Title: Blackbird
Author: Oldach's Dream
Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever? COMPLETE.
Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.
Rating: M
A/N: The end is here!
Epilogue
The hall he was walking through looked the same with each step he took. The walls were blurry, as if only half in focus, and doors on either side of him vanished as soon as he turned his head. So he remained steadfast in his staring straight ahead.
The hall had no end, but for whatever reason, that didn't bother Sam in the least. He knew that he wouldn't be there long enough to reach a potential end anyway.
The end of anything, after all, is almost always an illusion.
So he kept walking, until something stopped him, halted his journey.
It wasn't a ghost, something inside of him knew that much, but he couldn't think clearly enough to give her a more solid label.
He decided to stick with 'mom'.
"Sammy…" she reached out a white, transparent hand, and Sam saw that she was the only thing around him emitting light.
"Mom," he tried, voice breaking in a familiar fashion.
She looked conflicted. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Yet he knew there would be no answer, and before the words were even out of his mouth, she was gone. And he was alone again in the hallow halls.
Only when he tried to turn his head to the side again, he saw great flames licking at the fragile – already partially destroyed – walls around him. The fire was hot, but he could feel no heat, only knew through memory how it should feel. He wanted to run as far away from the danger of the flamesas he could, but his feet wouldn't move.
He remained standing there, watching the fire grow larger and get closer to him. He saw in its depths the faces of his mother and his girlfriend. He saw also the memories of his children, the ones he knew he'd only half dreamed.
He saw everything in that fire. The faces of everyone he had ever loved, ever trusted, ever wanted to believe was in his life for good. All taken away by something uncontrollable – unstoppable.
Fire was death.
And it was coming for him, moving closer, trapping him as many had done before, while he was vulnerable in a state of unconsciousness.
Then, as if he had willed it to be so – and who knew the powers his mind now possessed – he was being pulled away from that world.
He woke up afraid.
Terrified, that when he managed to focus his eyes, everything he had fallen asleep around would be gone, and he'd be back in some crazy, mixed-up world of murderers and things that weren't really there.
Sitting up, he noted that his surroundings were dark, but he felt – along with the fear and pain – a bit of security. The reason for that security, that safety net, was currently sitting next to him on his motel mattress, holding onto his uninjured shoulder firmly.
"You're okay, Sammy." Dean mumbled softly, watching for signs of disbelief or confusion. "You're at a motel, that other world's gone, Dr. Kabala's dead. Just relax."
Sam began taking deep breaths and followed his brother's orders. It had been like this for almost a week and a half. Sam waking up in a panic, and Dean having to calm him. Sam had been relying so heavily on his brother lately, but the elder man just took it in stride, never prying or teasing – in fact, he been almost frighteningly un-Dean like in his behavior.
Had it not been for the occasional sarcastic – if not somewhat lackluster – quip, and the continually protective behavior, Sam might have started to worry that he'd been again sent to another realm where Dean wasn't really Dean. Where he was being manipulated by some psycho-chick that had captured his brother and been killed by his father…but really, how many times could that happen in someone's life?
"I know, Dean." Sam said as soon as he felt secure enough in his tone to risk speaking without his voice betraying him. "I'm okay."
"That's the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard." Only the words were gentle, and held nothing but concern. It had been a week and a half and, save Dean's explanations of the specifics of what had gone on; they had not talked seriously about Sam's week in the other world.
The fact that Dean hadn't been pressing the issue, hadn't demanded any details or specifics of the incident, was really starting to throw him. When Sam first got out of the hospital – despite his sane doctor's suggestions – he had wanted to do nothing more than forget about the entire ordeal. Bury it away, deep in the depths of his mind and soul, and try his best to disregard it for the rest of eternity.
At first, he thought Dean would just let him off the hook, and follow Sam's lead – after all, if there was one thing Dean hated, it was drama – but it didn't feel like that was happening. Dean hadn't been pressing the issue, but he hadn't been moving away from it either. Sam was out of the hospital, but Dean refused to move them farther than a few miles away from it, should the younger man need medical attention, so they were still in New York.
In fact, if Sam really thought about it, he knew exactly what was going on – Dean was waiting. The atmosphere between the two brothers had been that of a standoff, a test of patience – Dean was waiting for Sam to crack, and Sam was waiting for his brother to realize that he wouldn't.
And on some level, he knew he that really was a load of horseshit, andin actuality,he was waiting for Dean to start pushing, forcing the issue. Because for how much he said he hated lifetime movie moments, Sam could count off the top of his head about a dozen times where it had been Dean who wouldn't let an issue go until it had been dealt with. Especially – only, actually – when it was an issue involving Sam, and his well-being.
So no, the youngest Winchester wasn't surprised that Dean was currently taking up residence on the side of his bed, speaking in a tone that Sam hadn't heard sine he was a child – one designed to comfort in a way only a big brother can – calling him on his refusal to deal with his issues. Dean didn't take crap from anyone, especially his brother.
But Sam couldn't help but try to keep up the charade – the lies – because it was such an easy wall to hide behind. One he'd place around himself permanently if he knew Dean wouldn't come around and knock it down when the time came.
Dean sighed audibly, and Sam realized that he himself hadn't responded to the comment, that he had indulged them both in several long minutes of silence. Funny, it didn't sound so quiet anymore, the buzzing in his head never ceased long enough for there to be silence.
"Sammy…" he could have sworn he heard a crack in his brother's voice, and he refused to meet his eyes, staring instead at the wall across the room. "You wanna talk to me?"
"You hate talking." Was his automatic response. God, he was being difficult, and he knew it. He just couldn't stop himself.
"Sam," Dean started again, pausing shortly after the name, "You wanna talk to me?" He repeated, managing to portray a little of everything in those words.
"No," Sam decided, "I just wanna go back to sleep."
Dean snorted, and Sam knew that it was starting. "I take it back, that's the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard."
It Sam's turn to trail off aimlessly, "Dean…"
"I mean it Sammy," he started firmly, and the younger man didn't even have the chance to correct the use of the nickname, "You've barely slept in last…what? Nine days? You refuse to take the pills the doctors gave you because they make you tiered. Every time you do fall asleep, you wake you screaming within hours. You're always disorientated; you think I'm going to hurt you…"
"I said I was sorry about that," Sam mumbled, remembering a few days previous when he'd woken up in a state of panic, and – before his grip on reality had tightened, as it took so long to do these days – he'd managed to elbow his brother, rather harshly, in the collar bone, thinking that the hovering man was a part of his nightmare sequence. "How's your shoulder?"
"My shoulder's fine Sammy, it's not the one with the bullet hole in it. " Dean barked, "And that's not the point."
"Then what is the point?" Sam finally snapped, not wanting to be reminded of his injuries; his anger grew monumentally. "What the hell is your point!"
Neither man had been expecting the outburst, and both were slightly taken aback by Sam's words. The younger man swung his head around so that he was facing his brother fully; the glowing light of the bedside lamp illuminated features.
The motel they were staying in was nice, much nicer than Sam had seen in years, actually. Both beds were queens and had comfortable – too comfortable, in Sam's opinion – mattresses, the bathroom was luxurious by their standards; there was a counter in the sort of half kitchen area. It was more like a small apartment than a motel room, really, and overall, the whole place didn't reek of stale, bitter loneliness, which was defiantly different for the Winchester's.
But right now, all Sam could think about was how the decision to stay here was made intentionally by his big brother. Dean thought he was fragile, wanted to protect him from suffocating under the weight of what had happened to him. Sam wasn't used to being protected like that, so completely by his brother, so he reacted in the only way he could – the way he always did when something was overwhelming – he got angry.
"What the hell is your point?" Dean watched as Sam's eyes darted frantically from his brother's to all around the small hotel room, and back again, and wondered briefly if Sam was even aware of the fact that hehad repeated himself, he didn't seem to be.
Dean didn't know how to answer the question without sounding like he was quoting some tearjerker movie; he didn't want Sam to think he was being fake, or playing around. He settled on the truth, it was the best he could do.
"I want you to be okay," he managed, accepting for the first time how completely and utterly honest the statement was. "I need you to be okay, Sam." He took a deep breath, fighting away the unsteadiness. "We have to talk about this, we have to get through it."
"Otherwise," he kept going loudly, after Sam opened his mouth, not letting him even begin to protest. "You're never gonna get over it, and it's gonna kill you."
This time it was Sam who snorted, and Dean prayed silently that he would not be jumping into that realm of denial again. "After Meg and Dr. Kabala both tried to murder me – physically tried to kill me - for days, you somehow think that the memory of all that is somehow gonna have a worse affect on me?" Sam shook his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "That doesn't make sense, bro, not even for you."
Dean took a deep breath and decided, instead of trying to reason with his stubborn, traumatized, little brother, he would try a different tact. "What was the other world like?"
"What?" Sam head snapped up harshly, eyes darting frantically. "What?"
"The world," Dean repeated, steadfast in his newly made decision to have this conversation. "The one Meg created, what was it like?"
"Dean," Sam's warning tone was gruff, but there was something in his eyes – something like fear – that prompted the elder brother to believe he was finally making progress. "Drop it."
"Why?" The older man demanded. "It's the life you always wanted, right? What was it like?"
Sam turned his head away again, but Dean could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Drop. It." He seethed in low tone.
"No." He said firmly, confirming his belief that -while this wasn't exactly how he had wanted this to go – he was finally breaking through Sam's icy demeanor, that wall he had put up since he'd first awoken in the hospital and made a crack about being sick of those particular establishments. "The last thing you told me was about Jessica, me, dad, and…mom, at a hospital, right?" he ignored how hard it was to get that one word out. "What happened after I was gone?"
"Well, some crazy old nazi doctor held me captive for a week, while you were chained to a wall, and dad had to come save our asses," Sam snapped sarcastically. "You get hit on the head or something, you're the one who told me that."
"That's not what I meant, and you damn well know it," Dean bit out, the reminder of how drastically he had failed his little brother making him angry at himself once again. "How long were you unconscious? What happened after the curse was broken? What did you see? Come on, man, just answer the questions. Fuck, just answer one of the questions."
Dean – for the past week and a half – had been remembering Meg's words, her taunts while he'd been stung up to her wall like some pathetic sacrificial ritual gone wrong. He'd heard her again and again, saying that Sam would choose her world over the real one. Remembered the belief he'd had, that his brother could actually be dead.
Ever since Sam had gotten back, Dean refused to let him out of his sight, hated leaving him for even half a minute to use the bathroom or take a shower. The elder man had barely slept at all himself in the last nine days, convinced beyond reason that if he closed his eyes; Sam wouldn't be there when he opened them again.
Whether this was fear of something capturing his baby brother again, or a fear – a greater, more likely one, if he actually thought about it – that Sam would wake up one morning and hate his brother. That he would leave – just like Dean had left him – only it would be fairer, because Dean wouldn't be in the hands of a murderer.
"It was screwed up," Sam said angrily, and Dean had to force himself to remember that he had wanted this. "Okay? It was just really, really fucked up. That's all."
A few of Meg's words came back to him again, the ones she had taunted him with while she was talking about Sam being trapped in the curse world forever, and what would happen.
"Something that'll make Sam wish he could just die. Something he would kill to get away from."
Dean didn't want to imagine anything ever being that powerful, that destructive, but he could see in Sam's eyes that it had been.
"Tell me," Dean pushed again.
Sam recoiled. He physically recoiled, pulling himself away from his brother, getting out of the bed altogether. He stood on unsteady legs, his hand going automatically to his stitched up side - it had taken twenty six stitches to patchupf Dr. Kabala's handy scalpel work - and Dean just watched, watched as Sam ran a hand through his hair and flung out hisarm desperately.
"Tell you what?" He demanded. "That when the whole thing was falling apart, I saw the fucking demonic version of you? The one that turned into Kabala last time I saw it? Do want to hear that in that world, Jess was fucking pregnant, and when it was all ending, I saw my kids? I saw their whole lives Dean, yours too. Do you really wanna hear about how mom's ghost, or spirit, or whatever the hell it was, kept talking to me? Do you wanna know how Jessica was standing there, with a giant slit in her stomach, talking like it was the most normal thing in the whole goddamn world? Blaming me for everything?"
Sam's voice broke more with each word, and tears were spilling, Dean was up and on the other side of the bed in a matter of moments. He didn't know exactly what he was planning on doing, but he knew he had to comfort Sammy, he had to try to make this better, but when he reached him, the younger man jerked away from him.
"No!" Dean wasn't sure what exactly Sam was protesting, but watched helplessly as Sam pulled away. "No, damn it Dean! Do really wanna hear about it? About what it was like, when everything wasn't nuts, and I was just living there? Because I knew the whole thing was a trap. I had your voice in my head saying that again and again, but it didn't feel like that. Because you and dad got along exactly the same way you do here, and Jessica was exactly the same, and everything was real."
He was half sobbing now, and Dean just watched his breakdown, not knowing what else he could do. Sam needed to get this out, needed to say it, hear it spoken aloud. And Dean needed to listen. Needed to know the full depths of the pain he had caused.
"And mom..." he gasped, and Dean couldn't help taking a step forward. He didn't attempt to reach out to him again, but he tried his best to assure Sam with presence that he was safe, that Dean would never fail in protecting him ever again. "Mom was..." he let out a dry chuckle. "Mom was actually a lot like you. She was sarcastic and, and she had this really...off beat sense of humor."
Sam laughed again, and Dean could tell by looking that he was somewhere else. "She was strong and stubborn. She didn't take crap from anyone - especially you," another watery laugh and Dean couldn't stopthe small smile that touched his own lips. "And dad. And they were perfect together, and I don't...I can't even...I don't know if that was just all made up, or what I wanted it to be like, or..."
He looked up, and met his brother's eyes, he held his gaze for longer than he had in days. "And it doesn't feel like it wasn't real."
With that, Sam's final protective walls shattered, and the younger man broke down into uncontrollable sobs. One hand covered his face - as he couldn't lift the other arm that far - and he tried desperately to breathe, to get himself under control.
And for a few solid, life-altering seconds, Dean couldn't move, couldn't tear himself away from everything Sam had just confessed. He had known Meg's world had been complex, but that was just...way too much for the eldest brother to even try to fully comprehend.
Then Sam's sobbing broke through his shock, and he realized that it didn't matter if he could comprehend it or not. He may never be able to wrap his mind entirely around everything that Sam had been through, everything that that world had done to him. But he could comfort his brother; he could try at least to fix the gaping holes that this incident had formed.
Taking a hesitant step forward, he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and when he didn't jerk away - didn't even seem to be aware of it - Dean got closer, and in one fluid movement, pulled Sam against him, wrapping his arms around Sam's shuddering frame, minding his shoulder and side. Assuring the broken boy that he was here for him, comforting him without words.
Because there were no words for this.
Sam didn't even acknowledge it for a moment, just kept on crying, hiding from his brother.
Dean spoke soothing words in a calm tone, hoping it would portray a sense of safety and security that might allow Sam to start letting go. "It's okay, Sammy. You're okay now. Everything's gonna be alright." And then, so quiet that Dean would never know if Sam had heard it over his great, heaving sobs. "I'm here, I'm gonna protect you. I'm sorry, I'm here now."
Moments later, Sam pulled his hand away form his face, and used that arm instead to cling to Dean, losing himself entirely in his brother's embrace. He ducked his long neck so that his head was buried in Dean's shoulder, and his hand fisted the back of his shirt tightly, the other still tucked in front of him. The sobs continued, tears gathering in wet blotches on the fabric of Dean's shirt.
He continued to hush his little brother, marveling at how, even when his full height was several inches above Dean, Sam still managed to feel small and fragile in his arms. That could have been attributed, though,to his outstanding mental exhaustion, physical exhaustion, or the new fragileness of his body. Having not been supplied with proper nutrients for days on end had really taken a toll on his brother, and the constant inability to sleep wasn't helping either.
Dean just held on to Sammy, not wanting to think about those things right now. He just wanted his little brother know that he was there for him. He moved his hand up to the back of Sam's neck, stroking his hair lightly, holding onto him, biting his own lip to keep himself from crying. He rested his chin on Sam's head.
"We'll be okay, little brother."
And, true or not, that's what they both needed to hear.
Three days later found Sam and Dean walking out of the New York hospital, a certain lightness to their steps that hadn't been present for far too long.
"So, can we get out of the city already?" Sam asked, unable to hide his hopefulness.
"Not yet," Dean said sternly, although his words held a certain hopefulness of their own.
"The doctor said I was fine," Sam argued, and Dean rolled his eyes.
"He said you will be fine," he reminded, "If you don't push it. You still have twenty six stitches in your side, and some in your shoulder, too."
"Well, getting shot's a bitch like that," Sam said casually, not noticing Dean's grimace. "Besides, it's not like you've never removed stitches for me before. We could take off and deal with it later."
"What's the matter Sammy, the Big Apple not doin' it for you?" The elder brother stuck with humor because it made life easier.
"Not really," Sam answered honestly. "I've never liked the city."
"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "Me neither, but we won't be here for too much longer."
"What's too much longer?" Sam managed to sound childishly eager and Dean was secretly relieved at hearing such an innocent emotion could still be detected in his brother's tone.
"Another week or so," Dean answered, "I set up an appointment two days from now for you to get the stitches out," and an overall check-up, but why bother throwing that in? "And I rented out our room for another six days. Who knows, maybe we'll take a little vacation after that."
"Vacation?" Sam questioned, sounding doubtful. Dean turned away from him, under the pretence of scanning for the Impala in crowded parking lot. "You don't take vacations."
"Well, maybe we could." He tried to make it sound like he didn't care one way or another, like he hadn't been planning this for days. "Take it easy for a while."
"What about hunting?" Sam demanded.
"You're gonna be out of commission for a while anyway," Dean reminded. "I think it's a good idea."
"I don't." Sam said harshly, and stopped walking, forcing Dean to turn around and face him. "I think we should find something to kill."
His voice was strong, but Dean wasn't an idiot. "Why?"
"Because it's what we do." And there it was - unmasked - the desperation.
"There'll be things to kill a month from now." Dean said easily, stepping on the triggers lightly, waiting for the reaction. "We should take a break." Not an order. Not yet.
"A month?" Sam questioned. "A month? Come on, Dean."
"Alright, maybe not that long, but a few weeks at least. We could get a hotel room in Florida or Texas, you've always like the warm weather down there." He said it all casually, trying to persuade the younger man to see things his way.
"You hate that kinda climate." Sam argued.
And while it was true that Dean Winchester had never been a fan of the intense throbbing heat of the sun, or the humidity of such places, "I'll just have to survive on the bikini clad women." And a smirk sold it entirely.
They started walking again, and Dean purposely walked down a row he knew his car wasn't in, giving Sam time to think. After a few more minutes, he finally said thoughtfully, "You really wanna take a break?"
"Yeah," he answered easily. "For a while."
"What about dad?"
That was unexpected. "What about dad?"
"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "Don't you think he might need our help, or what if he sends us coordinates, or tries to call and finds out we're slacking off. He'll be pissed." He was grasping at nothing, and Dean hoped that by simply taking all his options away logically, he'd be left with nothing except compliance.
"Dad's not gonna call. He doesn't need our help, and he'd totally understand us taking a break. He knows what happened, Sammy." Dean watched his brother mull over his arguments. "Remember that year I broke my leg?" He tried, searching for more leverage. "Broke it in five places, shattered that one bit, even. Dad had us stay in that cabin by the lake for almost three months so I could do physical therapy, we spent all summer fishing and barbequing."
Sam smiled, and Dean knew that the memory would strike a chord. It was one of the only completely normal, non-supernatural, memories they possessed from their childhood. Sam had been thirteen and Dean had been almost eighteen, that summer remained today as one of the best of his life.
"It's not the same thing." He argued, yet much of the fight was gone from his voice.
"Sure it is," Dean insisted. "Only instead of a lake we get a beach, and instead of fishing, we get to pick up girls. You can totally use that injured thing to your advantage."
Sam smiled sadly, and Dean knew he wouldn't be getting laid anytime soon. He just hoped Sam wouldn't be forced to repeat the entire grieving experience over again, Dean wasn't sure if he could handle that.
Finally, when Dean could lead them around in circles nolonger, they walked - as slowly as humanly possible - to the Impala. When they reached the car, Dean stood on the driver's side, while Sam mulled around on his side, looking thoughtful.
"Come on, Sammy." Dean pushed. "Just humor me."
Finally, the younger man sighed. "Fine, we'll take a break. But not for long."
Dean smiled a relieved smile, "That's all I'm askin'."
It was their last day in the fancy hotel room, and Dean was pouring coffee. It was early in the morning and both brothers had been awake for hours.
"You wanna go out for breakfast, or order room service?" Dean felt odd asking the question - as far as his memory went, that's the first time in his life he could legitimately say the words 'room service.'
"I'm not hungry," Sam's voice was laced with exhaustion, as he sat on the edge of the bed, head resting in his hands. His stitches were freshly removed, but he needed to rest his shoulder for a few weeks, exerting himself only for the stretches that the doctor described to them the day before.
Still severely malnourished.
The professional man's words echoed. "You've gotta eat." Dean insisted.
"No, I don't."
"Sam, dude, yeah you do," the elder brother smirked. "You're turning into a skeleton. Skin and bones ain't attractive, man."
"I'm not hungry!" Sam shouted, looking up, utterly and completely irritated.
"Too bad." Dean shouted right back, demeanor changing at once. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch you starve yourself."
All at once, even more quickly than it had come, the fight left his little brother. His shoulders slumped forward further, and his hair hid his eyes from sight. "Yeah, whatever. Order room service."
This worried Dean more than the irritability, because at least when Sam was being moody and angry, Dean could work with it. He knew that those emotions were his brother's way of dealing with things; the worse something was, the crankier Sammy got.
But this - this reluctance to say anything, this withdrawing into himself - this Dean was worried about.
Sighing, he backed off, and silently poured two cups of black coffee. Handling them both carefully, he made his way to the edge of the bed where Sam was still seated. Sitting down next to him, he handed him one of the mugs, and sighed silently in relief when Sam took it.
"Any requests?" Dean tried casually.
"Let's go to California."
"Okay..." Dean dragged out uncertainly. "I meant for breakfast, but that works too."
Sam didn't take his eyes away from his coffee, even when Dean turned his head and tried desperately to get his attention to shift.
"There's something...I wanna do there." And it didn't take a genius to figure out what exactly Sam was referring to.
"Sure." Dean said quietly, and reached around, placing a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "No problem."
Sam sat in the car for a while when they first pulled up to the cemetery. He just couldn't bring himself to leave the safety of his brother's Impala. He kept recalling the dreams he'd had right after Jessica's death, the ones where he'd go to put flowers on her grave and her hand reached out from beneath the ground and grabbed him.
A part of him was convinced that that would happen as soon as he walked over to her grave - that she would reach out from beyond death and try to take him with her. He deserved to die, after all. Her death was his fault.
"Want me to go with you?" Sam could tell by the uncertainty of Dean's tone that the elder man was at a loss as to how to deal with the current situation, and was willing to do anything to help.
"No," Sam shook his head, knowing that he had to do this alone, yet appreciating the offer all the same. Finally, he heaved in a great lungful of air, and swallowed nervously. "I won't be long."
It felt good to stretch him limps, having been cramped up in the car for almost the entire day. He walked to across the large expanse of freshly mowed grass on autopilot, knowing exactly where he was going, and not wanting to examine why he had this knowledge.
He stopped a foot or so away from the grave, staring at the stone as if he expected it to speak to him, he even reached down as if dropping flowers - which he didn't actually have with him - and nothing happened. He waited for what felt like forever, before he finally realized what he was doing, and chuckled nervously.
"Well, I feel stupid." He told her, and pictured her smiling face. Not anything from the other world, the curse, whatever it had been. He pictured a time before her death, when everything had been truly happy. Normal without a catch.
He sighed, digging the tip of his foot into the ground nervously. "I miss you, ya know? I really...I miss the way you'd...God, I really just miss everything about you." He smiled again. "I know I never told you about Dean, my brother, but he's got this kinda hero complex. He thinks it's his job to save everybody, me especially. And he keeps telling me that your death isn't my fault."
He quit staring at his foot and looked up at the grave, was disappointed at its inhuman like appearance, so he looked instead to the bright blue sky, squinting to block out the sun. He knew Dean couldn't see him from where he sat dozens of feet away in the car. Which was good, as Sam felt like he was having a conversation that his brother shouldn't overhear.
"I really wanna believe him," he looked again to the stone, because looking at the sky made him feel like he was talking to God. "I guess, maybe I should believe him. I mean, he's never really lied to me before."
He took a deep breath and mulled over it silently for a moment, before blurting out, "I hunt ghosts for a living." He laughed at himself. "Admitting it now...helpful right? No, I guess I just wanted you to know. 'Course, you probably already know by now. You're probably an angel up there somewhere."
"Jess," he spoke, and believed just then - beyond all doubt - that she was indeed listening. "I'm sorry." He took another deep breath. "I'm sorry I never told you the truth about me, and I'm sorry I didn't warn you. I'm really, really sorry that we never got to have that life." He smiled, and fought back his tears. "That perfect, normal life, with our three little kids. You wanted three kids. You told me that one night, remember?" He snorted cynically. "Of course, that's probably exactly why we had three kids. Custom made curses..."
"But it's gonna be okay," and he knew finally that it would be, all sarcasm was gone from his tone and he was left with honest, unmasked truth. "I'm gonna be okay. I just wanted you to know that. I'm with my brother, and it's gonna be okay." he bit his lip, staring at the grave. He had stopped seeing stone, he was instead remembering, visualizing, Jessica standing in front of him. "I love you." He whispered in parting.
As he turned to leave, a light wind blew and Sam swore he heard a lightly whispered, "I love you, too." Echo behind him. But when he turned back, nothing was there.
It was just a memory now.
Dean was awake when Sam's nightmares started that night. He sat on his bed and watched, making a move only when he was sure that Sam wouldn't be fighting them on his own.
Standing lightly, he moved across the room and to Sam's bed, kneeling by the side of it, shaking his brother awake. He had been expecting this, after visiting Jessica's grave that afternoon, how could he not have been expecting this?
Sam woke with a start, and Dean ducked his head instinctively, just incase Sam lashed out subconsciously. He didn't though; he just remained lying there, breathing heavily.
"You okay, buddy?" Dean asked in a tone that had become familiar to them both.
"Yeah, I guess." Sam answered shakily.
"Wanna talk about it?" He offered automatically.
Sam shook his head, "Nah, not tonight."
And Dean nodded, accepting this because on some nights - ever since his breakdown -he did share his dreams. Told Dean everything he asked about. And in that, the healing was beginning.
"Jessica?" Dean pressed lightly, just incase.
"Yeah, sort of." Sam answered, then sighed. "Am I ever gonna get over this?"
"Yeah," Dean said firmly, "You will."
And instead of answering back, Sam moved over on the bed, creating an empty space that Dean filled moments later, stretching out on top of the quilt, as Sam placed an arm behind his head.
"How do you know?" It was a question Sam had asked often throughout their childhood; every time Dean assured him of anything, Sam would always ask how he had gotten the answer, how he was sure.
And each time, Dean responded exactly the same way. "Because I'm your big brother, kiddo, and I say so." He said the words again now, only when hehad beena child, Sam had scoffed at the answer, not believing itslegitimacy.
This time though, he had no protests. It may have been the fading remnants of whatever dream he had plagued him tonight, or the cool breeze of the California night drifting in through the open window. It could have been his total exhaustion, or the comfort of having his big brother so close just then.
Whatever the reason, Sam's only response to the long forgotten answer was a tiredly whispered, "Alright," a deep sigh and, "If you say so."
He was asleep moments later and Dean was smiling.
Yeah, they would be okay.
The End.
A/N: insert deep sigh here.
Okay, this wasn't exactly the ending I'd been imaging, but there it is. Complete at last. I'd just like to stop here for a moment to thank everyone who has stuck with the story this long - I appreciate your dedication, and your reviews. I live on feedback, after all. I hope this ending was everything you imagined, and I'd love (just one more time) to hear your opinions. This story has been a long, long time in the making, and to see its completion is slightly saddening, but mostly reliving... and I really have nothing else to say. Final thoughts appreciated.
Oh, and as a sort of P.S. - I know Meg and Sam have technically met, but the way I figure it here, it was irrelevant to the story line. So, don't think that's an error or something - I didn't include it on purpose. I just couldn't figure out how Sam would even go about realizing that the Meg he met was the same one that had Dean chained to a wall, ya know? Alright, I just wanted to throw that in.
Really, I'm done now. Reveiw please.
