First things first, there are spoilers here for 15x20, "Carry On", the series finale. The whole thing is a spoiler basically. You've been warned!
I cried a lot during the finale, and a lot after. Writing is how I cope. I hope some of you enjoy this super angsty scene filler. Still don't own anything.
Sam's not sure how long he stands there supporting Dean. It's long enough to make his arms start shaking from exertion, not emotion, and he begins to notice Dean's body sagging. Sam wants to keep holding on, to give his brother the bone-crushing hug he wasn't able to just moments ago out of fear of hurting him. But Sam can't bear the thought of that rebar doing any more damage to his brother than it's already done.
So he shifts his weight, grabs Dean under the arms, lifts, and pulls back as gently as he can.
He whispers apologies the whole time.
When the rebar is finally out, Dean completely collapses against him, hands at his sides, legs useless and uncoordinated. Sam catches him, like he always does.
"I got you," he says in a thick, broken tone.
Dean's head lolls and rolls against Sam's shoulder, as if in reply.
From there, Sam maneuvers both himself and his brother to the side of the barn behind a few of the hay bales. He lies Dean down as gingerly as he can, but still winces at some of the soft impacts Dean's body makes with the wooden floor. The wince only causes more tears to fall from his eyes. At least he can see clearer now, as if that's a silver lining.
Sam's knees go out from under him only seconds later and he lands in an awkward position. Knees bent to the side, left arm holding him up, he reaches out with his right and holds it over Dean's body almost reverently. As if he could push life into him or suck the injury away.
There's no sign of the fatal wound on Dean's front. But Sam could feel the hole in his back as he carried him. For a split second he wonders if it's similar to what Dean felt when Jake stabbed Sam in the back all those years ago. The first time one of them truly lost the other.
The thought almost makes him sick.
His shaking right hand finally lands on Dean's left, and he squeezes. There's still some warmth in Dean's fingers, and he wants to hold onto it as long as possible. Wants to pretend like there isn't blood seeping through the back of Dean's jacket, soaking the dirty floorboards, mingling with the dust and hay and specks of dirt that reside there. Wants to think that at any moment Jack will come in and resurrect him, or Cas will come in to heal him.
There's no point in thinking any of it. So he doesn't, not really.
It's different this time. There's no Mark of Cain on Dean's arm, possibility of purgatory, angels or demons to bring him back, God to yank their chains. There's just this. Free will and a dusty barn and some decapitated vampires. And Dean.
Half a decade ago, after Dean had let in Gadreel to possess Sam, Sam had told Dean that he wouldn't save him in the same way if their positions were reversed. Looking back, it hadn't come out right in the moment. It had been angry and misunderstood. What he had meant was this.
Dean had been at peace with the decision. He had told Sam it was okay and made him say it back. It wouldn't be right to make a deal or pull him back down into his body. Sam just has to live with the consequences.
He squeezes Dean's hand harder as he remembers the two little boys outside somewhere that still need saving. Sam wants to take another minute, wants to take the rest of eternity to be here with his brother, but he can't. He's got a job to do, a job he promised Dean he'd do.
"I'll come back for you," he swallows thickly around the lump in his throat as he gently rests Dean's hand over his abdomen and crosses the other in a similar fashion. "I promise."
Sam's knees crack as he stands up. Tears refill his eyes as he makes his way to the barn door and looks back at Dean, partially obscured by the hay, completely still.
He doesn't know that Dean said similar things when he left Sam in a cabin to save two people from a pack of werewolves. He doesn't know that Dean hesitated in the doorway, chest constricted as he looked at his baby brother supposedly dead on the floor. So Sam can't possibly know that he mirrors Dean's exact words, his exact actions, before he takes his leave from the barn.
Sam calls for the brothers as soon as he's outside the barn. He tells them that it's alright and that their mother wants to see them. Eventually they appear from a patch of bushes. The younger one is clinging onto the older one's jacket, almost completely hidden behind him.
"Come on," Sam says softly and motions with his hand. He's not at all surprised when they follow him back to the Impala and get inside without a word when Sam opens the back door.
When Sam opens the front door and slides behind the driver's seat, it's all he can do to not let out a choked sob in front of them. All three of their eyes are red, and he doubts in the midst of their trauma that they're judging him. But still, he doesn't want to add to their pain.
They don't ask where the other man from the barn is and Sam is grateful.
Sam turns off the cassette player the second the key turns the engine over. The Kansas tape Dean had in the deck is silenced before another chord can play out. Sam can't listen to it, not right now.
Something tugs in his chest as he drives them away from the barn and onto the main road. It's like a string, pulling taut back to that dilapidated structure where Dean lies, alone and growing cold.
Sam turns on the heater.
When he looks in the rearview mirror a few minutes later upon hearing sniffling from the backseat, he sees the younger brother tucked into the older one's side. The older one is rubbing his hand in slow circles on his brother's shoulder. His eyes are closed and there are silent tears making their way down his cheeks while his brother's cries are a little more evident. They quiet a little with the older one's ministrations, and Sam has to look away.
They'll be alright. He's certain of it. He knows the magic older brothers possess, after all.
At the police station, Sam turns the brothers over and gives just enough of an explanation to avoid questions. He also misdirects—not enough to hinder the investigation—but enough to give him time to get back to the barn and get Dean out.
When he finally gets back, an eternity has passed and nothing has moved. When Sam kneels down, he finds the only change that has occurred is that Dean's hands have grown cold. He can't hold them like he wants to. He couldn't hug Dean one final time like he wanted to either, not with a piece of metal keeping him from bleeding out for the precious few minutes it took him to say goodbye.
"The boys are safe," Sam tells him and purses his lips right after. He likes to think that if Dean is still hanging around, maybe this little bit of extra information—that the boys Dean died saving can have a life because of him—can bring him some peace. He looks to Dean's lax face and sees dried tear tracks on his cheeks. With shaking fingers, Sam reaches up and tries to brush them off. It only half works, but he can't bear to use any more pressure.
He spends another minute, or two, or three, sitting there and staring, before remembering that he's on a clock. There's no easy way to lift and carry a body in general. When it's his brother, it's another weight entirely, one Sam knows all too well.
He brings Dean up towards him into half a hug, links one arm under his knees and one around his shoulders for a bridal carry. A fireman's carry would probably be easier, but he just can't do that. Can't have his brother facing away from him as he carries him out of the barn.
So Sam lifts with his knees, his heart, his soul. He strains and grits his teeth and stands, Dean safely tucked against his chest. With fresh tears streaming down his face, he begins the heavy trek back to the Impala.
He has to pause to open the door when he gets there, and only then realizes that there's nothing in the back to put between Dean and the seat beneath him. So he lays Dean down, grabs a towel from the back, and returns immediately to put it between his brother and Baby's lovingly maintained interior before too much blood seeps through.
When he's done, his hands are stained red and shaking again. Sam straightens Dean's jacket over his front and rests his hand on Dean's chest. He leaves behind slight, sticky red prints when he does. A few dark splotches soon spread out on the fabric from the tears falling from Sam's eyes.
"I've got you, big brother," Sam reaffirms with a slight nod and pats his chest.
He closes the door as carefully as he can and gets into the front the same way. He can see Dean in the rearview mirror and, content his brother is as secure as he can get, starts driving away.
The passenger seat is empty next to him, the music is off, and the road stretches out too long in front of him. It's all wrong.
Sam drives the fifteen hours back in one go, only stopping for gas and a few bottles of water. He knows he could put his brother to rest anywhere, but it just wouldn't feel right. As if anything about this feels right.
So he makes the drive and doesn't complain. Neither does Baby. She's as stalwart and trustworthy as ever, even with Sam's apparent tendency to 'ride the breaks'. Sam can hear Dean in his head reminding him to not do just that.
Sam knows from experience that Dean's voice never totally fades, but it does eventually warp in his mind. He holds onto the memory of the exact tone and cadence of it and in that moment swears to keep it for as long as he is able.
When Sam finally pulls into the bunker's garage and turns the car off, the silence invades his ears. He moves just to get rid of it.
Baby's door hinges squeak and protest until he finds himself standing at the back door. Getting Dean out of the car is considerably harder than getting him in. He's stiffer than before and Sam's muscles are completely spent. But he makes it work.
As he walks down the hallways towards the infirmary, Miracle comes to pad alongside him. He sniffs Dean's hanging boot as he trots, and immediately begins whining and trotting less happily.
Sam doesn't have it in him to offer the dog—the one Dean had insisted they take back to the bunker—any consolation at the moment. Dean, who had never wanted a dog, much less one that travelled in the car. Dean, who would take Miracle for drives with the windows down so he could feel the breeze in his fur and Dean could see nothing but freedom stretched out for miles around of him. And Miracle, who returned it by jumping into Dean's arms at every chance he got.
The door is still missing from where Chuck blew it to smithereens. They never did get around to replacing it, just cleaned up the splinters and left it open. It feels like a lifetime ago. Sam walks in unhindered and places Dean down on the bed closest to the door. There are bruises that never got to fully form slightly discoloring his face. There's stubble on his jaw and a puffiness to his eyes. But nothing else is wrong.
Sam has bloodstains on his left arm from Dean's back, but with his brother lying face up on the bed, it's not so bad. It's not like when he carried Dean back after his showdown with Metatron.
But maybe that would be better; for him to see the injuries that took his brother from him. This just looks like a mutated form of sleeping, a distorted wax mold bearing his brother's visage.
Sam leaves the room to change his clothes before he can think on it further. Miracle pads next to him, head down, whining having stopped during Sam's musings.
He changes into a new set of clothes and brings some back for Dean. A black t-shirt, his favorite flannel, and a blue jacket.
Sam's familiar with the next part too: preparing a body for the pyre.
He peels the blood-soaked layers off his brother and uses a sponge in lukewarm water to get him as clean as he can. Dean's anti possession tattoo is a stark black against his now pale, freckled skin. Sam redresses him as gently as possible, taking care to button the flannel sleeves before maneuvering the jacket on top.
When Sam's done, he sits on the corner of the bed and sighs. He's got a pounding headache, his stomach is in knots, and he hasn't drawn in a full breath other than to let out a harsh cry in he doesn't know how long. He takes a moment to look at his watch and notes that it's been almost a day since Dean…
He's probably been up too long, that has to be factoring in. He makes the decision to get a granola bar from the kitchen before he returns to the infirmary. He eats it robotically and leaves the wrapper on a desk. Sam then sets his watch alarm for three hours, just enough to hopefully quell some of the headache and give his muscles time to heal.
He has a pyre to build, he owes Dean that, and he can't do it if he collapses. Sam knows Dean wouldn't want him doing this to himself, but he also knows Dean wouldn't be faring any better.
He pulls another infirmary bed over next to Dean's and lies down on his side, facing his brother. Miracle hops up and makes himself comfortable at Sam's feet.
Without moving around, all Sam can hear is the hum of the bunker. It hasn't been quiet like this in…years, if ever.
There was Charlie and Kevin, hell even Crowley. There was Jack and the apocalypse world hunters. There was Cas.
There was always Dean.
Now there's no one.
Sam's alarm sounds and he clicks it off before the third beep even goes through. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Dean in the exact same position only a few feet away from him. Miracle hasn't moved. He perks up when Sam rouses, but his ears aren't in their normal happy position. They've only had the dog a few months, but it's clear he knows something is wrong.
Sam finally gets up and Miracle follows him into Dean's room where he pours out some kibble. While Miracle eats, Sam shrugs on his jacket, grabs an axe, and heads outside.
As he chops wood for the pyre, he tries not to think about how many times he's done this, how the motions are familiar and second nature, how the burn in his muscles is a welcome feeling to drown out the pit in his stomach. Sam chops the wood alone. He forms it into a pyre alone. When the time comes, he'll put Dean on it, alone.
He knows Donna and Jody and others would want to be here, probably deserve to be here, but a few of Dean's last words keep echoing in his head.
It was always you and me. It's always been you and me.
For the majority of their lives, it's been just them. There's something tragically fitting about Dean being laid to rest in that same fashion.
Eventually, the pyre is built. Sam's steps are slow as he makes his way back to the bunker and the infirmary. He knows that what's left of his brother is really just a vessel, that his soul is hopefully in heaven, but that never makes it any easier to say goodbye.
Sam stands over Dean, fiddling with the sheet in his hands. He opens his mouth and closes it as he tries to think of something to say, some eulogy to give, a way to memorialize his brother's loss in the place that became their home. In the end, he opts not to. Dean knows everything he would come up with, he's certain of it.
He does, however, make his choked up throat form one word. "Jerk." His lips quiver as he tries to smile at the image of Dean hovering over his shoulder, annoyed that he can't reply and make Sam hear it. Sam can hear the reply all the same and feel his brother's hands around his shoulders. That feeling, too, he'll hold onto for as long as he can.
Sam takes another few moments to himself before he takes a deep breath, sighs, and begins covering Dean with the sheet. He stops halfway up and thinks for a second before he loosens Dean's watch and slips it off his wrist.
It's heavy and sturdy in his hand, a timepiece made to last. Sam will make sure it does. He pockets the watch and folds the rest of the sheet over Dean's arms, torso, and finally his face. The wrapping and tying doesn't take long, and soon he's once again carrying his brother with Miracle at his heels.
He leads the dog outside to the pyre. Sam's arms shake as he has to lift Dean higher to get him on top of the wood platform. When he's finally settled, Sam rests his hand over Dean's chest and bows his head in a final goodbye. He then steps back and puts in the final wood base pieces where he was standing and joins Miracle off to the side.
Sam hesitates when he pulls Dean's old lighter out of his pocket. It's worn from use, and Sam stares at it as he flicks it open. He casts one more glance at the pyre and the white figure resting on it before he ignites the lighter and tosses it onto the pile. The wood ignites almost instantly.
Sam watches his world become enveloped in flames.
Dean had once pleaded that: There ain't no me if there ain't no you. Sam can hear the desperation in his voice and see his brother's stricken face even now.
Sam knew long before the pyre was lit that the same sentiment has always been true for him. But it's different now. He has to find a way to make it work without Dean, for Dean.
Do all of it for Dean.
Maybe, just maybe, he can find a way to do that.
So...tissues? The finale wasn't perfect (few are in my opinion to begin with), but I still really, really liked it. The parallels and acting were fantastic, and I'm satisfied with how the characters ended up. I am assuming that some time took place between 15x19 and 15x20. It wouldn't sit well with me if their first hunt after Chuck got nixed as God this happened to Dean. So in this story, months have passed. Maybe in other stories, weeks or years have passed. I like to think it's up for interpretation.
This show has brought me so much joy over the last four and a half years. I plan to keep writing things for it, but I am definitely grieving as if I lost a friend in a way. Episode tags are some of my favorite pieces to create, so it's strange to think that there aren't any more episodes to write tags for...ouch. If anyone wants to share thoughts on the finale, or just talk about things (I bet a lot of us could use a hug right now), my inbox is always open. Thank you all for the support these last few years and I look forward to posting again soon. *sends all the hearts*