What comes after
Pairing: none, it's gen
Wordcount: about 2K
Warnings: swearing
Disclaimer: Just burrowing these kick ass characters
Note: I'm a mess. Supernatural meant so much to me. I'm still in denial for having to say goodbye to the show and these absolutely amazing characters (and actors). I want to love the episode so much, but I cannot make peace with it. The barn scene was incredible and it was everything I ever wished for. Jensen and Jared were phenomenal. I bawled my eyes out. But Dean Winchester, the greatest monster hunter of all time, is taken out by a rebar. It doesn't sit right. So, here is my version.
Shout out:A special thank you goes out to dwimpala-67 and emilyshurley for being my lovely and great betas.
So, here you go: Enjoy!
"This is all kinds of awkward."
Dean eyes down the good twenty steps ahead of him, thirty at most maybe, as he stands at the top of the bunkers stairwell. Or well, more like chairs or wheels down, because after all, this is his life now. His ass is plastered to a wheelchair out of solid steel, a fancy double backrest, and movable arm- and leg rest with extra cushions. All black. After all, he got the best of the best. Yippie-ya-yay.
Over his shoulder, he can sense Sam standing behind him. Ogling at him like a goddamn hawk. That bastard. The moment he had regained consciousness in that hospital, Sam was glued to him almost 24x7. And maybe since before that, but he couldn't recall because he was kinda out of it. Knocking on death's door once again like a cliche and cheesy Halloween roundabout.
Dean wants to tell him to knock it off because every time Sam watches him with this intense stare, full of worry and concern, it makes the hair on his neck stand and his skin crawl.
Dean can hear him nervously shuffling from behind, muttering to himself, trying to plan the best way to get him out of the chair and down. A task he would have done gracefully in a matter of seconds himself.
"I'm not deaf, Sam."
"Yeah, I know."
Dean knows, his little brother is just as struggling with the whole situation as he is.
Dean is staring at him expectantly, as Sam moves to stand beside him. He shuffles the armrest down and carefully loops one arm around his shoulder and the other around his legs. He wants to snarl that he is not a delicate flower, but he knows better and bits his lip instead.
But maybe he is after all. The moment he is cradled against Sam's chest, their faces only inches apart, feeling his brother struggling to get a solid stand with his additional weight, his eyes begin to sting and he heavily breathes down the rest of the dignity he has left.
"This is so ridiculous."
"You are ridiculous."
"It sucks," Dean moans.
"Tell me about it."
Dean clasps the back of Sam's neck a little tighter, feeling the tense and stiff muscles popping underneath. Trying to look over his shoulder, wanting to see when this misery ends.
"Would you quit squirming for one second," Sam says.
And Dean does. For a good solid thirty seconds when he speaks.
"Man, I am never getting used to this."
You don't have to, Sam thinks, clutching Dean's upper body a little closer, his fingers mangled in Dean's jeans drenched in sweat.
"You good?" Sam says, his voice suddenly all soft.
"Yeah, just get this over with."
Sam waited 7 months and 16 days for that moment.
All this time to get Dean home with him.
Oddly enough, it felt like a lifetime.
As he reaches Dean's room, he's sweating so much, his shirt is plastered to his back and Sam can feel losing the grip on his brother. He shifts, stiffly trying to hoist his brother back up a few inches. His fingers desperately clinging to his brother's body, solid and warm against him. He doesn't dare to let go.
Since they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dean hasn't bothered to say anything else. It feels like he had resigned, letting his new fate wash over him. And it feels all kinds of wrong.
"Here we go," Sam mutters matter-of-factly just to fill the void. He feels Dean going rigid as he edges closer to the bed, carefully lowering him down until his back comes in touch with the freshly washed sheets.
"You ok?" Sam asks again, hovering.
Dean brushes it away, flat out ignoring him.
Because they both know he really isn't.
Sam crouches close to his brother, fumbling with the slippers since they weren't even bothering with boots. Gently, he clasps his hands around his brother's calf, feeling fading muscles under the tips of his fingers. For a moment, he thinks there are bones, too.
"Sam," he growls, a warning in his voice.
Sam backs up then, pushing to his feet and taking a few steps towards the door, watching from afar as Dean clamps his fingers in the hem of the fabric, tugging at his jeans to hoist his legs up, which are hanging over the edge, nonfunctional and useless.
It strikes a chord somewhere deep inside his chest and Sam has to look away, staring at the closet cluttered with books and leftover beers. It might just also have been a brick wall because it all gets blurry on the edges. The strong, self-sacrificial hunter who defined ghosts, monsters, hell, Lucifer, and God himself, now looked defeated.
Sam hated it, hated it that in the end, it came down to this.
There is a curse of frustration coming from the far corner of this room. Sam clears his throat, trying to hold his desperation in check, only barely.
"There are clothes for you," he rasps, not really trusting his voice as he nervously points his finger to the neatly folded pile of cotton on the nightstand. "You know if you want to get more comfy."
There is silence for a moment, only the rustling of covers.
"Maybe later," Dean replies, sounding tired as he tries to soften his sudden mood shift. And Sam gets it, he really does. Dean doesn't have to try. Not for anybody. And especially not for him.
Sam moves back and helplessly eyes Dean, who is still where he left him. Sitting close to the edge, shifting backward with a wince, trying to push his body to the headrest.
"Quit it," his brother demands.
Turning on his heels, he hears the noise first. A familiar scratching sound on the tiles. He barely catches a glimpse of the fuzzy, caramel blob that is rushing past him, straight towards the bed.
Dean groans as fifty pounds of excited limps crushes into him. Knocking the wind out of him briefly, before a noise fest of whining and yelping ensues.
"Hey there, buddy," Dean's face lightens up, looking unwittingly like he did as a kid, getting the biggest price award on that stupid shooting range shack back at the Christmas market Dean insisted on. In the end, it was Sam who was given the price. "Heeeey." he warbles, digging his fingers into the soft, long fur with blissful joy, as paws scramble over his legs and hands.
There is rustling and the loud, happy tapping of Miracle's tail against the sheets and Dean's torso. He rocks forward, ruffling the top of the head, then going for the neck and back.
"Careful," Sam yelps, as the furball is hopping, repeatedly bumping his wet nose into Dean's palms and arms, basically all over. With a flick of his head, Miracle leaps at his face and Dean dips sideways, as the slobbering muzzle is pressed against his cheek, missing the dodged lips only inches.
Then, suddenly, the laughter is gone and Dean sits there tight-lipped, the color draining from his face almost instantly. His fidgeting fingers are still engulfed into the fluffy fur coat and Sam inwardly curses.
Sam whistles, clapping his hands together.
"C'mere," and the bundle crashes to the floor beside him.
Reaching out, Sam grabs Dean's shoulder, his face covered in sweat now, eyes pressed closed.
"Dean," he presses.
"Just...just dizzy"
Dean groans, clamming his fingers on Sam's arm. Sam gradually lowers his back to the bed with ease, head propped up against the cushion.
"You gonna be sick?" Sam asks, hastily.
He eyes Dean carefully, deciding that nope, he isn't. He can still read the signs good enough.
Absently, bringing his trembling hand to his temple, Dean lets out a long, shaky breath.
"Well, that's a welcome I could get used to," he chuckles, voice strained with pain.
And Sam has to crack a smile on his own.
It's only later when he finds Dean half asleep, that he finally feels the knot in his stomach loosen slightly. Their new four-legged friend is resting right beside his sibling, head nuzzled just above his sternum. Blinking through tousled strands with eyes of pure affection.
"I missed you," Dean mutters quietly in the dim-light, voice dull from painkillers as he is lazily cradling one floppy ear, which keeps on turning from side to side.
Sam is not sure if the words are dedicated to the coat monster propped up against Dean's side or to him, but it doesn't matter.
Months or years, Sam would have waited an eternity just to have this anyway.
For the first few days, it's almost nice.
There are cheese sandwiches and piles of crispy-oil-drenched bacon waiting for him every morning, There are potato salads and turkey roasts with gravy from Jody. There are pies stuffed with chocolate and apple sauce with whipped cream on top, made by Eileen herself.
And of course, Sam.
Who is trying to coax him to go for a walk with him, watching TV together with him, and playing a deck of cards while popping a beer. Sam, who simply sits beside him doing nothing at all or doing research with him.
Right now through, the only thing that soothes him, takes him away is the earthy and rainy smell of fur.
Dean stares at the tip of his toes as he lies on his bed, wanting to curl his fingers into a fist but instead he takes a slow, deep breath. His eyes are wandering to the ceiling before he closes them while burying his fingers deeper into the fluffy, golden ocean of hair beside him.
Their whole life has been about hunting, about being a chess piece, lousy flipped around on the whole, fucked-up cosmic chessboard.
And when, after years and years of sweat, tears and torture and sacrifices, it was finally theirs and he could taste the sweet relief of release, it was taken from them.
Because Sam was stuck with him now, too.
He remembers the feeling of hell, the feeling of purgatory.
Dean didn't know that even with free will, he wasn't allowed to get out of the burning pit of fire.
"You really thought I was going out by biting a fucking nail?"
Dean huffs in disbelief as he reaches for the cornflakes, dumping a huge load into his bowl, milk splashing to the sides. One loop goes off board and he casually catches it, dropping it into his mouth.
"It…" Sam mutters, moisturizing his lips and desperately wanting to go for a sip of water because his throat closed up all of the sudden. Hastily, he glances over to Dean from the kitchen table as he continues, voice strained almost to a breaking point. "It was a piece of rebar, actually. Used to strengthen the structure."
Dean looks at him with wide, almost comical eyes.
"Yeah, well, whatever," his brother snorts. "I got standards, you know."
Sam doesn't smile. He has to suppress the urge to plaster Dean's goddamn fucking smug smile out of his face. Because, really, his brother was this close to biting the dust. And he wasn't having any of it.
Sam remembers the dreading, overwhelming smell of blood, merging with the clean, sunny one of hay. Remembers Dean's cold and clammy skin against his shoulder as his brother's limp head nicked forward when his body lost the battle against consciousness. The small traces of tears that were blinding into the hem of his flannel, like a farewell he wasn't simply ready to say himself.
Sam remembers the agony as his heart cried out in denial and terror as his hands were the only thing keeping Dean together from falling apart. Right in front of him, as he pressed them around the hot-rolled mesh of steel wires around Dean's middle and blood was pooling over his fingers like a sweet lick of death.
Remembers his horse voice and ragged breathing being the only sound as he shouted for Jack. As the kids were whimpering together outside waiting to join him later to bring them home as he was supposed to. And all of it was for Sam to bring Dean home with him, alive and breathing.
He remembers how he didn't register the unknown hands that were plastered on his biceps at first, only to nearly lose it as they grabbed him harder, trying to pry him away from his brother. When white-hot yellow sparks lit the darkness in the open barn. When he ignored the tearing noise nearly crushing his ears, only to see the slack body being hefted from the pole.
Remembers when Dean was strapped to the stretcher, his face ghostly pale. When his knees gave out as he was told his brother's heart stopped minutes into surgery, only to go into a coma afterwards. When Eileen was the only anchor he had from breaking down completely.
When Dean had said his goodbyes, but he simply couldn't.
"Hey," Dean says, his gravelly voice bringing him back to the present.
"I'm here now, aren't I?" he mutters, leaning forward as his eyes are searching for some recognition. "And mind you, I am not planning on leaving you either. As I said."
Dean smiles at Sam then, soft and reassuring, unclenching his heavy heart.
"Besides, I'm stuck with you, anyways," he teases, tapping the steel of the spokes, and then he processes to shovel another spoonful of breakfast into his mouth.
Dean is here.
Sam doesn't mind, doesn't really mind at all.
Tbc...