An End
(or maybe just another beginning)

Dean read the newspaper with one eye on the paper, scanning the story of the upcoming trial of a twice-convicted sex offender, and the other on his cell phone, sitting on the TV. Every time it buzzed, interacting with the signals of the satellite, his head shot up, and then fell as he realized the phone wasn't ringing. It had been three days since he had seen Layla, three days since they last had any communication. Normally, this would have not bothered him. He would have been thankful, in fact. He didn't like having all the girls whom he only intended to have one-night stands with calling him because all they did was bitch and be all emotional when they knew from the get-go what Dean was asking for. Layla was different in that regard. With work, they didn't get to see each other every day like they had in the summer, but he talked to her at least once a day usually on accident. Neither of them expected each other to call but both ended up doing so, just to have someone to complain to.

The three-day period was beginning to gnaw at him, making him both worried and anxious. He didn't know why she hadn't called him. If she was sick or had to go away for treatment, she would have called him already, he knew, and every time he called her motel room, the phone just kept ringing like no one was home, or maybe just no one was answering, which occurred to Dean when he had drove to work one day and took the long way around town to pass her motel room. Her car was outside the room and the garbage had piled up outside, inferring she was still there and had been for quite some time without going out.

Dean was pissed off and confused to why she was ignoring him. He didn't get a fight with her. The only thing different to their relationship was that he slept with her and now she was ignoring him. If that was the reason, he found it very stupid and childish, and if she was overreacting over something that she instigated, it was best that she avoid him and that their relationship fall apart because he couldn't deal with immaturity any longer. But he didn't think it was the reason and she meant too much to him to break it off with no good stab at reconciliation. Sighing, Dean crumpled up the newspaper and stood up, walking over to the TV to pick up his phone. He dialed the number for the motel and then got switched over to Layla's room. The phone rang and rang, and Dean hit the end call button.

"Still haven't gotten through to her?"

Dean looked over at Sam who was standing in the doorway, trying to slide on his sneakers without untying them. " How do you know about that?"

Sam smiled, bending down to start unknotting his shoelaces. " You always have your cell phone next to you and every time I use the internet, you get…I don't know…agitated?"

"You're on for most of the day."

"Just researching which law school will most likely accept me."

Dean nodded. " I'll begin working on your financial aid papers when you pick."

"You don't have to…" Sam told him.

Dean just shrugged, turning away from Sam to look out the window. "It's fine."

Sam stared at his brother's pensive expression. " You should go see her."

"Why? She deserves her space if she needs to think things through."

Sam sighed, aggravated. " Just do it, alright?"

Dean turned to face Sam who had since got on his shoes and was putting on his coat. " A hunch?"

"Something like that," Sam said. Dean noticed his brother's eyes were adverted, not looking at him but at the door. "You'll regret it, I think, if you don't." Dean nodded, accepting his brother's advice and Sam escaped out the front door. Dean watched him get into the car and peel out of the driveway. Sam's aversion to him was slowly grating on his nerves, making him more and more curious to what his brother was hiding, and Dean went into his room to get the keys to the Impala.


She sat in the plastic chair, arms crossed, her blonde bangs hanging in her angry eyes. She looked so different from the jubilant energetic girl Sam had seen in his dream and the sickly women he had rescued. He took the seat next to her.

"Feeling better?" he asked her.

"You're late."

"I'm sorry if I held you up," Sam apologized.

She chuckled sardonically. " You would have if they freakin' did anything on time around here."

"Police never are. Always too early or too late."

" Which way do you prefer it?"

He turned to look at her. She was looking straight ahead, seeming to not pay any attention to him, but he could see how her eyeball would flicker for a second to read him and see his reaction. "Late."

"So are you a bad boy?" She finally turned to look at him, a coy smile on her lips.

"I don't think I am."

"Then why did you break into my apartment?" she asked innocently.

Sam growled. " I already told you. I was saving you life. I…"

She interrupted him. " I was referring to how you knew I needed saving."

" I told you I saw it outside…"

"You were looking through my window, watching me. A little voyagerish', don't ya think?"

"Whatever." Sam knew his remark was childish but he didn't know what else to say. He was embarrassed about being essentially caught. "Do you have the story down?" He asked, lowering his voice, being cautious of the receptionist.

"Yeah. No worries." She took a quick glance at her watch. " Hopefully they'll call us soon."

"Why? Do you have class later?"

She nodded. " Fashion Design then Calculus 4."

The calculus 4 made up for the image that went through Sam's brain at hearing that she took Fashion Design. It showed she had some brains and wasn't a ditzy airhead.

"What year are you?"

"Sophomore…Say, why are you asking so much about me?"

Sam rolled his eyes. " I just asked what classes you had and what year you are. It's called friendly conversation."

"It just seems very stalker-like to me."

Sam sighed. " I'm not your ex-boyfriend."

"No. You're taller then him."

She smirked at his exasperated expression.


The motel's parking lot had only two cars in it, the receptionists and a Honda he didn't recognize. Layla's car was nowhere in sight. Dean parked the car behind the other row of motel rooms and stepped out, walking quickly to Layla's room. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and began picking the lock. He was thankful that the motel was cheap and hadn't upgraded to swiping cards. Shouldering the door, he pushed his way in and locked the door behind him, turning on the lamp in the corner.

The room didn't look much different except that the beds were made and the clothing was piled and folded in the open suitcase. The remotes sat upon the TV and when Dean peaked into the bathroom, there were full bottles of fruity sample bottles of shampoo and conditioner and a freshly wrapped bar of soap. Dean concluded Layla had left at least a day ago and planned on returning since all her belongings were still in the room.

He heard a click and he spun around to watch the button on the doorknob pop out to unlocked. He didn't have enough time to hide and an older woman walked into the room. Dean recognized her as Layla's mother. Dread filled his stomach, not only having to face a woman who despised him, but also at the absurdity of meeting her there. Something had to be wrong for her to be visiting.

"How'd you get in here?" she spat out, key dangling from her hip where her hands were placed.

Dean considered his options for the answer" Picked the lock." He smiled wolfishly at her, deciding that if she wasn't going to be polite to him, he didn't have to bother being so.

"I can call the police on you."

Dean shrugged. " Do it. I'll be out of here before they get here."

She stared at him, thinking about something, and she walked over to the corner and squatted, pushing down the top of Layla's suitcase.

"Where is she?" Dean asked.

She didn't answer him or look at him. She continued patting the clothes, trying to get them far enough down so she could latch the suitcase.

"She isn't answering my calls. Is something wrong with her?" Dean tried again.

She latched both of the locks, and she picked up the suitcase, prepared to leave. Dean stepped in front of the door.

"Please just tell me."

Her eyes narrowed, mouth wrinkled into a frown. "Why can't you just leave my family alone?" she told him, stepping around him. Dean backed up, doorknob digging into his spine.

" Just tell me if she's okay," Dean said.

"How can she be okay when you killed her?"

Her angry tone made him confused and he wondered with despair if she had died and that was why she wasn't responding to his calls. He would refuse to believe it until she told him otherwise. "Are you referring to that preacher dude' because seriously, I am sorry he picked me over her and…"

"No. I wasn't," she interrupted.

Dean swallowed hard. " Is she…dead?"

The expression on her face was flabbergasted and offended, and Dean felt relief.

"Just about. She wouldn't be lying in the hospital, fighting for breath, if not for you. You and your…"

Dean interrupted her. " She's alive?" He couldn't hide his smile. "What hospital?"

"It's none of your business. I don't want her seeing you."

"So you're going to allow your daughter to die without seeing her boyfriend and best friend?"

Layla's mothers' expression fell and Dean saw that his words had gotten to her. He continued. " It's not your choice to who your daughter chooses to spend her last moments with."

Layla's mother took a deep breath before finally answering. " Lawrence Memorial."

"Thanks," Dean stepped out from the door and opened it for her. " Ladies first," he said in his most charming voice.

She glared at him, and Dean followed her out, shutting the door behind him.


Sam jerked the steering wheel to the left, just barely making the turn, and he maneuvered the car out into the right lane before the car in the other lane collided with them.

"You're a horrible driver," his passenger commented, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Next time, don't tell me where your turn is when I already passed it," Sam responded, taking another turn.

"Well, sorry that I don't know my way around this town so well," she huffed. "You live here. You should have known."

"I just moved here too, Kari!"

She just shrugged. Sam noticed she didn't even try to make amends with him. He found that rude but he didn't expect anything but that from a 19-year old girl.

His phone rang and keeping one eye on the road, he leaned down to snatch it off the floor of the car. He flipped open the lid, sitting back straight-up, and got back in his own lane. " Hello."

"It's Dean."

Sam clutched the cell phone a bit tighter. He already knew what Dean was calling about. He tried to keep his voice level. " What's going on?"

"Layla's sick. I'm on my way to the hospital right now."

"Do you want me to…"

"No." Sam heard fuzz on the line as Dean exhaled. " I need to do this myself."

"You sure? I can be there in the hour." He could see Kari out of the corner of her eye, rummaging through her school bag, appearing to be looking for a textbook. She was pretending to be uninterested in his conversation but he knew she was listening, appraising it.

"You don't know even what hospital I am going to."

"True." The traffic light in front of them was on yellow and Sam stopped the car at the intersection, allowing it to turn red.

"I'll be fine, Sam. She's fine. She isn't going to die on me, if that's what you are worried about."

Both of the boys knew that wasn't true but neither was brave enough to admit that. Sam conceded. " Alright. Do you want me to tell Dad when I get home?"

"That would be helpful. I don't know how long I am going to be and I have work tonight."

"Okay. Good luck."

"Why do I need luck?" Dean asked, sounding confused. Sam didn't know if it was real or said that way on purpose.

"You already know," Sam said. " Bye." He hit the end-call button and set the phone on the floor.

"What was your brother calling you about?" Kari asked.

He had forgotten she was in the car. " It's none of your concern."

"It's bothering you."

That was fairly perceptive of her. It annoyed him instantly. " And why does that involve you?"

"I'm in the car with you. You're driving. I don't want to die."

Sam cracked a smile. " What he had to say does not affect my driving."

"And what did he have to say?"

"You don't give up, do you?" Sam pulled the car into the college's main gates. " Which way?"

"Right then up," she told him. " And no, I don't give up."

For some reason, Sam felt like telling her. He didn't know why. She didn't know him or his family nor was she trustworthy but he had a burning desire to tell someone the secret that had been consuming him for the past week. " My brother's girlfriend has had a brain tumor. She is going to be dying within the day."

She looked so troubled and saddened by his words. It was too powerful looking to be fake empathy. " I'm so sorry for your brother."

"Why? You don't know him." Sam pulled up in front of Freemont Hall, the site of her classes.

She stepped out of the car, heaving her bulging backpack out of the space between the seat and the dashboard. " No, I don't, but it still sucks," she smiled at him. " Thanks for the ride."

" You're welcome." He watched her climb the steps, fingers brushing against the banister as she walked carefully in her heels. When she reached the doors of the building, he pulled off the shoulder of the road and began driving back to his house.


She was on oxygen, IV sticking out of her arm, thumb nestled in a clamp that measured her heart beat and blood pressure. The blankets were tight against her, still tucked into the corners of the bed, the color almost the same as her pale features.

Dean was tired of feeling like an idiot, standing outside her door, afraid to go in, and he took a deep breath before opening the door to her room. Her eyes immediately sprung open at the interruption of the near silence.

"Dean."

He smiled. " Hey." She scooted over on the bed so there was room for him to sit. " How are you feeling?"

"I've been better."

A strand of hair was sticking to her gleaming cheek and Dean reached up to pull it off her. " Do you have a fever?"

She nodded. That explained the sweat. " I have an infection."

Dean was almost afraid to ask. "Is it…serious?"

She didn't answer, staring past him. The oxygen whistled softly, the heart monitor beeped, and Dean realized he already had his answer.

"How did you find me?" she asked suddenly.

"I went to the motel…found your mom there."

"And she told you where I was?" She looked surprised and amused by the idea.

"Not really. It sort of slipped out of her."

"Ah." She lifted up the hand that didn't have the machines hooked to it, and wiped her forehead off.

"Do you want me to open a window or something?" Dean asked.

"They won't open. Could you loosen up the sheets maybe?"

Dean leaned over to pull the sheets out from under the mattress. She immediately shifted the blankets off her, sighing. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"I'm sorry you didn't know sooner."

It caught him off guard but he smiled at her, squeezing her hand." You couldn't help it."

"Still…" she trailed off, looking away from him, up at the abstract paining on the wall.

"Look at me," he said quietly.

She appeared to ignore him.

He grabbed her chin and lightly rotated her face towards him. Her eyes were wet.

"You're scared."

She nodded.

"I would be too."

"I just always knew it was coming but…" she shrugged. " Now that it's here, I want to live. I want to live so much."

Dean kissed her forehead. "You will."

"Maybe. But I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"It feels real this time. That this is the end."

"You're not going to die." His voice was forceful, commanding even, yet it was wavering.

Layla smiled weakly. " Not even you, Dean, with all your supernatural knowledge, can stop death."

"How do you know that you're dying? It's just an infection. You've had them before. You'll get over it again." Dean was angry though he didn't know why what she was saying was provoking such a reaction in him.

"It's not the infection that's going to kill me," Layla said quietly.

"What is, then?" Dean wanted, needed to know, for closure's sake.

"The tumor's gotten bigger. It will soon cut off the blood supply to my brain."

"But…how? I thought the radiation got rid of it."

"It only bought me more time, Dean. It was just enough time to…find you again."

He stroked her thumb, contemplating their history together. He remembered how ill he felt the first time he met her, legs shaking, unable to support his weight, and how he tried to remain upright and just not collapse onto Sam because he didn't want to look like a fool. He wished that she would be healed and then, the subsequent shame of seeing her face fall, losing hope, as he sat in the chair, watching the preacher's hands fall to land on him. He remembered guilt. He remembered bemoaning the fact he couldn't play God and save her, but yet it was Sam playing God that had saved him. He thought his actions were hypocritical and it was only until she visited their motel that he made peace with himself because she had forgiven him, without ever knowing the truth or needing to know it.

He thought back to the day he met her again, at the hospital in front of the snack machine. He tried to remember what he felt when he saw her. He was shocked but relieved. She meant redemption for his mistakes. She was someone he respected. She was someone he didn't want to fall in love with.

"You make it sound like you searched for me," Dean commented.

"I did."

Dean was surprised. " What do you mean?"

" The doctor who did my radiation, he…he didn't think it worked. He told me to go out and have some fun. Wrote me off as dying," she smiled slightly. " I realized that the only thing I wanted to do before I died was see you, see how you ended up."

" Thus you discovered my paper trial."

"Yeah. The last article I found was about the fire, when you killed that demon thing, and since a lot of the articles mentioned that town, I presumed you'd end up here. And you did."

"And you, being at the hospital the day I was there…?"

" That was just chance."

Dean didn't know what to say so he stayed silent. A thought entered his mind and he smiled at Layla who looked at him confused.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked softly.

"I was remembering what you told me when you left in Nebraska."

"About faith?" Dean nodded. " What about it?"

"Nothing. It's just interesting that you wanted to see me and here we are."

"And here we are…" Layla trailed off, looking down at the blanket that was wrapped around her hips. She seemed sad and before Dean could ask what was wrong, she looked up at him. " Promise me you'll take care of yourself when I'm gone?"

"God Damnit Layla, you're not going to die." Dean swore.

"Can you just do it?"

She looked so eager and sad and Dean decided it would be best to appease her. " You're not going to die, but sure, yeah, I'll take care of myself if…" he paused. " …if in the case that you die."

"That's all I ask." She sighed and leaned her head back against the pillow, tipping her head into the sunlight that had streamed across that portion of the bed. "Just curious, but why do you think I'm not going to die?"

"There are so many things you have yet to do in life," Dean answered.

"I've done them all of them that mattered," she looked directly at him and he knew that she was talking about seeing him again.

"Maybe…just, I don't think it's your time yet to go."

Her smile was a response to the hopeful glimpse in his eyes because she knew he was only fooling himself. " We've both known this day was coming for awhile now."

"Today is not it." Dean knew he was acting like a stubborn insolent child who believed that by willing something to be, it was, but he honestly didn't think she was dying. Besides all the machines and tubes hooked up to her and the thin layer of perspiration on her face, she looked healthy.

"Whatever you want to believe," Layla responded, shrugging apologetically. It relieved Dean to see her giving up trying to tell him. It wasn't going to happen. He knew it wouldn't.

"You're not going to die," he told her. It sounded like a warning and she took it as one.

"Why? You going to save me?" Her voice was sarcastic, fed up with their argument. She was sick of having to explain to him and him denying it, not accepting that she was going to die. She wanted to prepare him. She saw now that there was no way to.

"How can I save you?" Dean shot back, not knowing why he was yelling. There was too much tension in the air and no way to relieve it. " I can't reach in and take out your tumor!"

" You got rid of your heart condition."

"Oh, are you still pissed off over the fact that Roy chose me over you to heal?" Dean yelled back.

"No, I'm not," Layla screamed back. Her entire face had turned an infuriated tomato red and she was breathing heavily. "I'm pissed off that you got the chance and I didn't. I'm pissed off that I couldn't be healed. I'm pissed off that I don't know why he chose you and not me to heal. I'm pissed off that I can never he healed because you did something to him. I don't know what. I don't know how but after you, he was gone, and…" she stopped speaking, inhaling sharply and started coughing. It was a loud hoarse noise that hurt Dean's ears and he let go of his anger, leaning over to hit her on the back a few times to get her to stop coughing.

"Can you just tell me what happened?" she whispered, tears in her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry…" He was sorry for yelling, sorry for not being able to tell her. She had every right to know but he didn't have the strength in him to tell her that it was he who had killed her. It was he who had stole the only chance she had or would ever have of living a full life.

"I wouldn't be mad."

He knew she wouldn't. She'd accept it like she always did, never fighting against the inevitable.

Layla sighed, realizing he had no intention of telling her. "Can you just tell me this…could Roy heal because of his faith in God?"

"No."

"Alright then." It was like watching a balloon deflate when a pin-sized hole was created in it. Everything looked fine for the first ten seconds, and then painfully slow, it would collapse. It was like the life that was still in Layla was leaving her, and her eyes turned dead. It scared Dean.

"Layla, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing." Her answer was monotone, eyes staring straight ahead, not looking at him. Dean noticed that her legs were pulled in close to her body, like she was trying to get into fetal position. Something about what he said bothered her. Dean didn't know what though.

Layla yawned, jaw dropping, tongue flexing as if she was a cat. " I'm sleepy," she announced.

Dean nodded reluctantly, seeing it was his cue to leave, and he leaned over and kissed her forehead. " I'll be here when you wake up," he told her.

"And if you're at work?" she responded.

Dean hadn't thought about work. " I'll be here."

She nodded and watched him walk out the door. She turned over on her side, shifting the pillow to fit under her head. Her fingers gripped the top of the pillow, palms flat against it, her blanket lying at her hips. Her eyes didn't close. She just stared out into space, at the wall. Tears fell and she never made a sound.

She didn't realize Dean was watching her from outside the door, peering through its window. He felt bad and felt an urge to return back to the room and comfort her. But this was something he wasn't supposed to be seeing and he remained glued to his spot. He now knew by instinct what had bothered her about what he had said. He was basically telling her that God didn't exist, that he didn't grant wishes or perform miracles. And for someone who was so invested in faith and trust in a God, who would soon be meeting him, it was terrifying. She was confused and feeling betrayed and it didn't help that she didn't feel well and he was being his usual asshole self.

Dean felt too much like a voyager, watching her cry, and he tore his eyes away from the sight, and took a walk down the hall to find a bathroom and a soda machine. He needed caffeine.

It took him fifteen minutes to get back to the wing Layla was in because the bathrooms there were out of order and the staircase was locked with no elevator in sight. The concession stands had been on the opposite end of Layla's room but he had returned victorious with a coke and a bag of sour cream chips.

Layla's mother was standing by the door, hand stretched wide, propped up against the wall, holding her body up. She looked out of breath, face pale, lips pursed together like she was angry or just concentrating.

Dean wasn't sure if he should talk to her or not. It wasn't like they were on speaking terms or even liked each other. But he did have to consider the fact that she was Layla's mother and it would be good to be friendly to her even if she didn't want him to be. " Why you out here instead of in there?" he asked, walking to her side.

The glare she gave him was murderous but Dean saw desperation and sadness written there as well. He felt a tingling sensation shoot down his spine like something bad was happening and he wasn't seeing it, and his eyes followed hers as they turned back to Layla's room. And he suddenly knew why he felt that way. Doctors surrounded Layla's bed, too many for him to get a clear view of his girlfriend. He couldn't see the machines or see what they were doing to know what was wrong with her, but the frantic pace that the doctors were swarming from place to place on the bedside was troubling in itself.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, apologizing for his rudeness. Layla's mother didn't say anything to him or show any acknowledgement, other then grasping his hand and squeezing it. It was like, at that moment, they were bonded and he was forgiven.

The following minutes were tense, both on edge as they waited for some sign of what was happening and its ending. Finally, everything came to a still and the doctors began clearing out from around the bed. Dean pressed his nose to the glass, trying to figure out what was going on. His eyes glanced over to the heart monitor. The line was flat, no variation, a contrast to the falling weight in his throat. She was dead with no warning. He felt…he didn't know what he felt. He was in shock, numb, barely able to move out of the way when the doctors streamed out of the room so the door didn't hit him.

He heard a man talking to Layla's mother and he turned towards them sluggishly, feeling that he should also be listening.

"…Not much time," the doctor was finishing up his eulogy.

"So she died peacefully?" she whispered, words broken by the tears streaming down her face.

"She was already in the coma when it happened," the doctor verified.

"Alright," she sighed. " Thank you, doctor."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry for your loss." The doctor walked past her and her gaze shifted to Dean.

"This is your fault."

Dean was flabbergasted to say the least. Her daughter had just died and she was going to pick a petty meaningless fight with him. He could work with it though. He thought he was angry. No, he was angry with himself because the last thing that he had said to Layla involved arguing and him lying yet again. And he never told her that he loved her. " How is it mine?"

He was expecting her to mention Roy. She didn't. " You gave her that infection."

"What? How?"

"You slept with her even when you knew that she wasn't supposed to be seeing anyone because she was sick. How dare you…"

"Oh shut the fuck up," Dean yelled. " Layla is a grown women who doesn't need her mother's permission to decide what she will or will not do."

"Well, if you hadn't…"

"I didn't. I was all for watching movies. It was her idea. Don't make her out to be some fucking virginal saint…" Dean didn't finish his sentence, face snapping with the force of the slap Layla's mother gave him.

"Don't ever…" Dean didn't stick around to find out what else she was going to say. He didn't want to be the target of her shock and depression induced rage. He headed for the exit, taking a quick glance at his watch as he stalked through the halls. It was just past seven thirty, which was perfect, because he had an hour drive back to town and he needed to be at the club by nine.

It didn't hit him until he had walked out into the cool nighttime air and saw his father leaning against the hood of his truck, arms crossed, that she had died. She was gone. He breathed in a gulp of air, feeling his eyes and throat burning, trying to contain the tears and bile.

John didn't have to ask him what was wrong. Dean's expression and posture was enough and he walked over and hugged his son.

"It's going to be alright," John whispered soothingly, clutching Dean to him.

"I know…" His voice was level and John pulled away to take a look at Dean's face. Besides the harsh red of his cheek, his face was normal. He wasn't crying.

"You are allowed to cry," John told him.

"I don't feel like crying." His face had hardened up, eyes baring into his father's, lips pulled into a neutral expression. He looked like a soldier and that was what John feared. He was shutting off his emotions.

"Why not? You loved her…"

"I did. But she's dead now. Time to move on," Dean fished the keys out of his pocket. " I have to get going."

Raising Dean had taught John that the more cold Dean acted, the more he was hurting. It meant that Dean was devastated and sooner or later, he was going to crash and just crumble. " You don't have to be strong, you know," John yelled to his son who was walking to his car.

He didn't expect Dean to turn around and give him his answer. " But I do." He stuck the key in the door to unlock the car and hopped in, slamming the door behind in. John watched him rive the engine and peel out as he exited the parking lot. John only wished that Dean didn't crash the car on his way back home.


End Chapter 8: Our Farewell



Never thought
This day would come so soon
We had no time to say goodbye
How can the world just carry on?
I feel so lost when you are not at my side
But there's nothing but silence now
Around the one I loved
Is this our farewell?