phew!! a few more chapters to go!! this one took me forever to write, had to rewrite it several times before i was happy with it!! hope everyone enjoys!! reviews are golden!! thanks again to everyone who has stuck with the story so far!! bambers;)
Chapter Ten
Dean drove through night, and well on into the next evening. When he'd finally reached his destination, he pulled his Dad's truck off to the curb, and killed the engine. He sat and peered through the trees and gathering gloom, pensively drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. God, please don't prove me wrong. He gritted his teeth, letting out a low groan, excruciating pain racking his body.
He cringed, gripping the wheel, feeling as if dagger-sharp claws were digging into his ribcage, and choking off his breath. Pain is good. Pain is my friend, he repeated the mantra over and over again in his mind. Yeah, so not helping.
Sharp, searing pain ripped through Dean's chest, blood slowly soaking his shirt. Note to self, find and kick the ass of whoever thought up this Zen meditation crap.
Opening the truck door, Dean braced himself against the doorframe and climbed out. He drew in a shaky breath and slowly released it. Blinking hard against the blissful darkness threatening to engulf him, Dean slowly trudged to the back of the truck and grabbed one of his father's guns.
Wind howled through the oaks and maples and scattered dead leaves across the ground. Moonlight and dark shadows danced eerily through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the low wailing of the banshee, followed by an ominous screech. Ah, should've known you'd be here waiting for me, bitch.
Dean flipped on his flashlight, the beam reflecting off the marble headstones, and headed toward the far corner of the cemetery. He walked past numerous rows of grave markers, until he finally came to his mother and Sam's grave.
"Sammy?" Dean called. "If you're here, answer me."
At the sound of twigs snapping behind him, Dean swung and aimed his flashlight toward the noise. A frightened raccoon scampered away into the forest surrounding the cemetery. God, I so hate those things.
He turned and knelt beside Sam's grave. Setting his gun on the grass, Dean removed the amulet from around his neck and then dug a small hole, placed the chain inside, and covered it with dirt.
"Don't think I'm gonna make it this time, dude." Dean's voice hitched in his throat. "J-just wanted you to know, I never stopped searching for you." Scrubbing his hand across his face, Dean let out a low, anguished sob.
He glanced in the direction of his father's truck, a sad, desolate feeling overwhelming him. His gaze returned to his brother's grave. "I killed him, Sammy. It's all my fault. Again." Dean brushed away a stray tear with the back of his hand. "Even here I'm the reason Dad died."
Dean leaned forward and traced Sam's name on the headstone with his index finger. You're really dead, aren't you?
"Never wanted to believe this was real — thought if I just tried a little harder, I could make you be alive. But, I couldn't find my way back to you. And now I'm just too damn tired to try anymore."
Wincing, Dean shifted to rest against his brother's gravestone. Heavy eyelids slid closed as he struggled to take a breath. Slowly, he opened them to stare out into the dark emptiness of the cemetery. "Kinda fitting I should die here though, seeing as how I spent most of my life in one cemetery or another."
A tight knot formed in Dean's throat as his tears fell unchecked. "Oh God, Sammy, I'm so sorry I wasn't able to protect you."
Hearing the banshee's wails beckoning to him, Dean's head dropped back to rest against the cold stone marker. Not yet, bitch — not before I'm good and ready.
Wrapping his arms tightly around his chest, Dean drew a slow staggering breath. "Somehow, I'd always thought we'd win in the end, dude, I really did. I-I know it was stupid, but I believed it." He closed his eyes, and took another pain-filled breath. "Hell, we're the good guys, right? We've fought the good fight — saved a lot of people along the way — where the hell's our happy ending?"
"Dean," came the deep, rich familiar sound of Sam's voice directly above him.
Dean opened sluggish eyes, and stared at his brother.
Bathed in a pale golden glow, Sam knelt beside him, an awkward smile graced his face. "There's no such thing as a happy ending, Dean." Sam shook his head. "Not for a Winchester."
Dean quirked a brow. Licking his lips, he tasted warm, salty blood. "Could've used just a bit of optimism there, dude."
Sam shrugged. "It's time to let go. Don't you think you've done enough? You're the last Winchester left standing."
"So tired, Sammy — so damn tired of fighting — of losing everyone I love."
"Then stop fighting and let go."
The banshee's wail grew increasing louder as she drew near.
Dean looked from Sam toward the advancing gloom of death and then his gaze fixed on his brother. "I-it — it was all a lie wasn't it? The past year: Dad makin' a deal to save me, Gordon, the Morgan's, all of it?"
Sam gave a curt nod. "No one blames you, Dean. We all knew why you needed to retreat into yourself — why you needed a world where you could be the hero. But, all dreams have to come to an end. That's just the way it is."
"Y-yeah, tha' s-so sucks," Dean replied, his words slurring, eyelids drooping. "W-wasn't even a gr-great dream."
"They never are." Sam chuckled.
Dean arched forward, crying out, more pain surging through his entire body. Hands balling into tight fists, he fought to catch his breath.
"Stop fighting it, Dean, we're all waiting for you — Mom, Dad, Jess and me."
"M-mom?" Dean slumped back against the gravestone, trembling uncontrollably. "Sh' there?"
Sam smiled as he repositioned himself to sit next to Dean, wrapping his arm around Dean. "Yeah, she's beautiful, dude. Just the way you always described her to me."
Dean shifted slightly to look at his brother through blurred vision. "D-Da'?"
"Yeah, him too. He's a little pissed at you right now for the whole clocking him in the head thing." Sam laughed.
Letting out a strained chuckle, Dean grinned and muttered, "K-kinda, thou- he wou- be."
Sam let go of Dean and stood. He looked from Dean to the heavens and then back. "I'll be waiting for you, Dean."
Dean swallowed hard, fighting the tears threatening to fall. "D-don't wanna d-die alone."
Squatting beside Dean, Sam rested his elbows on his knees and stared intently at Dean. He shook his head, frowning. "I wanna stay. God, I really do — but I can't. They're pulling me back." He reached out and wiped the blood from Dean's lips. "It's not so bad, Dean. Dying, I mean. It's all over so quickly and then there's no more pain . . . just peace. You deserve peace."
Sam smiled at Dean one last time and then disappeared in a flash of sparkling white light.
"S-sam — Sammy," Dean cried bitterly. "Don't k-know how t-to le' go . . . don't k-know how t-to st-stop fightin'."
They're waiting for me — all of them. A crooked grin graced Dean's face at the thought. Mom. I'm so tired of trying to fix everyone . . . to make things okay for everyone else. Don't I deserve peace? I'm ready to come home — ready to be happy.
Dean grabbed the gun from the ground and with shaky hands he jammed it to his temple. Always thought I'd go out in a blaze of glory, killin' as many evil sonsuvbitches as I possibly could.
Resting his finger against the trigger, Dean thought of Sam and sobbed. Always thought you'd be right there beside me, Sammy — never thought you'd die first.
The banshee appeared before him in an explosion of black smoke and flames. Her ear-piercing keen echoing through the stillness.
"K-know I'm ir-resistible t-to women, bitch, but this st-stalkin' me 's gotta stop." He let out a weak chuckle, then groaned. Damn, even dying, I'm still the funniest person I know.
Tears shimmered in the banshee's ghostly blue-grey eyes."Dean," she murmured. "I be here to —"
He shook his head, swallowing hard. "N-no need to push m-me — ready . . . to . . . go," he replied breathlessly.
His index finger tightened on the trigger, heart beating erratically inside his chest. So gonna be pissed if my Impala isn't up and running in heaven.
"S-so much f-for the good fight — love ya, Sammy."
Dean squeezed the trigger.
The banshee's wails grew increasingly louder as she dropped to her knees beside Dean.
No. No. No. No — you can't do this Dean. You can't leave me now. She's gone. We won. Come on, Dean, don't die on me now — I need you. . . .