We've finally, FINALLY finished. I can't believe it! Thanks so much for sticking with us through eight long months, guys! Ending it is actually making me kind of sad, but I'm excited to be starting work on the sequel. You can check the end of the story for more info on that.
By the time they get back to Palo Alto, it's nearly 3am and the only light on in Sam's apartment complex is the one in his and Jessica's bathroom window.
"Looks like Jess is still up," Dean observes, putting the car in park.
Sam grimaces.
"Man, she's gonna kill me," he groans. "I just ran out on her. I didn't even have my phone on me."
"Well, she's pretty cool so—" Dean begins.
"And I kicked in the bathroom door," Sam adds with a wince.
Dean laughs.
"Well, there goes the security deposit."
"Ha ha," Sam says dryly, climbing out of the car. "That's your money now, too, you know."
Dean waves a hand dismissively, striding past his brother and up the stairs.
"Dude, I don't need your charity. I'll chip in for my share."
"You mean Johnny Cash or whoever you're impersonating this week will chip in," Sam says, bustling up the stairs behind him.
"Hector Aframian," Dean corrects him, turning to wait on the landing. "Johnny Cash? Really?"
Sam just rolls his eyes, fitting the key into the door.
"Well, 'Hector Aframian' should really compensate me for the security deposit anyway. Pain and suffering."
"Dream on," Dean says and makes a mental note to actually buy Sam a Christmas gift this year - something expensive and girly.
Jess can't be too pissed, Dean thinks as the door swings open. The smell of freshly baked cookies is all over the place.
Sure enough, there's a plate of them waiting on the counter, topped with a pretty little notecard. Dean picks it up. It says "Dickheads," in girly handwriting.
Dean grins and flicks it at Sam, stuffing a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth whole.
"Better go face the music, bucko," he says cheerfully, ignoring the fact that, apparently, he's in the doghouse too.
Sam makes a face at him, and Dean cracks an imaginary whip, spewing crumbs as he attempts to make the sound effects.
"I really can't believe I'm related to this," Sam sighs, shaking his head solemnly.
"Shut up, bitch, you know you love me," Dean smirks.
Sam just flashes him a quick, genuine grin before heading into the bedroom.
Dean leans back on the counter, taking another cookie. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and lets out a breath that he feels like he's been holding for four long years.
He breathes in again and freezes, eyes snapping open.
There's a smell hanging in the air underneath the scent of the cookies, a strange foul odor, and suddenly, his hunter instincts are going haywire. He's already running toward the bedroom when he hears Sam cry out, smells the sudden roll of smoke, feels a wave of heat pulsing against his body, and oh God, no.
He bursts into the bedroom, heart pounding.
Jess is on the ceiling.
She's on the ceiling and she's on fire, her stomach sliced open, face frozen in wide-eyed horror.
"Jess! No! Jess!" Sam is shouting, lying on his back with his hands raised toward her like he could somehow still reach her in time, like he'd still be able save her if he could.
Dean doesn't think. He's across the room in an instant, hauling Sam up by his underarms and dragging him away from the column of flames that bursts down from the ceiling, consuming the bed and Jess' paintings and all of her plants in an instant, turning Sam's law books to ash.
Sam's fighting him, crazy with shock and grief, still screaming Jess' name even as Dean drags him out of the apartment and into the stairwell. Dean has no idea where he gets the strength, but he tightens his arms around Sam's torso and, hauling all 190 pounds of his brother up off the ground, does exactly what he did that night twenty-two years ago.
He carries his brother out of the fire.
Dean manages to get Sam out the front door and halfway across the lawn before they collapse. Sam's still wailing, but now he's just saying "Dean! Dean!" over and over again, like some part of him still thinks his big brother can make it all better. And Dean can't do anything but hold onto Sam as tight as he can. He palms at the tears on his brother's face, pushes a hand through his hair, says "It's okay, Sammy, it's okay," and it's such a goddamn lie.
It always is.
The blaze is still going strong, the lights from the fire trucks glancing off the sleek black surface of the Impala. The sounds of sirens wailing and firemen shouting fill the air, but Sam and Dean stand silently together in shadows, away from the crowd of shaken tenants in pajamas and slippers and curious onlookers gaping shamelessly at the destruction. A few yards away, the paramedics are trying to calm an older woman who's weeping hysterically about her cat while they give oxygen to her blank faced husband.
They want to check Sam and Dean out too, but Dean chases them off and then assures a cop with pitying eyes that Sam will answer all of his questions when he's ready before returning to his brother's side.
Sam won't look at him. He stands with his back to the smoldering building and his head bent toward the open trunk of the Impala, tears dribbling onto the weapons inside as he sorts through them with a restless energy, like he needs to feel like he's doing something. Sobs rattle in his chest, but his jaw is clenched tight against them, shoulders ramrod straight.
Dean touches his elbow lightly, and Sam finally turns to meet his gaze. Dean feels it like a punch in the gut. Sam's eyes look like Dad's did the night Mom burned. Like something's died inside of him. Like he's been hollowed out.
All of that hope Dean had seen reflected back at him just hours ago is gone now, the dream of building a home together so far off it might as well have never existed at all.
It's never going to happen.
Dean knows that, without having to hear a word. It's gone, burnt right down to ash and cinders. End of story. Dean should've known, should never have believed it for a second. Nothing good ever happens to the Winchesters. No matter what they do, no matter what they try to change, it always ends in flames.
Finally, Sam speaks, his voice hushed and raw with an undercurrent of steel.
He says, "We've got work to do."
The End
Thanks for reading everyone! If you go to my livejournal (username: diana_lucifera), you will find story notes with pictures of the story's real life settings, Sam's scar, and other interesting tidbits. Sorry I would like to include the link, but the site won't allow it. I've put it up in my author profile, though.
As for the sequel, we'll be taking two weeks off to recoup, since publishing a chapter every week has essentially been the writing equivalent of running a marathon, and we're EXHAUSTED. We want to pick back up with a couple of one-shots set during season one before starting on the second chaptered fic. (Not sure about the one shots, but the second fic will be updating every week like "Brother's Blood" did.)
The sequel fic will be called "Father's Gun" and will pick up from the end of Shadows. The plot will largely focus on the relationship between Sam, Dean, and John and the hunt for the yellow eyed demon, which will take a VERY different turn due to the events of "Brother's Blood." The rating will be bumped up to M, and yes, the pairing will be Wincest. ;)
EDIT: Sequel is now being posted!