Family Issue
Again, the show skims over some serious hurt Sam like it's nothing. Despite being tortured, at the end of the episode Sam doesn't have a single scratch (probably thanks to Cas, but still). Also, he is convinced that Dean is dead, so I would imagine him to be a bit more… upset? Here's my version with a little different turn of events – let's pretend Dean doesn't get himself captured by the BMOL. Oh, and he doesn't bring Mary.
Hurt Sam/protective Dean.
Supernatural isn't mine.
There was only pain, darkness, and silence. But mostly pain.
He'd felt worse pain before. At least physically, he was pretty sure of that.
But that was before… before his big brother, the one person to make everything bearable, had been ripped from his life. Just a few hours ago, Dean had sacrificed himself to beat the Darkness. There wasn't even a body to bury, no way to make sure. But the sun was still glowing, so obviously, their plan must have worked. Dean had gone out in a blaze of glory – or rather a fireball of thousands of exploding souls, just like he'd always wanted.
The world was still spinning, but Dean wasn't in it anymore. He was dead. Which meant that Sam's world had stopped spinning.
Sam was left behind, suffering soul-crushing loss but given zero time to mourn and grief.
The minute he had set foot in the bunker, Cas had been cast away by a blood sigil. Toni Bevell, as she had introduced herself in a British accent, had been waving a gun at Sam. The only remaining Winchester had been taken by surprise, being not exactly at his best after having said his goodbyes to his brother for the last time.
PANG!
Shot. The pantsuit lady had actually shot Sam in the leg. Honestly, on a day like this, the one he'd finally lost his brother for good, Sam hadn't had much strength in him left to begin with, even without the well-aimed wound. Of course, in typical Winchester-manner, he'd put up a fight anyways, struggling against his captors. In the end, he'd succumbed to blood loss, exhaustion, and pain – so much pain, but in contrary to his kidnappers' beliefs, his suffering was mainly of an emotional nature.
00000
And now here he was, bloody and broken and alone, somewhere dark and quiet. It seemed to be a repurposed basement – a dungeon – the British chapter of the Men of Letters had brought him to. Apparently, even though he'd never heard of them before, they were a thing, and they wanted information on American hunters. Toni Bevell wasn't very subtle about that.
Sam sat uncomfortably on a wooden chair, his wrists handcuffed behind his back, his bare feet tied to the chair above his ankles. He was completely drenched with water, the cold sending shivers down his spine every now and then. His damp hair clung to his clammy face.
The bullet hole had been stitched up, and the pain had dulled down to an unpleasant throb. Still, the blood loss had weakened him. Ever since then his tormentors had cut more holes and craters into his skin. There was a caustic, fiery sensation from where his captors had burned his foot with some sort of flambé burner. The braising smell alone had made his stomach churn. Sam was fairly certain a whole chunk of flesh had been burned away even though he couldn't see anything beyond a fresh bandage. The thought still let nausea rise in his esophagus. He thickly swallowed the urge to retch.
In addition to his messed-up foot, Toni had relished in cutting Sam all over his chest and face, leaving stinging, oozing gashes. Sam himself had added another slice to his palm when he had unsuccessfully tried to trick his torturer. However, his little stunt hadn't exactly worked, earning him being painfully tasered, shockwaves jangling already raw nerves. Also, Sam was pretty sure he had cracked a rib or two from when he'd fought back against being shackled – if the burning in his chest was any indication.
In sum, Sam was bad off. His entire body was on fire, sore, and raw. Physically, he couldn't take much more. He was weak and tired and in pain. Not that he would ever admit to that.
But apparently, that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy his sadistic captors.
Toni had tried to mentally torture him, too. Break his mind.
Even after what he gauged to be two or three hours, there were still traces of some unknown substance in his blood, making him woozy and lightheaded. He'd been drugged, for god's sake. Forced to relive his worst memories in awful hallucinations of his loved ones dying – of Dean dying. And that had almost been enough – but Sam had never broken. He hadn't told that British lady squat. Even when she enchanted him with some occult spell, his lips had stayed sealed.
Right now, his tormentors were leaving Sam alone. They had left behind a broken body and a numb mind.
Sam just sat there, silently waiting for the torture to continue.
His eyes were closed, his head hanging low on his chest. Every muscle in his body hurt, his skin felt too tight, and there was an increasingly painful pounding behind his eyelids. If it weren't for the chair, Sam probably wouldn't even have the strength to sit but would simply slump to the floor in a heap, unable to move.
Yes, Sam felt like shit.
But the worst part wasn't the physical pain. He was used to pain. Hell, he was used to getting kidnapped and being roughed up. How messed-up was that?
Now that he was left to himself, all the injuries became peanuts compared to what was going on in his mind. He had time to think – which was probably exactly what his tormentors intended – and he realized that, not only in this damp basement but out there in the real world, he was truly and utterly alone.
No one would come to save him this time. No one.
Even Cas had been sent away Chuck knows where and thanks to Sam being warded, he'd never be found. And that wasn't even what really worried him. Sam didn't care if these British freaks tortured him until he died. He didn't even care if they dumped his body in a ditch afterwards.
Hell, he even welcomed the physical pain because it gave him something his mind could focus on – other than the tremendous reality of having lost the most important bond he'd had. Dean. His brother, his everything, was gone. And now Sam was left to live in a world without him. He felt his heart sink, helpless misery welling in his mind.
Dean would want him to keep fighting, to be strong – carry on their legacies of saving people, hunting things. But it had taken everything out of Sam to just spit screw you! in that British lady's face. Now he felt spiritless. How was he supposed to keep the fight up when his purpose in life had ceased to exist?
Somewhere in the back of his mind Sam knew that there were phases to mourning, and one of them was rage. So yes, at some point he would probably lash out, fight with everything he had, and his deadly wrath would rain down on every monster in his way – starting with these British fiends. However, he wasn't there yet, not by a long shot. Currently, Sam was alternating between deep depression, denial, and anxiety.
For the first time in a long while, he felt completely helpless. In the past, whenever Sam was hurt, he'd always tethered to the fact that his brother was out there, finding a way to get to him. He could always build on Dean. Always. Now, there was no hope, no nothing.
The realization that he had nothing to go back to instantly knocked the wind out of Sam's lungs. He was breathing shallowly, trying to get his respirations and his mind back in control. But it was no use.
Dean. He couldn't help but internally call – pray – for his brother.
A fresh wave of grief burned hot through Sam's chest, paradoxically making him shiver. The trembles racked his tired body, multiplying the pain from his wounds. Everything was just too damn much, and at the same time, the physical damages weren't nearly enough to surpass the emotional ones.
Sam's upper body heaved against the restraints, his labored breath hitching. He felt thick, hot agony spread from his chest like poison, surging into every fiber of his body. The numbness he had tried to maintain for hours slowly collapsed like a house of cards – turning into overwhelming forlornness.
He wanted Dean.
Sam felt bone-deep pain and loneliness swamping his heart, and finally pricking at his eyes. He clenched his lids shut hard, just like his jaw, desperately fighting the welling wetness to escape his eyes but to no avail. A low whimper echoed in the dark room, then another, and finally, a quiet sob broke free from his lips, making his entire body shake. He felt hot, salty tears run down his cheeks, leaving tracks across his bloodied face.
Sam Winchester cried.
He didn't know for how long, but he let the tears fall freely now because it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. His mind was an abyss, swallowing every last ounce of hope. Sam felt so alone.
At least along with the teardrops some of the heaviness was flushed from his body, as if the previously suppressed emotions had been weighing him down like lead – it almost was cathartic.
It didn't make anything better though. Nothing would bring back Dean from the Empty Billie had threatened to toss him into after his death. He was gone, forever. How was Sam supposed to live without his big brother? How was he supposed to cope?
He hiccupped, breathing through the emotions raging in his heart.
He'd lost Dean before, more than once, but that didn't make things any easier – even harder. Every single one of Dean's deaths had etched itself deep into Sam's soul, the image of his dying brother haunting him in his dreams. Yes, he'd tried to pretend he could keep going before. But his year with Amelia and their dog had been just another illusion. That wasn't his life. Sam belonged with his brother.
Sam silently sniveled at the memories of past confrontations with his brother dying. He remembered every single time like it had happened yesterday. The instant relief beyond all description whenever he got Dean back from death had always been replaced by the knowledge that one day, Dean wouldn't come back. The fact that both Winchesters had tricked death more than once didn't give Sam hope – no, it made him desperate, anxious, terrified of that one time Dean wouldn't be brought back to life.
And now, the finality of death had finally caught up with the Winchesters.
Sam felt his chest constrict, eliciting a quiet moan. His heart clenched so agonizingly tightly that he thought it was about to burst from his body.
His worst nightmare had become real.
What had happened to their plan of going out together? Just like in life, the brothers had sworn to stick together in death. But now Dean was gone, and Sam was left to suffer alone. With Dean gone, every last member of his small family had died. There was no one left.
Maybe Cas was out there somewhere – but even though Sam had called him family more than once… their bond wasn't the same as the real deal, and it never would be. As much as he'd come to appreciate the angel's friendship, it wasn't the same as brotherhood. Cas was his brother in arms, but he wasn't Sam's brother. Dean was. And Dean was gone.
If Sam had to choose between Dean and any other being in the universe, he'd always choose his brother. Always. They had proven as much to each other in the past. Sam and Dean had sacrificed everything for each other – their lives, other beings' lives, the weight of the whole world.
Except today. Today, Dean had given his life for the sake of the universe. He'd done it so that literally everything – everything other than Dean himself – could continue to exist.
Another silent cry erupted from Sam's throat, a single tear dripping from his chin.
So, this was it. After everything… this was how things for the Winchesters would end. Dean dying a hero, and Sam dying all alone.
Sam let out a shaky breath, abandoning all hope.
Another while passed and the quiet sobs slowly gave way to smaller hiccups until these subsided, too. His aching ribcage was still vibrating with every labored breath. The tears had drained him of his last energy reserves, leaving him completely empty.
Sam opened his eyes, his vision blurry, but if from tears or exhaustion, he couldn't tell. And he didn't care. He was still dizzy, the dim room around him spinning, the world tilting along with his head dipping down to rest on his chest.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut again. He was so, so tired.
Hang in there, Sammy!
The familiar voice ping-ponged in his mind. Oh no, was he starting to imagine things again? He was probably talking to himself, trying to block out the harsh reality of loss and pain and… more loss. He sniffed against the voice in the back of his head that sounded awfully like Dean's. God, he missed his brother so much.
Another long moment passed, Sam drifting in and out, darkness threatening to consume him.
00000
Clunk.
What was that?
In his muffled mind low sounds suddenly reached his ears. Or maybe the sounds came from outside of his head.
Thud.
Faint clattering and banging, shuffling – fighting?
Swoosh.
Before he could put the white noise together, there was silence again. Sam vaguely wondered if the sounds had come from his tormentors but couldn't really connect the dots. How long would it take before they came back? They were gone pretty long by now… weren't they? Then again, by now Sam had lost all sense of time and space.
Suddenly, another sound rang through the murkiness in his head – bang! – its sheer volume forcefully penetrating the wall of cotton in his mind.
Then creaking, only a few feet in front of him. The door to his dungeon had just opened, Sam recognized without looking. Even in his dazed state, his hunter's training kicked in. His body tensed and he remained completely still, trying hard to focus his hearing on the faint sounds despite feeling like his brain was stuffed with wool.
Tap, tap, tap.
There were light thuds – treading carefully? – down the steps, approaching.
Someone was coming for him, Sam realized.
In a flash, his heartbeat sped up in anticipation of danger.
Sam was conscious and aware enough to know that someone, probably Toni, was coming back, walking down the steps to the basement right this second. But still, he couldn't bring himself to look up at the threat. His body was unable to move, paralyzed by pain and grief. And maybe a little fear, but the stubborn hunter in Sam wouldn't admit to that.
"Sam—"
What? The word was spoken softly. He'd heard his name, he was sure, even if the syllable seemed to hang in the stiff air around him, not quite reaching him.
"Sam!"
Again. It was faint but the person speaking was coming closer, voice raised. He wanted to crawl away, withdraw from whoever came to torment him. But neither the bindings nor his aching body complied.
"Sammy…"
There it was, softly, gently. His oh so familiar nickname only a single person was ever allowed to use. Sam wasn't surprised that his captors were stooping to such low levels of cracking his mind. He was very surprised – shocked – though that the voice spoke so soothing, so familiar… so Dean. Just now his sluggish brain registered that the voice actually sounded deep and masculine, too. Not Toni then.
But… Dean?
No, this couldn't be. Maybe he really was imagining things, perhaps he'd even been drugged again without noticing. And now these freaks made him see – well, hear – another hallucination of Dean. They wanted to break their prisoner by luring him into the false belief that his big brother was right here, saving him – only to take away that bliss at the last second. It was the worst they could do to Sam.
His heart pounded rapidly against his ribs. Fresh terror seared through his veins along with boiling blood, setting his level of awareness higher.
"N-no," he muttered defiantly, his voice barely a whisper, head still hanging low.
Now someone was standing right in front of him, he could feel their presence. His chest trembled, uneven breaths escaping his lips.
"Sammy, open your eyes," the person asked in Dean's voice, mimicking his brother so terrifyingly well that Sam almost choked on the words. He clenched his lids shut even harder against the stifling need to do just what the man asked. He couldn't bear seeing an illusion of his big brother dissolving into nothing right before his eyes again.
"Go 'way. You're n-not 'im!" Sam rasped.
"Please, Sammy, it's me…" Dean – not Dean – urged. His tone was gruff and pleading at the same time, sounding so far away yet so close and familiar. Sam wanted to obey so badly, wanted to look up into his brother's face, wanted to give in to the temptation of savoring Dean's existence. But this wasn't Dean, it couldn't be.
Suddenly, there was a ginger touch, warm fingers under his chin – and Sam's paralysis finally broke. He flinched, his upper body trying to wriggle away, only causing his strained muscles to painfully cramp. There was no way he could get away. The bindings didn't give. He was completely and utterly at this mysterious tormentor's mercy. Dread was settling in his gut.
"Leave me 'lone!"
But the gentle – oh, surprisingly, it really was gentle – hand stayed. A thumb softly brushed his jawline. There was something awfully familiar about the motion and the calloused fingers providing it. Sam swallowed thickly, feeling sick at the tenderness with which the enemy was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. But it felt so, so good.
"Let me see those puppy-dog-eyes, Sammy."
Puppy-dog-eyes.
That was exactly what Dean would say. And that was it. Sam couldn't fight it anymore. His head melted into the stranger's hand as his chin was slowly lifted.
Maybe this was a Dean-impersonator, a pretty good one. And maybe he didn't care anymore because it just felt so damn good to have a piece of his brother. Sam slowly exhaled, his rapid heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears, and opened his eyes to slits.
There was a fuzzy face only inches from his. Sam blinked in confusion. His eyesight wasn't up to a hundred percent, but it slowly got a little clearer. He still blinked at what he was seeing, dumbstruck. Because he had half expected, hoped for exactly this, but then again… not really.
Familiar green with hazel specks looked back at him, a lopsided smile on the person's lips.
Sam's heart almost stuttered to a halt. He recoiled, inhaling sharply at the sudden pain exploding in his chest. It took a moment before he could catch his breath again.
"No! You're not r-real. He's… he's dead!" he called out desperately, trying to pull back again, this time more carefully. But the hand on his face cradled his cheek, oh it felt so… Dean – and Sam instinctively softened against the touch, silently cursing. His vision blurred though, if from exhaustion or dampness in his eyes, he didn't know. There was another feather-light touch on his chest now, gently rubbing soothing circles, carefully sparing the burning cuts.
Oh god, it all felt so much like Dean.
Sam longed for his brother to be here, wanted him to be the person in front of him. But, but… this had to be a shapeshifter, or… something. Because this couldn't be Dean. Because the real Dean was dead. By now, Sam was panting, almost hyperventilating because this – this stranger wearing his brother's face – was just too much.
"Easy, Sam…" the voice soothed.
And Sam blinked up at the man, gaping, his wheezing breath slowing a little just because the commanding voice resembled his brother's so much.
Damn. They had made him see Dean before. This had to be another trick, some sort of drug-induced delirium. What kind of sick and twisted people were these British Men of Letters, abusing Sam's already broken soul by tricking him into believing his dead brother was here?
"They really are sick bastards… drugging you, man, that's low," the man suddenly commented, barely hidden anger in a voice so much like Dean's it almost ripped Sam's heart apart.
Wait, had Sam said those last thoughts aloud?
"And Sammy, it's really me, Dean, your handsome big brother. Alive and kicking."
"Wha—"
Sam was stunned, torn. He glared at the man before him through slitted eyes. Light brown short hair, piercing green eyes, cocked grin at the mention of his own good looks – this was so Dean. Yet, this could be another perfect illusion, maybe some really strong hallucinogen, something making him see his brother's face on a stranger's body. He couldn't handle another mind game. Still, he wanted to believe so badly, he needed to.
So, Sam sucked in a breath, then tentatively asked, "D'n?" It came out almost a whimper. His heart was thumping like mad, his whole body vibrating with tension.
"In the flesh," Dean – maybe Dean – smirked.
And as if to prove himself, he then crouched down and cut through the thick ropes around Sam's ankles with his boot knife. He briefly fixed his gaze on Sam again, nodding – reassuring him with just one look that he wasn't doing him any harm. And surprisingly, after a few seconds the youngest Winchester's legs were free. This wasn't a trick – he could really move his feet, well theoretically. In practice, Sam sat still, staring numbly at the person helping him.
Sam's mind was racing, doubts about the man's identity gradually crumbling. His brother was special, unique in a way no one else was. Those eyes, that look, the stance – all of it screamed Dean. Sam internally shook his head, his heart fluttering. Could this really be…?
"Let me see…" Dean – possibly Dean – mumbled, getting to his feet. He stepped next to Sam and checked the handcuffs. Sam's wary gaze followed while the older man started lockpicking behind his back.
Click. Click.
"There we go," he announced, apparently satisfied with his own work. The cuffs clanked to the floor.
Sam's arms fell to his sides, stiff and aching, his fingertips prickling. He hadn't even realized how much the cuffs had chafed his wrists until now. The familiar figure appeared in his field of vision again, crouching once more. He caught Sam's limp arms, bringing them together in his lap. And even dazed, Sam couldn't help but notice how the gentle fingers were tracing the broken skin of his left palm, where thick red was oozing through a filthy bandage. Once again. They'd been here before, Sam realized somewhere in a deep, black corner of his mind.
"There... better?" he asked, warm affection in his eyes, and a hint of concern, Sam noticed through bleary eyes. And finally recognized.
No creature could imitate that one look of brotherly love only filtering through on rare occasions. Nothing and no one could pull off that anger-affection-worry look like Dean. It was an expression Dean reserved solely for his kid brother Sammy. No one else had ever gotten a glimpse at this part of his big brother.
That was the moment Sam knew that this was real. Dean was real. And he was right by his side.
Dean – definitely Dean – flashed him an honest smile, fine creases around his bright eyes, still holding Sam's bruised hands in his firm but tender grasp.
This wasn't an illusion – his sluggish brain finally was certain.
Sam gasped in shock, his composure crumbling.
The instant, overwhelming relief flooding his system floored him, crushing down on him in joyous ripples. Sam felt like he was falling, but maybe that was his blood pressure. His body shivered, all the emotions surging through his mind now clogging his throat, trapping everything he wanted to say.
Dean, you're alive, you found me, you're here…
There weren't words for this. Just one.
"Dean," Sam managed to breathe, blinking against arising dizziness.
It was enough. His brother understood just fine and rose to his feet, letting go of Sam's hands – only to embrace his entire shaking body at the next moment. He was careful though, well aware of Sam's injuries. Still, Sam couldn't help but hiss at the added pressure to his torso. He breathed heavily and still sat awkwardly, too weak to get to his feet and return the hug properly. Dean wrapped his arms around his sibling's neck anyway, pulling him close to his chest.
"Yeah Sammy, I'm right here."
00000
To Sam, it still felt like he was floating. Stripped of all his defenses, he soaked up the warmth of Dean's skin, his so familiar scent, his steady heartbeat against his own. He buried his face in his brother's warm jacket and clenched the fabric of his shirt with trembling fingers.
He didn't care that he was clinging to his brother like he was five again. For once, it didn't matter how pathetic he was, hugging his big brother and letting show all the love he felt for Dean. Because Dean was alive. And he was here. Nothing else mattered. This moment was everything.
Sam sniffled, exhaling all the raw emotions which had threatened to suffocate him just minutes before. With every second of his brother's proximity, Sam felt increasingly lighter. Even though he was still exhausted and in pain and dizzy, now Dean was here to make everything a little more bearable. Just like he had been all his life. Sam was already feeling some of his usual strength seep into his sore muscles, not yet invigorating his body but his soul.
The brothers stayed in this semi-hug for a moment.
"You hurt bad?" Dean finally asked softly, still hanging on to his brother. It was obvious by his tone that Dean was worried – and angry at the people who had inflicted pain on his little brother. The older Winchester had never handled it well whenever someone messed with his kid brother. Sam could practically feel his brother's frustration radiating off him.
Sam shifted in his seat. He figured he was indeed hurt kind of bad but still slowly shook his head. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle now that Dean was here. He caught his older brother sigh, probably not entirely convinced, but he didn't push it right now. Sam's life wasn't in danger, neither was Dean's, and that was all that mattered.
"How?" Sam croaked after a while, the word muffled by Dean's chest. Sam's heavy body remained leaning against Dean's solid torso.
"How? I'm just that awesome!" Dean chuckled into Sam's damp mop of hair. This was so much like his brother that Sam almost cracked a smile, too. Sam craned his neck to gaze up at the familiar face, seeing Dean's smile briefly fade before it was quickly reinstalled in place.
"How 'bout I tell you later? First, I want you out of here."
Sam blinked in confusion and impatience. His brother was back from the dead, again – which indicated that some sort of deal had been made. Or maybe it had been a powerful spell, terrible consequences on a cosmic scale included, again. Whatever it was, deals, spells, they never ended well for the Winchesters. Sam was already feeling uneasy about the anticipated fallout. So, no, the explanation couldn't wait. Sam quietly insisted, "Please…"
The older brother huffed and finally released Sam from the hug but let one hand linger on his brother's slumped frame. Sam felt more than saw Dean's scrutinizing gaze.
"Well, okay… Amara and I, we talked," his big brother admitted. "She's actually quite reasonable when she feels like someone is listening," Dean continued, his tone not so light anymore. He sucked in a sharp breath, as if trying to avoid telling the whole story. "Uh, well, Chuck showed up at the last minute and made peace with his sister. All it took was a little talking." And after a second of hesitation, Dean quietly added, "Turns out all she needed was love."
Sam's tired brain rattled. His head was swimming, so it took a few moments to process everything Dean had said. Sam had expected the worst, another deal, another cosmic-sized choice biting the brothers in the ass one day… but he had not seen this coming. He nodded understandingly anyways.
"No s-soul bomb then?" Sam asked hopefully, squinting his eyes at the news.
"Nope. Amara healed Chuck to, I guess, restore the universal balance or something. And Chuck did that crazy God-thing and defused the bomb, I mean… me. They took off together, for a… some sort of a family vacation."
"Huh," Sam weakly responded, the murmur laced heavily with relief. Apparently, there hadn't even been a fight. Amara, Chuck, Dean, they had all left the battlefield alive and well. This was a miracle.
Gears were grinding in Sam's head. So, after all this time chasing the Darkness, trying to destroy her, they had been on the wrong track all along? This had never been a hunt, a fight to be solved by killing the threat.
It dawned on him that this had always been a family issue.
Dean hummed in agreement as if just having read Sam's mind. Hell, maybe he had. It seemed like Dean Winchester was capable of pretty much anything – including arbitrating in a divine dispute. Sam was speechless, staring, marveling.
"You know, they're brother and sister. They just needed a little reminder of what family means," Dean explained, warily eying his kid brother.
Sam didn't need to explicitly hear the meaning underneath to know that family meant everything. He nodded, finally giving Dean a wan smile. At that, his big brother's face lit up too, mirroring the expression.
It was almost ironic that they hadn't realized it sooner. That this whole thing, both cause and key, had been about family all along, a perfect metaphor for Sam and Dean Winchester, the brothers and hunters whose purposes and beliefs – their whole lives – were built on family.
And now Sam's family was back, telling him this story, saving his life once again. Today wasn't the day he'd lost Dean forever, after all. His brother was back, and not from the dead. He hadn't died at all. He'd been alive the whole time. Sam was beyond grateful for that.
"Guess we need to reschedule my blaze of glory, huh?" Dean huffed.
"Yeah," Sam responded, gaze dropping to the floor, his chest briefly constricting. The single word was tinged with sadness because maybe, one day, it really was time for Dean to go out guns blazing. But instead of the piece of Heaven he deserved, there was nothing but emptiness waiting for both Winchester brothers. So, it was no surprise to Sam that, just like all the times he'd lost Dean and got him back before, Sam felt not only relief but a twinge in his heart. One day, the brothers would have to say goodbye to each other forever.
However, Sam didn't want to further dwell on what very well could have been the worst day of his life and changed the subject as quickly as his muddy mind allowed. "Wha' happen'd to the… British Men o' Letters?"
Dean arched an eyebrow, not only at the mention of his brother's captors but also at the way Sam slurred his words. "Oh, don't you worry. They're… handled," he ground out, eyes stone-cold – as far as Sam could tell. His mind was getting a little fuzzy.
Whatever handled meant – knocked out, shackled, dead – Sam honestly didn't care at this point. He only cared about the fact that Dean had singlehandedly incapacitated heavily armed and well-trained enemies only to get to Sam. Dean had always been his greatest hero, still was. Sam was damn proud to have Dean as a big brother, and he always would be. He looked up at him, smiling.
The slightly blurred blob that was Dean tilted his head. "British Men of Letters, huh? Gotta find out if there are more of these douchebags… So, these are the bitches who nabbed you?"
Sam hesitated. Now that Dean was here, he actually felt kind of embarrassed that they had gotten the drop on him. His smile faded.
"Yeah, they… she, Toni, hid in the b-bunker."
His sluggish gaze wandered to the gunshot wound in his thigh. Sam could tell that Dean followed his eyes to the injury, too, taking in the damage with a hiss. Sam reluctantly looked up again, just in time to get a glimpse of barely restrained fury glimmer in the familiar jade green. But in the blink of an eye Dean's expression changed to a softer, sympathetic gaze again.
"Can't leave you alone for one day without you getting yourself in trouble, Sammy," he teased. Sam snorted in amusement and acknowledgement because this statement was a hundred percent accurate. Getting in trouble the minute Dean was gone was kind of getting old.
"Dude, you're a mess…" Dean noted, trying to but failing at hiding his concern. Sam couldn't really see himself, the extent of his injuries, but they were obviously bad enough to make Dean worry. Only now Sam wondered if Dean had noticed the tear tracks on his face – that his little brother had been crying like a kid. But Sam was too worn out to even blush, and Dean didn't comment on the tears.
"Cas is gonna heal you up in no time. Uh, just not in here. This place is warded. I'm gonna get you out of here."
Sam blinked up at him in blessed relief. Because, yeah, Dean was here now, and Sam's heart and mind were at peace, so none of the physical pain could drag him down into the darkness of despair anymore. Still, his body was wrecked. He was miserable. He could already feel himself fading, his body longing for sleep. Some celestial healing – provided by Cas, who was apparently alive and around, for which Sam was beyond grateful – sounded like heaven.
"Can you get up?"
"Gotta try…" Sam quietly admitted in consideration of his burned foot and the gunshot wound in his other leg. Damn, both his legs were messed up. Standing up and walking was going to be a real challenge.
Dean didn't hesitate. He simply slipped his hands under his brother's arms and lifted him with a grunt. Sam let himself be pulled into a standing position, and only just thought bad idea when the sudden change of elevation sent his blood pressure crashing.
"Unh!" was Sam's ineloquent reaction. Speaking actual words was out of question by now – he was too exhausted, and it felt like he needed all the strength he had left to just breathe. The edges of his vision grew darker, the already dim room graying out, spinning before his eyes again. He tumbled for a moment, feeling woozy and lightheaded.
"Got you," Dean assured, holding his brother close. Sam felt one strong hand around his biceps and another flattening across his chest. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut against rising nausea.
Crap. Everything hurt.
When a little too much weight was put on his burned foot, a moan escaped his lips. Ripples of pain were shooting up his legs, setting his body on fire once again. He breathed heavily, concentrating hard on not passing out. And maybe even a silent "Ow" slipped out. Other than that, Sam stubbornly tried not to let himself be subdued by pain. It was kind of hard, though.
Apparently, Dean had been talking to him in those past moments – because when Sam looked up, he vaguely saw the blurred face and mouth area beside him moving. He couldn't quite make out the words though, the roaring of blood in his head drowning out everything else.
"—am!"
There, his name. Kind of. Sam blinked, his hearing ability gradually returning.
"Sammy, don't you dare puke on me!" he faintly heard his brother's grunt from his right, no heat behind the tease. Instead, Dean sounded worried… again.
"'M 'kay," Sam slurred, trying to soothe his brother's concerns. Dean didn't seem appeased though, tightening his grip on Sam's arm even more.
"Uh-huh…" he mumbled. Even though Sam's tired eyes had slid shut again, his brain not functioning properly anymore, he could still imagine Dean's expression: pissed, concerned, rough, and gentle at the same time. Classic Dean.
"You good to walk?" Dean finally asked softly, again unsuccessfully trying to mask his lingering concern.
Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded weakly, still clinging to his big brother. He pried his lids open, dull eyes staring at the indistinct smudge that was Dean's face. Sam slowly blinked until the room in the background somewhat steadied. He faintly heard Dean huffing. Apparently, a dazed little brother was hilarious. Sam himself wasn't amused. He was feeling like shit, barely holding on to consciousness.
Sam vaguely registered his brother carefully sliding out from under his death grip. Dean dragged his taller little brother's arm around his shoulders. Groaning and shifting, he shot his brother one last worried glance. Sam, however, didn't look back, unfocused eyes searching the floor, head lolling listlessly.
"Dude, you should lay off the burgers for a while," Sam distortedly heard another tease from the side, finding its way through the fog in his brain – as if Sam were the one binging on fast food all the time. Even as dazed as Sam currently was, he knew that this was just Dean's way of coping, mocking Sam, making fun of a situation that wasn't funny at all.
"I'm serious, man. I'm not gonna carry your heavy ass," Dean announced, already taking the first wobbly steps, dragging his sluggish brother with him.
Yeah, of course Dean would carry Sam. Dean would do anything to get his brother to safety. Both brothers knew it but rarely said it aloud.
Despite being exhausted beyond his limits, Sam then felt his feet move on autopilot, always obeying whenever it was Dean calling the shots. They were moving painfully slowly, every inch of his body aching with the movements. Sam quietly moaned and let himself be manhandled to the stairs. He leaned a little heavier on his big brother with every step.
Sam's awareness drifted in and out, shutting out Dean's babbling.
00000
It took a while, but Dean finally guided Sam to freedom.
The youngest Winchester was still alert, barely, which was little short of a miracle.
The blinding light outside made Sam wince and squeeze his eyes shut once more, until his sensitive eyesight had gradually adjusted to the harsh light. His tired gaze instinctively fell on the large, black muscle car that was their home. The blurred shape of the Impala was parked on the side of the gateway just a few feet away. And right next to it, a familiar trenchcoated figure was waiting for the brothers.
"Sam," the angel greeted, brows furrowed in concern, meeting the brothers halfway. By now, Sam was panting, respirations coming evermore shallowly. All his injuries, blood loss, pain, and the after-effects of weird psychotropic substances were finally catching up with him.
Sam bent over, head hanging low. He was completely spent from the short trip – he felt like he couldn't walk one step further. His vision was swimming again, and his legs were very close to buckling. He was only on his feet now because Dean took all of his weight.
"Cas—" he faintly heard his brother's strained grunt right next to his ear. Dean sounded kind of anxious, alarmed, Sam's wooly head still registered. But he couldn't see the frantic look anymore, his vision was fading already. The pull of the encroaching darkness was too strong. Fatigue swept over Sam, lulling him in. He wanted to go to sleep so badly, and now that Dean and Cas were here, he couldn't help but finally surrender.
Just when Sam's eyes fluttered closed and he was a second away from collapsing in his brother's arms, on the brink of unconsciousness, he sensed a light touch to his forehead.
Within a moment, there was a glowing bright light filling the space around him, palpable even through closed lids. The white glow suddenly suffused his mind, his body, his heart. In an instant, he felt all the pain, all the weakness and hurt washed away from his body – flushed out by an invisible, overwhelmingly calm force. Agony and misery were lifted from his heart, replaced by warmth and peace. He could breathe, really breathe.
Just a second, and it was over.
Sam opened his eyes, his senses immediately cleared and his surroundings sharp as ever. Just like that, the weariness was gone. One minute he'd been seriously injured, about to pass out, the next minute he was fine. The stark contrast between feeling miserable and the complete absence of any kind of pain had him stunned for a second.
Then he looked down at his body, seeing for himself that all his injuries were fully healed, leaving behind only shredded, still damp clothes. He flexed his fingers as he was balancing on his own two legs – bare footed – not about to flop over anymore.
He blinked, suddenly being fully aware that the remnants of those damn drugs were gone, too. Only now that his head was cleared again, Sam realized that the unknown substance had probably done its bit in him not immediately recognizing his own brother. It wasn't his fault, he knew that, but he still felt a tiny pang of embarrassment at the realization.
Sam finally exhaled in relief, looking up at his saviors. Cas was standing right in front of him, a rare smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
Of course, Sam still remembered what it was like to be laid up for weeks after hunts gone wrong. He'd had his fair share of painfully slow recovery processes throughout his life. Therefore, Sam was infinitely grateful for the quick healing. A thank you was on the tip of his tongue, but another person spoke up before he could.
"You good?" his brother's voice startled him from the side. Sam only now realized that Dean was still gripping his arm tightly. Sam glanced sideways, meeting Dean's searching eyes.
"Yeah," he said, his voice finally back to normal volume and clarity. "I am. I'm really good. Thanks."
It was the truth. Physically and emotionally, this day had been a rollercoaster ride, but now that he had Dean back, Sam felt lighter than he had in a long time. Despite everything, he considered himself fortunate. The brothers shared another smile.
"You?" Sam asked, switching glances between his brother and the angel, although the question was directed mainly at Dean. His brother's smile grew even wider at that. Something indecipherable flashed in his eyes – excitement, joy… happiness? Sam hadn't seen his brother smile like that in… scratch that. He had never seen Dean so happy.
"I'm good. I'm… awesome," Dean finally exclaimed.
And that right there was all Sam needed to know. He didn't press further, neither did Dean. In typical Winchester manner they weren't going to have a heart to heart about what had happened today, not tonight, and probably never. Sam wouldn't tell Dean just how helpless and desperate he'd been just an hour ago. He wouldn't share how he'd given up on… everything. None of that needed saying because Dean knew anyways. He knew, and he'd never judge.
Sam wanted to keep it that way. So, he simply beamed up at his brother in relief that they could just tie on where they'd left off – as brothers.
Dean then clucked his tongue, his happy grin spreading across his entire face, eyes glowing. "There's something, someone, waiting for us back at the bunker."
Sam tilted his head a little, brows knitted in confusion. "Who?"
"You'll see." Dean winked at Sam and finally released his grip.
Sam still wondered. Who could be waiting for them at the bunker getting Dean so excited? He had no clue. Honestly, even healed up, Sam was too tired from the day's events to further think about it. He simply followed his brother and Cas and climbed in the Impala. He didn't mind one bit when Dean wrapped a blanket around him, tucking him in.
Sam leaned back against the passenger seat and closed his eyes. When he heard his brother turn up the volume of some local soft rock station, happily humming along, Sam smiled.
Whatever surprise Dean had in store, this day already felt like a win. The world was saved once again, and Sam and Dean were back together, both alive and united as brothers. They were savoring each other's existence, enjoying each other's company.
Their family was complete again.
The end.
Thank you for reading. As you can see, I didn't include Sam's reunion with Mary in this story. I'm not quite sure how I feel about the whole Mary arc, but I do know how I feel about a brotherly reunion. So that's what I wanted to write about. What do you think? Let me know in a review :)