A/N: So I wasn't going to continue this story but enough reviews commenting on wanting to know what happens next sort of made me think about it. The main reason I never wanted to write another chapter is because I wasn't sure which way I wanted to go. I didn't want to go some cliched, happy ending route because that would almost undervalue the emotion I was going for in the first part. Ultimately I couldn't decide. So I offer two possible endings. This is the first one, and this is the one that is hardcore character death. I think it ends a little abruptly, mostly because I didn't even want to get into where it would go from here. So you are warned.
Paid in Full
Dean stared at the wall. He stared at it until he couldn't see it, until it became blankness, until he became numb.
He wasn't surprised.
Terrified, broken, grieved, angry. But not surprised.
He didn't even have to speculate what happened. He didn't even try to convince himself that some evil had sneaked in that night in his absence. Because Dean knew. Dean had always known.
He had tried to mingle with the locals, trying to find a good time for the night, possibly sniff out a scheme to earn some extra cash while he and Sam were between jobs. Sam never wanted to come, so he had stopped asking. He figured his baby brother needed some alone time. After all, Sam had always been the silent moody type, even when they were kids.
The night had been unsuccessful and boring. This small town was typical of many, and they had poorly timed their stop. Wednesday nights apparently didn't bring out the party-animals in Redding, Alabama.
He had come back to the motel early, picking up some fast food to try to get Sam to eat. He rarely saw his brother eat, but even Sam could not resist grease and fat.
The minute he opened the door, he saw the blood, and he knew.
He moved without his own knowledge. He could not feel his legs as they moved closer to the bed. He felt himself wretch as he stood over the bed, taking in the gore.
He tripped over himself as he ran for the trashcan in the corner. He emptied the Whopper he had eaten in the car promptly into the plastic bin. When the heaving stopped, he slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall, panting in the corner. From his vantage point, he could see part of Sam's unmoving body, but the blood was obscured.
His eyes traveled from his brother's body to the wall, where he stared, searching for answers, for reasons. It offered nothing.
He already knew the answers, the reasons. He had known the cost all along.
He had known it when Sam was little and wanted to play sports instead of hunting. He had known it when Sam preferred reading to self-defense techniques. He had known it when Sam fought with his father time and time again. He had known it when Sam left for Stanford. He had known it when Dad disappeared and he turned to Sam for help. He had known it when Jessica died and Dean never made him talk about it. He had known it when Sam's eyes pleaded for discussion and Dean opted for crude jokes.
He had known it and never done anything about it. He had known it and been too scared to face it.
Dean could see the gun, lying next to Sam's body. It seemed appropriate to Dean; Sam had killed himself with the weapon his father had given him to defend himself.
A sudden, violent sob shook him, and he could not hold back the emotions. For all the ways he had endeavored to save Sam's life, he had neglected the one way that mattered most.
And he had paid the ultimate cost.