Author's Note
Apologies for the delay in posting this – I found this an exceptionally difficult chapter to write and if I'm honest I'm still not happy with it, but it's the best I can do so please forgive me. It's a little depressing but then again, I did just kill Sam. Dean was never going to be a happy bunny.
So Kaly, hope you are still enjoying this, and again the Caleb here is a poor imitation of Ridley C James' wonderful creation.
Special thanks to Geminigirl for her patience with me and for being a marvellous beta, and to Catbeist and Sifi for giving me the courage to post. Thank you to everyone that has posted a review – seriously you guys are amazing, and give me the heart to keep going when I'm finding it difficult to believe that I can.
Summary
One brother makes a bargain that may ultimately cost the Winchesters more than they are willing to pay. This will be slightly AU as will eventually include John, Caleb and Pastor Jim.
Disclaimer
Due to the restraining order, apparently I keep trying to kill Sam off, I'm not allowed to own them, go figure… So, nope don't own anything Supernatural related, still poor too dammit.
Warnings
Um, this is a wee bit sad… and their language hasn't improved any either…
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Chapter 6
Dean didn't know how long he had been sitting clutching his brother's broken body to him. Long enough for the tears to have dried half-frozen to his face, for his legs to become numb from the bloodied snow he was kneeling in. He was well past noticing the passage of time. His brother's blood had soaked into his clothes, which were stiffening in the icy wind that had risen since his brother had fallen. The blood on his hands had dried into a crimson skin, a physical corroboration of his failure.
He no longer sat rocking his younger sibling; he simply held him tight against his chest, breathing in the last moments of his brother's life. The lower half of his face was buried in Sam's hair, his eyes gazing blindly at the world around him.
He did not feel the frozen snow soaking him, nor the wind biting through his already drenched clothes. He no longer tasted the bitter salt of his tears, or the crisp tang of snow in the air. He did not hear the sounds of Caleb and Jim approaching or the small intermittent whimpers that he still made. He could not see the snowy scene around him or the figures of his friends approaching.
His senses were overloaded, overridden by the awareness of what was missing.
His brother's bright dimpled smile was now forever lost to him – he would no longer see that earnest puppy expression, his brother's lanky form would no longer sit comfortably next to him in their journey.
He would no longer hear his brother's voice, the soft and gentle tones, the fierce conviction, his contagious laugh. He would never again hear his brother breathing reassuring him that he was not alone in this nightmare. Even the bitching and nightmares were lost to him.
He could no longer feel his brother's strong and fearless heart beating, the heart that fought so fiercely to protect those around him, that was so passionate in his beliefs and that loved with all he had. He would no longer feel the warmth that was his brother stand by him through adversity, sorrow or joy.
He was no longer responsible for the tiny life that had been his for the past twenty three years. The baby he had raised to a giggling, mischievous toddler, who had grown into a loving, hero-worshipping and equal handful of a child. The child who in turn had grown to be an intelligent, rebellious and strong-willed teenager, and had further grown into the bright, moody, strong yet gentle man who fought courageously beside him.
He was no longer a brother. And that was injury to his soul. His brother had bled out in front of him, and in dying had taken the last of his hope with him.
He felt something tugging at his arms and silently resisted. He could not hear the voices of his friends begging and pleading for him to let go of Sam.
How could he? He had been holding onto his brother all of his life – he was supposed to let go now, just because he had died? If they thought that then they did not know the two brothers half as well as they thought.
Another tug and this time Dean's lips curled into a vicious snarl as an inhuman growl came from the back of his throat.
"Dean." Caleb's voice, sounding foreign in its gentleness, echoed softly in his mind.
"Let him go, Dean."
Never. "Go away."
"No."
"Leave us alone!"
"I won't do that, Deuce. C'mon, let's get Sam in from the cold, eh?" Again, gentle hands tried to take his Sammy away.
"I'll do it." Dean's voice a cracked whisper; a mere echo of his former confidence.
Jim and Caleb took no reassurance from hearing it- it was the voice of a dying man. They could see it in the empty, haunted expression, his eyes dead and lifeless as if already focussing on somewhere else. He was already detaching himself from the real world.
The elder brother slowly stood, his movements more like that of an old man, stiff and sluggish. However, his movements smoothed out as he gently lifted his brother's still form from the ground and cradled him close, carefully carried him back to Jim's house.
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The two older hunters watched Dean carry his brother slowly towards the house.
Jim cast a concerned look at Caleb, "What happened, Cal? What did you see?"
"That's the problem Jim, I'm not sure."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I know what I saw. I'm just not sure I believe it. It was a bear attack Jim, only this time it took out Sam." Caleb paused and waved his arms. "Look around Jim, do you see any prints, any sign of what attacked Sam?"
Jim looked down. With the exception of their own tracks and the churned ground where Sam had lain, there was nothing.
"Cal, did you see a woman just as we got here?"
"Just a glimpse of her running away, why?"
Jim looked to where the woman had stood before fleeing, but again, there were no tracks.
"She was there." He pointed to a spot not far from where they stood. "There are no prints there either."
"What the hell is going on? How could we lose Sammy, Jim?" Caleb's voice was shaking. The reality of the situation finally sinking in. Jim simply shook his head, his own sorrow causing his eyes to mist over.
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Dean laid his brother down on the large kitchen table, gently brushing the hair from Sam's sightless eyes.
"What did you go and do something like this for, Sam? You broke our deal – we were supposed to live forever, remember?" If you do ever leave, promise to take me with you? Sam's 11 year old voice seemed to filter through the fog.
Dean fingered his gun, the prospect of ending it all suddenly tempting. He had grown accustomed to having his brother back with him; it had made him feel complete again, and his soul warmed once more by his brother's presence.
He straightened out his brother's long limbs, Sam's body now cool to the touch. This wasn't his Sammy, it couldn't be. His Sam was never cold, never so still. Even sitting next to him in the Impala, Dean could feel the heat that constantly seemed to radiate from his brother. But the familiar connection was still there, only faint. He knew that this was no shape shifter, no impostor or demon, or trick of the mind. There was no spell or enchantment masking reality; it was Sam Winchester who lay dead before him.
"What am I supposed to do now?" He whispered. All of his life, his first thought had been to watch over his brother – even before the demon had stolen their mother from them; it had always been Sammy first and foremost to Dean. Now he just felt lost, it just didn't feel right that his brother was the first to go, but at the same time it seemed inevitable. It seemed like the whole world was hell bent on taking out the youngest Winchester one way or another.
"You cheated Sam – it's supposed to be your belligerent and bad ass brother who goes first. I'm the oldest, remember? I'm supposed to go ahead, scout the terrain, and make sure it's safe for you to follow. You should know the drill by now, bro."
Another wave of devastation swept over him, a desolate loneliness, a need to be whole again.
He lifted his gun once more to beneath his chin, and then hesitated. No, there was a chance he could miss. I've screwed up so much already, and I have to at least do this right.
He opened his mouth and placed the barrel of the gun to the roof of it. His finger slowly tightening on the trigger.
"Fuck!" Caleb swore from outside. "Dean - don't!" He sent the thought out desperately. Don't make this disaster a catastrophe. Don't turn this nightmare into a bloodbath. His legs pumped forward, desperately trying to get to the house before the elder brother could fulfil his intentions. He wouldn't make it, he could feel Dean's finger tightening on the trigger.
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"Let me go to him Nick, I promise I'll return. Please, he needs me."
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Caleb could sense another presence, a familiar, bright, dazzling intensity – Sam.
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A warm hand wrapped around the one in which Dean was holding the gun, gently pulling his finger from the trigger and moving the gun from his mouth.
"Don't."
Eyes Dean hadn't felt close snapped open at the sound of a voice he so desperately craved to hear.
"Sam?" The voice of a child, tiny and vulnerable.
"Please, Dean, don't."
Sam was kneeling in front of him and Dean automatically reached out to clasp his brother's arm to reassure him that he was really there – but his hand passed through the apparition in front of him.
"I'm sorry, Dean, I never wanted to leave you again." Sam spoke softly.
"Then don't."
"I had no choice Dean."
"Why did you run off, Sam?"
"The bear was going to attack that woman."
"You should have waited for me." You should always wait for me. "You know better than to run off alone." To leave me alone. "Dammit Sam, you never go without backup!" You should never go, period.
"I'm sorry, Dean – I made a mistake."
"Yeah, one I have to live with." Dean frowned as a thought occurred to him. "And I thought that all your visions were to do with the Demon – that bastard was behind this wasn't he?" A cold fury began to replace the emptiness within.
"No, Dean, it was just a bear."
"Just a bear wouldn't have killed you." Dean was clutching at straws – if it was supernatural, there was a chance he could change it.
"This one did. These things happen."
Not to the Winchesters…no fucking way…
"I can't do this, Sammy." It was a broken whisper, a terrified admission, a weakness he had known but never fully realised.
"Yes, you can." You're stronger than I am bro…
"I don't want to." Oh god, Dean, no, I'm so sorry…
"Dad can't lose both his sons in one day, Dean." If Sam had to use guilt to get his brother through this, then so be it. He watched in sorrow as his brother seemed to sag under the weight of yet another burden of responsibility.
"He probably wouldn't even notice."
"You know that's not true, dude – he would fall apart if he lost you. He'd become reckless – Dad needs reminding that there is something beyond the hunt."
"That was always your job, dude, not mine."
"Yeah, well I'm retired now." Sam smiled sadly.
"That's not funny, Sam," Dean snapped.
"I know." Sam looked uncomfortable. "I have to go soon, Dean."
His brother looked stricken – he was losing Sam all over again. "Can't you stay? Just a little longer?"
"You know I can't." Sam concentrated and gently cradled his brother's face in his hands, staring intently as if memorising something vitally important. "Look after yourself and Dad. Don't take this the wrong way, dude, but I hope not to see you for a very long time. I'll miss you."
"No, Sammy, don't." Dean reached out grasping blindly for his brother and Sam used the last of his energy to become briefly solid. He folded his elder brother into his arms and Dean buried his head into Sam's chest, began to weep in earnest.
Sam stroked his brother's back and rocked him gently until his brother's storm passed. Or at least passed for the moment. Even now, Sam couldn't delude himself into thinking this would be easy for Dean. Not this. He gently kissed the top of Dean's head like Dean used to do when he was little, "You'll be okay, Dean, I promise." Sam murmured. He felt a tugging at his soul and knew that Nick was calling him back.
"I have to go." He stepped back from his brother. "Love you, big brother," he whispered as he faded.
"Love you, kiddo." Dean whispered to the empty air. He didn't even know if Sam had heard him.
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Caleb and Jim had hovered outside of the kitchen, reluctant to intrude on the brothers. Jim was weeping openly and Caleb tried to discreetly wipe away the tears that had fallen from his own eyes.
"Someone will have to call John." Jim murmured. He looked at the devastated young man in the kitchen. "I'd best do that. You watch over Dean." The pastor quietly walked away to the phone in the hall.
The psychic entered the kitchen and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing gently, just enough to let the older brother know he was there.
Dean closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, Caleb was taken aback. Gone was the bright gaze, full of life and mischief that the psychic had expected; but at the same time, there was no sign of the grief stricken young man that had been there moments ago.
Instead, Dean's eyes flashed with a cold fire, an icy fury. "When we find what did this, it's mine." He growled, his voice still rough from grief.
Caleb nodded his understanding.
"But first I need to clean up Sam – he's not staying like this."
Caleb gathered the materials Dean would need to clean and stitch up his brother, then, at Dean's request; he left the elder brother alone to his ministrations – to allow him to his last duty as big brother.
Dean carefully washed and dried his brother's corpse and sewed up the wounds as carefully as if Sam were still alive. It took some time, but eventually, he was finished. He had gathered some clean clothes in which to dress his brother when he realised something was missing -he needed a shirt. – Sam's blue, greyhound t-shirt, must be upstairs. A wave of weariness swept over him and he allowed his head to fall. In a minute, he thought as sleep claimed him.
There was a harsh knocking at the front door and Jim hung up the phone in exasperation. Why can John never answer his phone?
Go away, he thought less than charitably, now is not a good time to come here. He checked to make sure the Holy water was handy and picked up the rock salt, pouring it in an arc at the door so that the opening of the door would not disturb it.
He stood blinking owlishly at the man in front of him.
John Winchester stood with his head tucked down into his coat to avoid the bitter wind. He glared at the priest. "So are you going to invite me in anytime soon Jim, preferably before I get frostbite?"
"Of course. Sorry John, long night." He opened the door. How do I tell John? I have to say something before he sees Dean.
John automatically headed for the kitchen to get himself a hot drink, but Jim quickly stepped in front of him. "John? We need to talk."
"Can't I grab a bite to eat first? I've been on the road ten hours straight."
"Believe me John, this can't wait."
John turned a concerned face on Jim. His friend was visibly distraught, his eyes red rimmed and his hands shaking. Oh god, we've lost one of our own…
"So, don't mean to sound rude John, but what brings you here?" Jim desperately tried to fill the silence as they headed for his study.
"Sammy left a message, said he had a lead on the Demon and that I needed to be here – Though knowing Sammy he was trying to get me here for Christmas. He never gives up - the kid's a sentimentalist." Just like Mary. "So, are my boys here yet? Sammy left the message a couple of days ago saying they were heading here."
They had reached the study. "I think you had best sit down, John."
John felt the first tendrils of fear twist in his gut. "What's wrong?"
The Pastor opened his mouth to speak, but for once words failed him. For a man who provided solace and comfort on a daily basis, he could find no words to tell John about his son.
"Has something happened to Cal or Joshua?" Part of John's question was answered when Caleb entered the room.
"John." Caleb nodded and John could see pain and sorrow in the psychic's eyes.
"No, John."
"Missouri?" Jim mutely shook his head and John's hands began to tremble. He looked between the two men in front of him and the trembling spread until he felt his entire body would be taken in palsy. His heart knew before his mind did – thudding hard in his chest, frozen to its core with fear.
"Not my boys." Please.
His frozen heart shattered at Jim's "I'm so sorry John. It's Sammy."
"What happened? Is he hurt? God, tell me he's not possessed!"
Jim's eyes fell; this was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.
"He's dead, John."
No, not his and Mary's baby boy.
"But I just had a voicemail from him." John's voice almost plaintive. "Where is he?"
"In the kitchen."
What the hell was Sam doing in the kitchen?
"And Dean?" Oh god, tell me I haven't lost both of them.
"He's cleaning Sam up." Caleb spoke.
John sank into the chair, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't understand. What happened?" He asked again.
"We think it was a bear attack, John."
An animal had took away his boy? No. There was no way that something that normal that innocuous had killed his son. Wouldn't that be the ultimate irony – that the only normalcy his son experienced was his death? "It was the Demon, wasn't it?" Bitterness laced his words, mixing with a terrible anger.
"We don't know exactly what went down, John."
Apart from his Sammy. John thought. Dean, oh god Dean. He knew this could destroy his eldest son in a way nothing else could.
John rose abruptly. "I need to see them."
"I'll come with you," Caleb muttered. Jim had folded into his chair – having to deliver such news to his old friend had taken its toll.
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Pastor Jim sat silently watching the fire.
Even to the small band of fellow hunters that John had entrusted with his family, Sam and Dean was special. The brothers had been basically adopted as sons by the group of hunters, who had occasionally when he was working nearby help raise the two young men.
They each recognised that Sam was the heart of the Winchester family. John may have been the driving force behind it, and Dean's loyalty and devotion held it together. But Sam was its centre. With his loss, their last link to Mary and to the life they had before the demon had taken it from them. John and Dean were teetering over a chasm of wrath and revenge, and could fall entirely out of the light into darkness
The youngest son had always been the one to bring light into their broken family, the one to remind them of the world outside of the hunt. Despite everything he had lived through – even Jessica - he had managed to retain his innocence and belief in the good in the world and his compassion and gentleness had helped ground the family and prevent it from becoming totally consumed by the hunt.
And all who knew them knew that it was all due to Dean. Dean had been the one who had raised Sam into the man he was today. But now that Dean's guiding light was extinguished, they feared that Dean's own light would soon follow. They had lost one of their boys; they refused to lose the other.
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As Dean slept he heard a woman's voice, soft and comforting. It was familiar and made him feel a peace he had not felt since he was four.
"Dean"
"Mom?" A gentle caress brushed his cheek.
"Shh baby, everything will be alright."
"Sammy's dead, Mom, I'm sorry, I should have looked after him better."
"You have always been the perfect brother to Sam, Dean."
"But I messed up and now he's gone. Is he there with you?" Dean asked hopefully.
"He's not here with us Dean, we don't know where he is; only that he is in pain and in great danger."
"Sammy? But how? He's dead!"
"You have to hurry Dean. He's lost and frightened. He's growing weaker."
"What do I need to do?"
"Open your eyes. See the truth."
"What? I don't understand! See what?"
"You have looked, but you haven't seen. Open your eyes."
Dean felt a presence in the room, "You have to wake up Dean, Remember, my son, that I love you so much and miss you, and that I am so very proud of you."
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John followed Caleb from the room. All the way to the kitchen fighting the urge to turn and run. If he didn't see it, it wasn't real, right?
Dean looked to be asleep; his head on Sam's chest, one hand curled around one of his brother's. Tears threatened to fall from Caleb's eyes as he took in the scene. He knew the entire Winchester family could implode with the weight of this - one loss too many.
John entered the room like a dead man walking. "Sammy, no, oh my baby boy, no." He reached out a hand to stroke his son's cheek when Dean all but erupted from Sam's side, teeth bared and knife drawn.
"Stay away from him!"
"Dean, son, it's me."
The change in Dean was instantaneous.
"Dad? You're really here?" Dean's voice a mix of dread and need.
"Yes son, I'm here."
"Dad, I'm sorry, I lost him. I was meant to protect him, but I lost him." Dean babbled.
John pulled his eldest into a tight bear hug and Dean fisted his hands in his jacket like he was holding onto a lifeline. He was shaking badly and John reflexively soothed him, slipping back into a role he had long abandoned. "Hush, son. It wasn't your fault, Dean. There was no way that this was your fault." He rested his head on top of Dean's and he felt his own control slipping.
"Sammy's dead, Dad." Fix it; I need you to fix this. John could feel the unsaid words beneath those spoken. What am I supposed to do now, Mary? Go after what ever took our boy, continue to hunt and perhaps lose Dean, or try to at least protect our one remaining son?
He felt Dean stiffen, looking over at his brother, over his father's shoulder.
"Open your eyes. See the truth. You have looked, but you haven't seen. Open your eyes."
Mom. Dean heard her words echoing in his head. Looking at his brother – really looking this time – the words started to make sense. How had he not noticed earlier?
"Dad? Look at Sam's injuries."
John swallowed hard before looking at Sam's chest. Even stitched, it was a gruesome reminder of how his far-too-young son had died.
Dean tugged at his own clothes until he was standing bare-chested.
John's mouth tightened as he looked up from Sam to Dean, and Caleb looked confused for a moment before realisation sunk in. Shit.
The wounds on both brothers were identical. As if the realisation had somehow kick-started his memory, the psychic suddenly recalled the incident in the cellar.
Caleb reached across and tugged Sam over and sure enough there was a hole in Sam's shoulder that matched what would have been there had the rod pierced flesh and bone- it went all the way through.
"Dean- this wound."
"What about it?"
Caleb filled him in on what he had seen in the cellar.
Dean paled as with dawning horror he began to understand a little of what had happened.
"You'll be okay, Dean, I promise." Sam's earlier words seemed to haunt him. His brother never made a promise he couldn't keep. Dean turned from his brother and fell to his knees trembling violently. He felt his father's hand grasp his shoulder.
"What is it, Dean?" His father's voice, still authoritative and demanding, despite his sorrow.
"The stupid son of a bitch." Dean whispered. "He did a trade. The foolish, selfish bastard."
Caleb knelt in front of Dean forcing him to raise his eyes. "I should have died, Cal." Dean whispered.
The psychic suddenly understood the imbalance in both brothers' energies. "I think you did, Deuce." Both elder and younger hunters' heads whipped to look at him. Sadness softened the elder hunter's eyes as he realised the love that had drove one brother to sacrifice himself for the other, and Dean silently nodded his agreement. He could feel the truth of it in the pit of his stomach.
If it's supernatural, we can change this. Dean refused to consider the alternative. He turned determined eyes to the others, and could see his resolve mirrored in his father's and Caleb's faces.
"We're getting Sammy back."
TBC
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A/NSo…was this ok? Hope you liked it! The next chapter is written so will be able to update it fairly quickly.
Hoping I haven't depressed you all too much. Needless to say, Dean is not going to give up on Sam…
Please, please, please read and review – this chapter had me in knots and I would seriously appreciate your opinions….Thanks for reading!
Dream
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