make his way out. Dean stands up from his place. "Sam, hey…"
Sam doesn't listen to him as he continues to walk away. Dean follows him with an arm outstretched to grab him — something — but by the time Dean's gotten out of the house, Sam's walking swiftly down the street, his back stubbornly to Dean. And Dean waits there, watches Sam's figure grow smaller and fade. All Dean does then is will Sam to look back. To turn around.
It never happens.
0
"Dean?"
"Y-Yeah."
"You're with us? Good, good."
"Mmm…"
"Hey, man, we're—"
"I kn-knnnooow we're… alm-most there, S-Sammy."
Dean felt peace settle over him. It was odd, the placidity that took over his whole body, because he hadn't been this way in a long, long time. The sensation was alien, but it was good. It was like the weight on Dean's shoulders was gone. God… it had been so long since he'd felt like this. With Dad dying, Hell, the Apocalypse, and then everything that had gone wrong in their lives, with Bobby, and Sam's psychosis and Dick Roman, Purgatory… the fucking Trials…
Dean saw it all in technicolour. The last ten years of his life flashed past him vividly, and it felt like his mind was racing through the core moments, until it stopped, until it came to an abrupt halt at the last two weeks alone. His whole life had been so difficult all these years, but the last few months… all that was nothing compared to the last few months, and definitely nothing, when it came to the last few days.
0
"C-Cas? Hhhooow… 's'e hool…d-din' up?"
Dean balances a tray of soup, crackers and water in his hands as he leans against the wall outside Sam's room, and listens to his brother's raspy voice and slurring, barely coherent speech. Sam coughs once, twice, draws in a deep breath, and waits for an answer.
Sam's anti-tussives have been good for his coughing fits these days. Of all the symptoms and side-effects that Sam's been facing from the cancer and his chemo, this is the one that's been easiest to control. But it's getting worse. It's been worse ever since the last series of events that led Sam back to the hospital and kept him there.
Sam is also breathless a lot, even when he's lying down and doing nothing. When Dean had brought Sam out AMA, he'd told Dr Greene he'd continue Sam's treatment at home, and it basically amounted to end-of-life care, which, Dean found out, Sam had actually signed earlier on during one of his visits to the hospital. He didn't give Sam a hard time about it, though.
Sam's terms are that he wants to be taken care of at the bunker, with no hospice or nurses. And Dean understood it because if he were dying, he'd not want doctors and nurses around him either. But this also meant that Dean had to learn the basics, so he could be alert when it came to Sam. He already knows most of what he is meant to do, though, and the rest wasn't so hard to learn either. Sam also doesn't want the continuous morphine drip because he hates being dazed and loopy all day. So Sam has got some of the good stuff for pain management — except, it's to be given to him only when he wants it.
When the equipment had arrived, Dean hadn't thought too much about the oxygen cylinder and the nasal cannula, until Sam got breathless towards the evening on the second day. Dean had called the doctor for a final time, and got instructions on the pressure and settings and all that crap as he went on to hurriedly place the cannula under his brother's nose, making the prongs hold on to the septum. He had watched Sam take in the oxygen hungrily, bloodshot eyes screwed shut and leaking strained tears, while Dr Greene explained the BiPAP machine as well.
That night, Dean decided that he couldn't take it anymore. He dug up the old spell that Charlie had found, which would let him take on Sam's disease. He didn't care. He'd take all that shit laughing, if it meant relief for Sam. Because Sam deserved a break.
Dean was collecting the components and packing his bags for it, when Cas caught him at it.
They fought. They yelled and fought and Dean punched Castiel and kicked him and hit him, Cas reciprocating all of it, until Sam heard the commotion and somehow wheeled over to their room. Castiel took the opportunity to tell Sam everything about the spell, and Dean's intentions, all before Dean could knock the bastard unconscious.
Sam's eyes had widened at the information. "Dean."
"It's the only way, Sammy," Dean told him. "Last few days, man, I'll—"
"No," Sam replied, crossing his arms.
"Listen to me," Dean told him frantically.
"No," Sam had repeated, his voice gentler. And then he had smiled faintly. "You won't dishonour the wishes of a dying man, will you?"
And fuck it, Sam is really a pain in the ass with his eyes and his little-brotherly shit.
The cannula becomes a permanent fixture for Sam within the next two days as he gets more and more air hungry. And Dean wonders why this problem is striking Sam now, because even though Sam's lungs have a freaking cancer in them, before this, he had only gotten breathless when he walked too much or exerted himself. He was never this starved for air before. And Dean is mulling that over, when he remembers Dr Greene's words. He remembers that Sam's been going into sepsis. It's not just the kidney infection anymore.
Dr Greene had explained how Sam's lungs would be the first to give out, and then his kidneys. The process isn't all that long either.
Dean religiously switches Sam to the BiPAP at night, gets the cylinders filled, and tries to joke about it all. "You look like that chick from The Fault in Our Stars movie," he says, as he adjusts the nasal cannula for his brother.
Sam smiles and greedily draws in some oxygen. Dean ticks off Sam's lungs from the list of functional organs (and his lungs had been screwed up anyway and Sam survived four months with it, so fuck if he can't go on a bit longer until Cas gets his grace). Sam tells Dean, though, that no matter what happens, he doesn't want to go back to the hospital. Even if Castiel is getting some of his grace back in just a fortnight.
Every night, Dean prays to an unknown entity for Sam to last another few days.
It's the third day since Sam's home, when Dean's heading towards Sam's room with soup, that he hears Sam's conversation with Castiel.
"He will be okay," Castiel says in reply to Sam's question. "You must rest. Your fever is high. Dean will be here with the soup, and—"
"Caass…" Sam says, and takes a breath. "T-Tell… me. P-P—"
Castiel doesn't let Sam talk further. "He's not had panic attacks," he says, almost as if he knows that it's the first thing that Sam's worried about. "He drinks more than he used to, but you know, Sam, that's how he is, and I can't stop him. I do try to help him. I really do." Cas sounds upset, as if he believes that he's not doing enough. And Dean disagrees.
"I knnooww… I… kn-knoww, Casss," Sam slurs. "'N-'n you ta…ke c-care, y-yeah? Youuur… wr-wrissts…"
"I'll be fine," Castiel mumbles, and Dean knows that he's lying too.
0
"Dean…" Sam's voice was gentle, grounding. Dean took a deep, shaky breath, fingers brushing against the leather on the seat. Sam squeezed Dean's ankle. "Hey, man, relax, yeah? You're going to be all right."
Dean nodded, and covered his eyes with a hand.
0
Eleven days before full moon, Sam voluntarily wants to go out of the bunker and wheel about for a while. Dean agrees, because he's afraid that Sam's getting depressed (and he probably is) and Dean wants to help and he can at least take Sam out for some fresh air.
Sam gets into fresh clothes and Dean helps settle him on the wheelchair before handing him his shoes. Sam pulls them on one-by-one, and he looks pale and tired, but also pleased at getting a chance to go out for a bit. His hands shake as he tries to hold on to the laces but his fingers keep slipping and letting go of them.
Sam has so many problems, it's difficult for Dean to remember which one is acting up, so he quietly goes forward and kneels next to Sam's wheelchair.
"No," Sam says weakly, hands trying to push at the wheels so he can move away.
"Sammy," Dean says gently, picking up the laces and looking at his brother. "It's okay. I've done it before, remember?"
It takes a couple of minutes, but Sam finally nods. He watches Dean start to knot the laces, before lowering his face to bury it in Dean's shoulder, not looking up even once as Dean finishes tying his shoelaces. And once Dean is done, he doesn't push Sam away, or get up. He places a hand on the back of Sam's neck, and continues to kneel silently. His chest feels heavy and he looks at Castiel helplessly as he brings up his other hand to put it on the back of Sam's head.
"Sammy?"
Sam nods into Dean's shoulder, looks up, and smiles. And it's not tired or faint. It's a big, honest-to-god, all-dimples, complete Sammy smile. Dean chuckles back at him. "You wanna leave sometime today, or—"
"Let's go, jerk," Sam says mildly as he bats Dean's hand away and starts to wheel himself out into the hallway.
0
"Dean?"
The rumbling of the car died suddenly, as tires squealed, and the car came to an abrupt halt. Dean lurched forward, sliding on the leather and barely holding on, as his nails scraped against the seat. He was covered in dried blood, his lower body caked in it. He took another breath, trying to pull in air, but his chest was hurting.
"Oh no… oh no…"
The door behind Dean's head opened with a creek and gentle hands were on his face.
"Dean… Dean…"
Dean wasn't sure who was holding his face and sobbing out his name like that. He thought it was Cas, but he wasn't able to be sure. His brain was numbing with the rest of his body.
Pins and needles… and no more pain.
0
Dean decides to drive Sam to a diner two hours away from the bunker. He and Sam had been there when Sam was thirteen, and Sam had loved their salads and shakes. He'd frequented the place for as long as they'd stayed in the area, and Dean had accompanied him because the cherry pies were to die for, too. And for months after, Sam had craved the salads but they'd never been able to go back. Even after settling at the bunker, the two-hour drive one-way had seemed like too much.
But it's different now. They're nine days away from full moon and Dean is still praying. And Sam is having one of his better days. His fever is down and he hasn't hacked his lungs up or been delirious, so Dean decides to take his brother out for a treat.
Sam's appetite has reduced considerably, but Dean hopes one of those salads will make him feel better. He knows that he technically shouldn't be exposing Sam to the public — probably shouldn't let Sam have raw vegetables either — but Sam is down most of the time now, and Dean wants to cheer him up.
Sam's lungs are getting shittier and he has horrible flank pain and several other problems from the kidney infection that's refusing to leave, and is slowly poisoning his body instead. The strong antibiotics make Sam's stomach weak. However, Dean hopes to pull this trip off without accident. So he adjusts Sam's cannula, assures him he has another cylinder filled and ready and loaded in the Impala, and he waits for Sam to change so they can leave.
Castiel is coming along too, of course, and he stands outside Sam's room with Dean, who glances at him, leans over, and kisses his lips. Castiel kisses him back, one hand cupping Dean's cheek, and running to his chin as they break apart. Dean can see the bruises on Cas's face, from hitting him the other day, and he feels guilty.
He takes Castiel's hands and then holds his wrists, moving his thumbs over the healing wounds. He doesn't know how to tell Castiel that he's there for him, or how much Cas means to him, or the fact that he can understand what Castiel feels. But he reassures Cas silently, in his own way. Because in ten days, it's not just Sam who's getting back hope. And Dean knows that the closer the destination is, the harder it is to wait and the easier it is to lose or fail. He knows Castiel is afraid of failing and he doesn't want Cas thinking that.
Once Sam is ready, they go to the diner, and all three of them enjoy their food, despite the disturbing thoughts in their head. Sam even keeps his food down and laughs some, and Cas holds Dean's hand beneath the table while they wait for their orders. The day is good. Sam's health forgives him for a few hours and lets him be happy. Dean thinks of how much better it's all going to get in just ten days, and he tries to believe that it won't go wrong this time.
0
"Dean, Dean please hold on."
Dean could hear… someone… pleading. He didn't know. Was it Sam?
His breaths hurt. He wasn't sure how to… how to… Cas? Sam? Who was that…?
There was a crackle, and something tickled his nose and mouth. Dean could barely feel it through the numbness, but he tried to breathe. He wasn't sure what this was, but Dean wanted to breathe and he couldn't.
"Here. Here."
What the fuck was happening? Dean couldn't breathe… couldn't breathe…
"Dean…" the familiar voice whispered, and two fingers touched Dean's forehead. Cas. Cas was healing him. Of course… Cas was an angel.
The fingers touched Dean's forehead again. And again. Where was Sam? What was Cas doing?
Dean was slipping into the beautiful sea of black again…
"No. No! Dean!"
Cas's voice.
Cas, I love you, man.
0
Sam stops eating, stops tolerating food, and Dean has to shove a tube down his nose to get the hospital-prescribed nutrition in his brother. And he has to 'shove' and not 'insert gently' because at the time when it becomes absolutely necessary to start Sam on tube feedings, Sam is having one of his episodes where he can't remember who the fuck he or Dean are, and he is getting restless.
Dean doesn't want to do this monstrous task, but he also knows that if Sam doesn't eat, all their hope and all their waiting will be for nothing. So he snatches on some gloves, squirts lignocaine jelly on the NG tube and pushes it down Sam's nose, all the while asking his brother to swallow.
Sam's sporting a fever since the morning and is delirious and confused from the combined effect of the temperature and his brain mets. And boy, doesn't it just make it all that much better for Dean.
Dean removes Sam's nasal prongs, knowing he has limited time to get this task done, but the moment a small length of the thin tube has entered Sam's nose and gone down, he gags and struggles against the intrusion, feebly trying to beat his arms and legs.
Dean just continues to push the tube. "Swallow, Sammy, swallow it."
"Nggghhhh," Sam grunts in response, retching hard enough that his eyes tear up. Castiel continues to hold him down from the other side, grasping his arms tightly. Then as Sam moves his legs up, Dean holds his knee over Sam's thighs and bends sideways at an awkward angle to continue to push the tube down.
Sam yells, tries to bat Cas away, and kicks his legs up, but Dean shoves more of the tube. "Swallow," he says, trying to sound calm.
Sam starts gagging. He retches and retches, enough for Dean to turn him on his side, even though he knows that Sam's stomach has nothing to give.
"Sammy," Dean soothes, placing a hand on Sam's back. "Calm down, man. You'll be fine." But Sam lets out a distressed, angry grunt, and retches some more without throwing up. Dean sighs and holds his brother like that, feeling more heaviness settle in his chest.
The moment Sam stops trying to puke up air, Dean turns him over, pushes the last of the tube in and goes for the empty syringe, listening with the stethoscope as he thrusts a puff of air into the tube opening. Then he secures the tube to Sam's nose and puts back the nasal prongs. Sam, who's already been breathless, gags once more and takes in a heaving breath.
When Dean and Cas let go of their hold on Sam, he reaches right up to pull out the tube but Dean is quicker, and he's holding Sam's hands away again. And then come the handcuffs, and by the time Dean is done, Sam's face is crumpling and he's gagging, mouth twisting in pain. Tears leak out of his eyes and slide down his temples.
"Hey," says Dean, placing a hand on his brother's chest, but Sam's face wilts some more as he turns away. So Dean seats himself on the bed and holds on to his brother's trembling shoulder, fighting the tears that threaten to fill up his eyes.
0
"I need an ambulance!"
Black faded away, but Dean tried to recognise the frantic voice close to him.
It was so vague… Dean couldn't open his eyes. And when the panicky voice began to say something else, Dean recognised the owner. Castiel.
Someone patted Dean's shin from the other side. "We're almost there, yeah?"
This was Sam. Right. Sam and Cas… Sam and Cas…
Where were they?
0
"I wanna talk to you."
It's two days before the full moon. Sam's having another good day, and Dean has never been so hopeful. He knows now, that they really can win, and he is glad that this time, it's not like the hinky stuff they always end up doing — that no one's going to pay for any of this in any way. And damn, it's never been this straight for them.
Dean sits himself on Sam's bed. His brother is reclining and drowsy. He's able to breathe okay with the BiPAP at night and cannula through the day, and Dean's been giving him regular tube feedings. Sam's kidneys are holding their own despite the infection. His BP is quite low, though, and he sleeps a lot. But apart from that, this is definitely a good day.
Sam smiles fondly up at Dean's face, and says two words. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For…" Sam sighs. "I never… Dean, I know I let you down—"
"Shut up," Dean snaps. "We've been through this, okay?"
"Dean, let me talk."
"No," says Dean, shifting closer to Sam. He pauses, watching Sam's sunken eyes, which are fixed on him. "Sam," he says again, "I've seen you fight fucking cancer in the last few months. I've seen unimaginable shit happen to you and you always stood up and you always came for the next chemo and you fought. And you know what, we kill all the supernatural crap on this planet because we can and we know about it — and most of it we can control, but with the cancer; what you're doing, what you've been doing…" he swallows around the lump in his throat.
"You handled it better than me and Cas put together, man, and we weren't even ones who were sick. And I knew — I always knew that you were a tough son of a bitch, but…" You're so much stronger than I thought, and I'm sorry I expected less of you. I'm so fucking proud of you. Thank you for sticking around just because I asked. I should have believed in you more than I did. I'm sorry. So sorry.
"…You're awesome," Dean manages to complete his sentence, at long last, and can barely get the words out anymore. Thank you, Sammy.
Sam snorts. "Of course I'm awesome, Dean," he mumbles, but his hand finds Dean's wrist and squeezes it as he shuts his eyes. "But I couldn't do it without someone watching my back." He squeezes Dean's wrist once more before drifting back to sleep.
0
"You're nearly there, now, Dean."
"Dean, hold on!"
0
Sam's kidneys get worse a day before the full moon. Dean doesn't notice this at first, but Sam doesn't pee through most of the day and he's not pissing much even when he does go to the bathroom that one time. That's when Dean realises that if they keep this going, Sam's kidneys are going to fail.
They don't have the equipment to handle this at the bunker, and Dean wants to rush Sam to the hospital, but Sam says it's not necessary. "It will be okay, Dean," he says tiredly as Dean sits next to Sam on his bed, worried out of his mind. "Kidneys don't just fail so easily."
And fuck, maybe they do fail easily sometimes, and what the hell does Sam know about this anyway?
"I'll be okay," Sam assures him, but Dean doesn't feel good about it. Sam shuts his eyes briefly. His BP is always dipping these days and Dean is doubly worried about that.
"Sam," he says, "I don't want to take chances with this. We're not doctors."
"I know," Sam says. "But I won't die on you like that, all right? Have some faith in me, man." And he gives a big, woobie smile to Dean, the dumbass that he is.
Dean moves a little on Sam's bed and lifts Sam's legs to put them on his lap, so they're elevated. Sam has pillows for that, but Dean needs this right now. He doesn't know why. He just needs it.
Sam opens his eyes. "Thanks," he whispers in relief.
Dean rubs the bottoms of Sam's feet. "Are you sure about this?" Because Dean isn't sure. He isn't sure at all. This could go wrong in so many ways, they shouldn't risk it. And Dean's big brother radar is going crazy right now.
Sam nods. "We're going to win."
Later that night, Dean's instincts are still prickling at him when he enters his room. He tries to ignore them, but he can't sleep. Castiel is there with him, in the room, and he watches silently as Dean downs beer and whiskey and develops a bad enough headache to throw any hope of catching some sleep out of the window. Cas is awake with him the whole time.
Dean checks on Sam, and Sam's alive and breathing, but Dean hates the feeling in his gut. But Sam was mostly awake and functioning and he said no hospital, and there's less than twenty-four hours for Cas to get his grace back, although Dean really doesn't know what to do.
Finally, helpless, Dean crawls into bed near dawn, where Cas is rested against the headboard. And he buries his face into Cas's lap, letting two tears trickle out of his eyes.
0
"Dean, Dean, please…"
Someone was sobbing. Well, it sounded like that. Dean didn't know what was going on.
"It's going to be okay. The ambulance is coming. I'll help you, Dean, please…"
Dean realised, belatedly, that the sobs were issuing from him. His face was resting on a familiar shoulder and arms were holding him close. And Dean tried to breathe, he really did, but all that came out was another sob, like something ripping out of his chest.
And through all the commotion, through all the pain, Dean heard Sam too.
"You're almost there, Dean."
0
Sam's fever rises with the sun on the day that he is going to be saved. He is very visibly uncomfortable, letting out short, shallow pants of breaths, sweat pouring down his face even though that doesn't mean that his fever is breaking. Dean attaches Sam back on the BiPAP to help him breathe, and wipes him down with a washcloth before injecting anti-pyretics with Sam's drip. Sam is barely conscious at that point, and he doesn't really respond to Dean before drifting asleep. When Dean checks his BP, it's sixty over forty.
Dean elevates Sam's legs, wipes him down some more, and hopes for Sam to wake the fuck back up. Castiel is by Dean's side and when Sam's fever lessens an hour later, Dean relaxes for a moment, just for a moment, and shuts his eyes, the moment stretching to minutes as Dean falls asleep.
It's a vivid flurry of colours behind his eyelids. Dean is floating, watching different worlds. He doesn't know where he is, or what he is doing. That is, until there's a voice in his ear.
Dean.
Dean smells lavender and baby powder. And he knows the voice. It's his mother.
A hand cups his cheek. You've been great, Mary says quietly, and Dean can't see her, but he knows she's there. A moment later, gentle lips press against Dean's temple. It's time, to let Sammy sleep, sweetheart. Say goodnight to your brother. And just like that, Dean can't smell the lavender anymore.
He opens his eyes abruptly, blinking away the last of the bizarre dream, his heart thumping fast as he looks at Sam lying on the bed before him. Sam is still sweating, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with the humming of the BiPAP, and Castiel is nowhere to be seen.
Dean sighs. It was a dream. A stupid, fucking dream. He leans forward and puts a hand on Sam's forehead when Sam coughs.
"Hey," Dean soothes him, laying a hand on Sam's chest. Sam coughs again.
"Sammy," Dean murmurs, as Sam coughs a few more times. Dean sighs. The coughing is starting to get bad again. Sam is going to need something for it.
Dean gets up and heads to the drawer where he keeps the meds. Sam lets out a heaving breath and breaks into a coughing fit. Dean opens the drawer, grabs a morphine ampoule and a syringe but when he gets back, he notices the fine red spray on Sam's BiPAP mask.
"CAS!" Dean takes two more ampoules from the drawer, along with the morphine, before rushing back to the bed.
He sits Sam up, just as his brother's eyes open slightly. Dean holds his shoulders, and Sam raises a trembling hand to signal that he wants his mask off. He coughs more, dots of red flying out of his mouth and coating his lips and chin.
"The BiPAP will help you," Dean tells Sam. "Keep it — k-keep it on." Sam coughs again and Dean reaches for the medicines. "I'll give you a little something for the cough and the bleeding. Try to relax, huh?" Dean breaks the tops off the ampoules with three little pops and begins loading syringes, one-by-one.
"Dean."
Castiel's quick footsteps make themselves known and Dean injects the ethamsylate and tranexamic acid. "He needs the hospital," Dean says urgently. He pushes in low-dose morphine next.
"Okay," Cas replies, without questioning. "Okay—"
"You start the car," Dean tells him, as Sam sags a little with the morphine. "I'll get Sam."
"Dean—"
"Just do it, Cas!"
Castiel leaves. Dean starts to collect Sam's blankets, but a hand on his wrist makes him stop. He turns to Sam, who's leaning against the headboard, eyes half-mast as the coughs taper off.
"Sam, we need to get you to the hospital," Dean tells him gently, trying to swallow around the tightness in his throat. He knows that Sam doesn't want to go back to there, but tonight Cas will get some of his grace back, and Sam can't die before that. He just can't.
Sam tugs at Dean and stops coughing at long last, his face pale and dribbling trails of sweat. He reaches his other hand to pull off the BiPAP mask, but Dean stops him.
"Sammy what is it? Keep the mask on, man."
Sam struggles with Dean's hold, trying to get the mask off, and Dean wonders for a moment if Sam's having one of his spells where he can't remember. However, Sam meets tired eyes with Dean, and Dean realises that he really just wants the mask off.
"Okay," Dean says, lifting a hand. The thing covers most of Sam's face, with an outlet for the NG tube. "Okay," Dean repeats, "but we're putting that back on in the next few seconds and scooting to the hospital, yeah? It's just a few more hours." He takes off the red-stained mask. "They'll help you for a while and Cas will heal you and—"
Sam interrupts Dean mid-sentence by folding forward and dropping his forehead on Dean's shoulder, turning his face to the crook of Dean's neck and taking shallow, panting gasps. The hand on Dean's wrist is still there, and Dean feels a feeble squeeze before Sam suddenly stops panting, and takes a heaving breath.
"Sammy?" The hairs on the back of Dean's neck prickle.
Sam doesn't respond, but he takes another laboured breath before suddenly going limp. Dean wraps an arm around him, waiting for another breath to come. "Feeling better? We'll get you back on the BiPAP in a moment, yeah?" he says, realising that Sam has stopped trembling. He rubs Sam's back.
There is no response.
"Sammy?"
Sam doesn't reply. He doesn't take another breath either.
"Sam?!" Dean calls, panicked, pulling his brother off him, and something churns in his stomach when Sam sags forward like a rag doll. That's when Dean notices that Sam's arms are glowing — like they did after each Trial. And Dean knows then, somehow… but no… no… this can't be…
"SAM!"
Dean presses a hand to Sam's carotid — please, please, please… but there's nothing… there's no… fuck.
Dean pushes Sam down on his back and straddles him, placing his palms on Sam's chest and starts compressions. The BiPAP is still humming loudly in the background as Dean finishes thirty compressions and grabs the mask to place it roughly to Sam's nose and mouth.
Sam's chest rises from the air pushed into his lungs but when Dean tests his carotid again, there's still nothing.
"Sam, Sammy, no, man," he begs as he starts another round of compressions, pausing to give Sam two breaths. He does more compressions, gives more breaths, and Dean doesn't get the pulse but he goes on, until there are racing footsteps down the hall.
"Dean, I was waiting in the car — Dean?!"
Dean turns to Cas as he continues the compressions, "Cas, his h-heart…" he says, voice catching in his throat. " His heart st-stopped, I have t-to—"
Castiel comes forward and places the mask in time for two breaths before Dean starts compressing. He repeats the cycle again. And he does it again, and again and again, until there is a hand on Dean's shoulders.
"Dean…"
"No!"
"Dean, he's—"
"He's not dead!" Dean roars, and tears are streaming down his cheeks when Castiel cups his face with one hand and removes Dean's hands off Sam's chest with the other.
"H-He's not d-dead, Cas," Dean says, his voice barely audible. He collapses down to his haunches and gives in to Castiel, who moves forward to wrap Dean in a hug.
Cas doesn't say anything. He takes a sniffling breath and Dean feels himself being held tighter. He whispers the same mantra under his breath, breathing in the scent of Cas, but unable to process any of it.
"No… no… he's not dead… please…"
Dean wants to push Cas away and run. He wants to punch something, wants to scream until his chest seizes up, but he curls himself against Castiel, trying to bury himself in and disappear, trying to wake himself up from this nightmare, sobbing.
At that moment, Dean just wants to die.
0
Dean's vision was shot to hell, and he had no idea what was going on. Someone was holding him — just like Cas had when Sam had… Sam had…
"S'm?"
Sam didn't reply to Dean. And of course… Dean should have realised that Sam wouldn't come back… no… what was happening?
Someone was sniffling heavily. Dean's cheeks were wet. A thick voice was begging Dean for… something. Dean didn't get what was going on. What was really going on?
0
Dean doesn't eat. The thought of food makes him feel sick; and he refuses to eat when Cas pleads him to. Of course, Cas doesn't eat either. He just watches Dean silently, follows him around, and when Dean snaps at him to leave him the fuck alone, obeys.
Later, when Dean has downed one of his many glasses of whiskey, Castiel comes around and sits next to him. "Dean… I might be able to resurrect Sam… with my grace."
"Good." Dean stands up.
"Dean—"
Dean ignores him, and goes and locks himself in his room. He looks around, takes a deep breath, and makes a decision. When Cas brings Sam back to life tonight, Dean is going to take the rest of Sam's illness for himself. He doesn't care whose wishes he goes against and who he upsets. He is going to do this, and no one will stop him this time.
~o~
"Dean."
Dean blinked. He wasn't in his car anymore. He was not with Cas. He wasn't being held or coddled, and the terrible sobbing sounds from before were gone. And all around him was black. Unending, soothing black.
When Dean blinked again, Sam stepped forward from the sea of black, hands in his pockets and one side of his mouth curved in a smile. "Hey."
Sam wasn't glowing or illuminated, and yet, Dean could see him clearly, despite all the blackness around. And Dean felt light. Weightless. He continued to look at Sam, drinking in Sam's regained musculature and long hair, and Dean wondered how long it had been since he'd seen Sam like this — like Sam — truly Sam: happy and carefree.
Dean finally found his voice. "Hey yourself, bitch."
Sam's smile vanished, and he looked down. "You're pissed at me."
And Dean wanted to say that yes, he was goddamned pissed — but not at Sam — just the way their lives were. However, he stopped himself. This was not the moment.
Dean took a deep breath. "So," he said, "what is this place? And if you say I'm 'almost there'…"
"Almost where?" Sam asked Dean, an eyebrow raised.
Dean sighed. "Oh, you kidding me? That wasn't you?"
Sam was still confused for a moment, but then his expression changed, and he shrugged. "I don't think we'll ever know."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Sam looked back up at Dean and locked gazes with him as he spread his arms wide, gesturing to the unending weightlessness around him. "You're here now, Dean. So if here is what 'there' was…"
Typical of Sam to be so confusing. Dean decided to stop thinking about this matter. There was no use asking Sam about it, and yeah… maybe he'd find out sometime, or maybe he'd never know. But the pressing matter wasn't that.
Dean took a deep breath. "So I'm dead. Jeez, I died because of that stupid ghost?"
Sam smiled and stretched an arm towards Dean. "You died because of a ghost and I died from cancer. It wasn't what either of us expected. You coming or not?"
"What about Cas?" Dean asked, remembering Castiel holding him just a while ago. That was definitely Cas, and God… he'd sounded so devastated. Dean felt sadness rise in him. "Cas is gonna be alone?"
"Not for long," Sam replied. "You know that. Soon as he gets his grace, he can pop in to see us."
"A month, Sam," Dean said quietly. "At least. Shit…"
"Hey…" Sam's hand was on Dean's shoulder. "You can't look out for everyone, Dean."
Dean licked his lips, refusing to meet eyes with his brother. "I know that," he said, "but if I couldn't help you, I should have at least helped Cas…"
He remembered Castiel again, lying in his room with his wrists slashed, and Dean had tried so hard after that, to remind Cas that he was not alone, but fuck, here Dean was, in some weird-ass world, having a chat with Sam, and Cas…
Dean remembered the pained sobs from before. "Cas is not okay, Sam," he said, blinking back the stinging in his eyes as he looked up at his little brother.
"But we'll look over him, yeah?" Sam replied.
"Is that even a thing?"
"You bet it is!"
Dean nodded. "Okay." He swallowed. "And Sammy…" he looked into his brother's eyes, "sorry."
"For what?" Sam asked him, eyes growing wide. "You did all you could, Dean, it's not—"
"I should have taken you to the hospital sooner," Dean whispered. "Shouldn't have taken you off the BiPAP. When your kidneys started being weird…"
"It's not your fault, Dean," Sam replied calmly.
"Easy for you to say," Dean replied.
Sam shook his head. "What you did for me… all those days…" he bit at his lip. "Thanks."
Dean nodded, still not convinced, but Sam's mouth curved wide in a smile again, and he couldn't help but smile back at his brother.
"Okay," Sam said, "now that we're done with that part of our talk…" He beckoned to Dean. "Come on. I've been waiting for you."
"Missed me already, huh?" Dean said, moving forward to join his brother. They started walking ahead, and though Dean couldn't see anything but Sam, he trusted his feet (and his brother) to take him to the right place.
"I wasn't missing you," Sam retorted with a huff.
"Oh, you're a big, fat liar, Sammy."
"You're a sentimental idiot."
"You're… sentimental. And a dork."
"…Jerky jerk."
"Bitchy bitch."
|| End of Part Four||
A/N: Reviews? :D
Guest Review response:
addictsam: Sorry about your tears! D: *hugs* Thank you!
Apalala: Thank YOU for staying with me! Glad you liked it. :)
Other notes:
During the course of writing this, I came across two stories: both which are about Sam having cancer, and both of them have moved me. One is 'Fade' by Menthol Pixie, which made me want to stop writing this, because I've never seen perfection like that. Another is 'The Fault in Our Cells' by SPNxBookworm, which I'm lucky enough to be beta-ing right now! You guys should check those out, if you haven't already!
Another thing — that scene where Sam hands Dean a pamphlet about anxiety and depression: I forgot to mention this, but the words on the pamphlet aren't my own. I'd seen them somewhere before, and I realised after I'd written and posted them that they'd been stowed away in my brain from somewhere else. Gah. Anyway, can't change them. Or even if I do, most people have already read it. :/
Okay, for the serious stuff. These are things that you might be wondering about my views on, and here are some of my thoughts. If you have any more questions after reading these, let me know via reviews or PM! Also, any specific kinds of stories you'd like to see from me.
Moving on-
Firstly — what is Sam? Honestly? I don't know either. This was based off a dream, and I was Cas, so I really didn't know what exactly was going on. But I thought the vagueness would make it better, instead of mulling it over in my head and figuring it out. I trust you guys with your imagination and intelligence, and please do tell me what you thought of what Sam was. Was he a ghost? A hallucination? A reaper? ;) I would also think that since Sam's been psychic and everything — and those powers don't just go away, maybe he was unconsciously harnessing something. Or maybe Dean was just missing him that much. Brotherly connection?
What killed Sam? It was a pulmonary embolism. There's actually nothing Dean could have done to prevent his death. Even the hospital could have done nothing, because it was really very sudden.
Sam dying. Now, I know some of you might not have wanted that, while others might have been okay with it. The reason I decided to bring this to his death is that cancer is a horrible, horrible disease. It seemed unfair to me to bring him back with a spell, or something else in just a moment, when in truth, people die of this every day after suffering for months and months, and there's no magical cure for it. Also, going in deeper, I troubled him enough and at this moment, bringing him back, only to fight some more, lose some more, really didn't make sense. You can counter this by saying that in this world of despair, Sam did have hope from their supernatural knowledge, and that in their bleak lives, this would have been a silver lining, but again, this is just the way I wanted to end the story.
Dean dying. Do you need a reason? :) I was just… they've all been through too much. Plus, Dean would have either brought Sam back, or followed. It didn't seem like he'd have wanted to stay.
That brings me to Cas. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten him! That's what the epilogue is for. ;) Again, in the epilogue, you'll find that several things are left open to interpretation. I will also explain Castiel's situation, and what actually happened (briefly) on that night, from his PoV.
Where are Sam and Dean? I'm not quite sure if in the show canon they share a heaven or not because it was pretty ambiguous to me. They were together but they had different memories, and Dean had to look for Sam too. So that too is open for imagination. They could be going to find Heaven together, or maybe they're just enjoying a brief meet-up before going to their respective heavens. :) Let me know what you think again? :D
And… that's it for now! I'd love to know what you think! Sorry for all the rambles and the lateness!
Thank you!