Sam stopped the Impala in front of the Bunker. He climbed out, numb with exhaustion despite the full nights sleep he had gotten at Jody's. His mind was still reeling, still not processing the fact that when he opened the door to the Bunker he would have to face the two bodies in Dean's room, that he would dig the graves by hand for hours on end and then Jody and her girls would come tomorrow to see Cas and Dean off on their finale voyage to Heaven. Perhaps Lucifer and Gabriel would come to bid a final farewell. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of facing Lucifer alone.
Slowly, Sam opened the door, walking inside after slipping his shoes off. He flicked on the lights. The room seemed inappropriately bright and cheery, with the florescent bulbs and reddish decor. Sam's heart clenched, remembering him and Dean, months back, Sam yelling and chasing Dean with a knife for ironing his shirts with beer, an empty threat. What had gone wrong? Why had this had to happen? When would all the grief end? He thought back to what he had said to Dean an eternity ago about lying down next to him and putting a bullet through his brain. Sam pulled the pistol from his pocket, not quite knowing what he planned to do with it.
It was a pretty gun, in all honesty. Dean had spent ages obsessively polishing the intricate designs on the handle after he hand found in the the Bunker a month back. Sam caressed the trigger, seriously considering what he had told Dean he would do. But...the thoughts became rushing through his mind. What would he tell Dean?
Yeah I know you died telling me to get out of hunting but ya know what? Nah, I couldn't live without you and Cas so I left for good.
How could he explain his actions?
So I had a clear shot at getting out and finding a wife and all that good shit but I threw it away for something completely beyond my control that I will blame myself for for years to come.
What would Dean think of him?
Idiot, coward, disgrace.
Sam set the gun down and wiped his eyes, not having even realized he was crying until a tear fell on the pistol. He turned away and began towards the dreaded room. Sam knew he'd have to face it eventually, it was inevitable, and better sooner than later.
"Why was it you?" Sam asked the nothingness around him as if Dean could hear him. "Why couldn't it have been me?" The door was slightly opened when Sam arrived, and the room was dark. Sam took a deep, steady breath, and flicked on the light.
Cas lay covered in his own blood, the trench coat was thrown on a chair beside him. His dark hair was stiff with dried blood and pushed back. His face was slightly twisted with a frozen look of pain. From where he stood, Sam couldn't see what the fatal wound had been. "Cas," he murmmered. "All you've ever tried to do was help. The only reason you were in this was because you loved Dean, I'm so sorry. I wish I could trade my life for yours, I can't apologize enough."
He turned his gaze to Dean. One of the Angels had closed his eyes, forever covering the bright green gaze Sam knew all too well from years spent fighting and hunting and playing together. He didn't like the idea of Lucifer or Gabriel touching his brother all too much- especially Lucifer. Dean's lips were still twisted in that smile he had died with, a serene expression for such a horrific death. His own blood was hardly noticeable from the front but he was certain the back looked horrific. Sam couldn't suppress a grin when he noticed that Cas and Dean's hands were touching gently. His heart ached for the love they never got to share.
Sam choked down a sob. He took one last long look at Cas and Dean's still bodies before walking out of the room to take a shower or get drunk. The kitchen was closer so the latter was much more likely, maybe distract himself from the fact he was now alone.
Dean opened his eyes just in time to hear Sam's footsteps fading away. It took a moment to process where he was. A bed, next to Cas. In his room. Dean's newly beating heart broke looking at the stone cold Angel, his blood smeared all across his body. Dean gently touched his face as if it was something akin to glass, running his shaking hand along the cold, bloodied cheek. Against his better judgment, he pressed a soft kiss to the once-Angel's forehead, feeling the rough skin and tasting the metallic tang of blood on his lips. "We'll get you back," he murmured into Cas's skin. Dean stood back, shaking with grief. Now to find Sammy.
Dean stood on shaky legs, as if he was a newborn colt. He stumbled towards the door and clung to the frame weakly before entering the hall. Faintly he heard the sounds of cabinets being slammed shut and a chair screeching. So this is how Sam decided to deal, by getting drunk. Can't say I blame him, Dean thought. I'd have done the same.
Forcing his legs to move forward, he made his way down the length of the hall before turning into the kitchen where I saw Sam with an entire bottle of what looked like a strong vodka sat in front of him. The lights in the room were dimmed. It was honestly one of the saddest sights Dean had ever seen.
Just as Sam opened the bottle and raised it to his lips, Dean made his move. "Can't let you go drink yourself into a coma Sammy."
Sam looked up. His mouth dropped open and hundreds of emotions flashed across his face with seconds. Love, disbelief, recognition, anger, fear, horror. He stood up, knocking the chair backward. The bottle fell from his hand and shattered.
"Aw," Dean said. "What a waste."
He was standing there, wearing that typical half smile Sam knew so well. He was leaning against the frame as if he couldn't stand on his own, his face was paler than usual but more flushed than it had been in death. Sam put a hand on the knife on his belt, stood, and began towards Dean. "You were dead," he said slowly. "You died, I saw you. I..is this some trick Lucifer's playing?"
"Sammy," Dean stepped forward. "It's me."
"Bullshit," Sam said, voice beginning to tremble. "That's impossible. Billie took you for the last time. You're dead."
Dean-not Dean froze, understanding what Sam thought was happening. "Ok," he told his brother. "How do you get rid of hallucinating? I taught you this."
Sam's hand trailed up to a day and a half old cut on his upper arm, it was deep and hardly scabbed over. He pressed hard on it, feeling the pain of the tender skin breaking. He kept pressing, counting to ten. When he stopped and looked up, Dean was still there. "Ok," he began. "You're a stronger one, that doesn't change the fact you aren't real." Sam desperately wanted him to be real, perhaps more than he had ever wanted something in his entire life, to have his brother back.
Dean- not Dean's eyes were sad and soft. "Ask me something, something only I-Dean would know." He stepped forward slowly, raising his hands when Sam flinched back. "I can tell you everything." It was worth a shot, Dean had decided, to get Sam to trust him again.
Sam said nothing for a long moment. "How about...when did you fall in love with Cas? And when did I figure it out?" The questions served two purposes. One if Dean could actually answer, two if Cas's name would hurt this Dean-not Dean as much as it had hurt before. Sure enough, Dean violently flinched.
"Years, I only realized after Naomi. You realized after Purgatory." Dean blinked harshly as if his eyes were wet. "And if I had realized sooner I might have stopped him from taking Lucifer."
Sam took out the knife. "If you want me to believe you hold out your arm."
Dean obliged, holding out his left arm for Sam to run the silver blade over. "Believe me now?"
"Maybe," Sam admitted, feeling his heart lift with the prospect of this actually being Dean. "I want to believe it's you." He took a flash of Holy Water from a nearby cabinet and splashed on Dean's face.
With a resigned sigh, Dean spit out the water. "Not a demon," he confirmed.
Sam let out a sob. His body trembled and he sank to his knees, all his strength drained from his body, letting himself fall because he knew his brother would catch him. Dean rushed forward, pulling Sam against him as they both sank to their knees.
