Worth Living For

by Swanseajill

Part Fifteen

The night sky was clear. Myriad stars twinkled in the inky darkness, and the full moon clearly illuminated Rose Cottage and its grounds.

Dean felt like crap. The anvil in his head still pounded away, the fresh cuts on his chest burned and his bruised back still ached. Not to mention the dizziness that he hadn't been able to shake. He'd had no choice but to accept Sam's supportive arm around his shoulders as they'd walked to and from the Impala. He would have fallen on his ass without the support.

Standing here at the foot of Jamie Warrington's grave, he felt weaker than he ever had in his life. Just being upright proved an effort when all he really wanted was to lie down somewhere and sleep. Dad had said that this was a residual effect from his encounter with the ghost and he hoped to hell it was true, because he wasn't ready to get used to this feeling.

Jamie had been dead for two years, but thanks to Dad's earlier work, and despite his attempts to leave the flower bed the way he had found it, the earth still looked freshly dug. Dean just hoped the sheriff didn't come back for a closer look at the grounds. It was bad enough that they had to leave without letting the victims' families and friends know the truth, without adding an unexplained desecration of Jamie's grave to Martin Warrington's burdens. Dean shivered, suddenly cold despite the mild night, and pulled his jacket further around him.

It was strange, because although he hadn't truly felt the presence of the spirit in his mind yesterday, he still felt a strong connection to Jamie Warrington and a deep sadness for a kid who'd been so desperate, so lonely, that he'd chosen to take his own life. Maybe it was because the spirit had somehow twisted his own feelings so much that he had felt the same emotions, the same despair that Jamie had experienced. Whatever the reason, he found it hard to feel anything but sorrow, despite the fact that Jamie's lonely spirit had caused three people to die.

He no longer felt the terrible despair that had led him to try to take his own life, but the memory of it was clear. The solution of killing himself to escape from the pain had seemed so obvious. So logical. He'd been profoundly relieved when Sam had explained that the spirit's influence had made him feel that way. Yet he couldn't deny the underlining pain that had allowed the spirit to get a grip on his mind, and a small part of him wondered if perhaps he'd been closer to genuinely feeling those things than he would ever admit. And that frightened him.

He knew it would be a long time before he fully recovered from his ordeal, but despite everything, he felt more at peace than he had for months. The tight ball of hurt and tension that had taken up residence in his gut the night the demon had possessed Dad had gone, leaving behind just a dull ache.

As he stood quietly at the grave, he turned over in his mind the conversation he'd overheard back at the motel. He'd never allowed himself to admit just how important it was to him to know that Dad cared. He had always sought his father's respect and trust, the two things he knew he could earn if he worked hard enough. But for a long time he hadn't allowed himself to expect his father's love, because deep down, he was afraid that he was asking for something Dad couldn't give. Then Dad's words to Sam had turned everything around. "Sam, you and Dean – you're all I have, and I love you both."

Although … it wasn't just those words that had revealed the truth. It was also the moment in the cottage when, through his pain and confusion, he'd seen his father and heard his anguished cry. "Dean. Son!" He'd known instinctively that the naked love and concern in those words were real, and that, for him, was enough.

There were still things unresolved. Dad wasn't perfect. He'd made mistakes, and he probably would again. But at the end of the day, he'd done what he thought best for his boys.

And the truth was, Dean understood why he'd made the choices he had.

Sam had taken a few steps back when they'd found the grave, allowing Dean some space, and he was grateful. Yet it was good to know that his brother was there, hovering just out of sight, ready to rush forward to support him if he needed it. He usually found that protective side of Sam irritating, because that wasn't how it worked. Big brothers were there to protect younger brothers, not the other way around. He was beginning to understand, though, that there were times when it was okay to reverse roles for a little while.

The rustling of an animal or bird in a nearby bush startled him. He looked up too quickly and a wave of dizziness overtook him. Tiny lights sparkled at the edges of his vision and he felt his knees buckling. Then there was an arm around his waist and another on his shoulder, holding him upright.

"Easy," Sam said softly.

He leaned back into Sam's solid warmth, allowing his brother to take his weight, knowing that Sam wouldn't let him fall. Sam tightened his grip and Dean closed his eyes, allowing himself the momentary luxury of surrendering control. When the dizziness passed he reluctantly pushed himself upright and Sam's grip loosened.

"You okay?" Sam's question was laced with concern.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah. Moved my head too fast, that's all."

"Think it's time we were heading back?"

"Soon."

"Okay."

Sam let go and took a step to the side, giving him space, and strangely, Dean found he missed the contact. They stood side by side for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Dean could tell that Sam had something he wanted to say and was searching for the right words. He waited patiently until Sam cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Dean, I want you to know… I meant what I said yesterday."

"Which bit?" Dean asked flippantly. "The bit where you said I was selfish, or the bit where you said I was pathetic?"

As a joke, it fell flatter than a pancake. Sam looked stricken, and Dean mentally kicked himself. His natural inclination was to use humor to relieve an emotionally charged situation, but it often backfired, and he should have known better than to try it with Sam right now.

He took a good look at his brother. He wasn't the only one who looked like crap, but then Sam probably hadn't got much sleep recently, what with the full-time role of nursemaid and psychotherapist to an idiot big brother.

Sam's jaw was working, and he looked close to tears. For the first time Dean saw the past few days through Sam's eyes and realized just how hard it must have been for Sam to watch his brother falling apart before his eyes.

"Sorry," Dean said gently. "That wasn't funny. You saved my life back there, you know?"

Sam shook his head. "You did it yourself, Dean. I just goaded you into fighting. And don't change the subject. I meant the bit about this being my life now. You and me, what we do. I'm not planning to leave."

It was the first time in a long while that either of them had deliberately brought up the subject. Dean, for his part, had been afraid of what Sam might say. Now, he found himself saying words he'd never have imagined . "I hear you, Sam, and I appreciate it. I do. But I need you to know something, too. I'm not going to hold you to that. We don't know what's going to happen, and if down the line you want a different life, then I'm not going to hold you back."

Sam looked like he was going to protest, and then he slowly nodded. "Okay. But know this, Dean. Whatever life I choose, I'll need you to be part of it. Whatever happens, we'll work it out."

Dean struggled to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. "Okay."

Sam wasn't finished.

"One more thing. I understand about the big-brother gig, I do. But looking out for each other, feeling responsible for each other – that goes both ways, Dean. And I need you to know that you don't always have to be the strong one, that sometimes it's okay to let go, you know?"

This time, Dean really couldn't speak as Sam reflected back to him the thoughts that had crossed his mind only moments ago, so he simply nodded. Sam stared at him intently and must have seen what he needed.

"Okay," Sam said.

Dean decided that as he seemed to have landed in a full-blown Hallmark scene, he might as well finish it. "Uhh, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"All the crap you've had to put up with over the past couple of days."

Sam glanced at him sharply, brow furrowing. "None of that's your fault, Dean."

"I'm just sayin', I know it's been tough on you. And I want it to be over, for both of us."

Sam let out a big sigh. "Yeah. Me, too."

Dean looked back at the grave. "You know, I've never really got how someone could be so desperate, could hate their life so much, that they'd kill themselves." He hesitated, glancing across at Sam. "Now I do."

Sam's expression darkened in fear. Realizing what he was thinking, Dean went on hurriedly. "Hey, don't get me wrong, I don't mean I still want to… But when the ghost – I understood what he was feeling, that's all."

Sam ran a hand through his hair and gave him a half-smile. "Sorry. It's just that you scared the shit out of me yesterday, Dean."

"Yeah, I know."

"Because much as I'm looking forward to inheriting your tape collection one day…"

Dean smiled at the lame joke. "Sam, look. I know I was in a bad place, and that's why the ghost went for me. But whatever happens – I'm not going to kill myself, got it?" He held his brother's eyes. "I don't want to die. I've got too much worth living for, right?"

Sam gazed at him for a long moment. Then he said softly, "Right. And don't ever forget it."