A/N: I've backed this up a little to Sam's POV for the moments just before Dean takes the spell from Bryn. Huge thanks to a very patient beta, Abni, for putting up with a more than little grembling. For those of you interested in what's keeping me from fanfic, the first chapter of my (new) novel is up on my website.
Lachrimae
Chapter Seven
There Let Me Live Forlorn
The room was quiet, the single lamp casting a golden glow in the room. The cat had wandered out and down the hall some minutes before. Sam was leaning against his brother. He would occasionally glance at Dean—his brother seemed to be lost in thought. If she comes back with an answer what will he do? Will he take it? Dean? Please, I'm not ready yet, the year isn't over, I need more time to figure this out. Am I being selfish? He can escape hell if he dies here. Is it right to ask him to give that up? Was I right to ask? He sighed. What can I do? What will I do? Unbidden an image unraveled in his mind, he chuckled a little at the memory. He'd been sixteen and had gotten drunk, really drunk for the first time. I thought he was dead. I… when I thought he was gone…I…but he was okay and it was a little too much, the relief, the fear…So I got out the bottle and…
"What?" Dean said, looking over at him.
"I don't know why I thought of it, but remember the first time I got really drunk?"
Dean smiled and chuckled a little with him "Yeah, I remember."
"You sat down and drank with me, although I don't think you were drunk?" Of course, even then you could drink a lot without showing it. But you didn't drink much, you just didn't want me to be alone.
"Maybe a little, Sam. Not much, though," Dean said with a fond smile on his face. Sam recognized it, it was the smile reserved only for him.
"I remember waking up the next morning with this headache. But I was in bed and my shoes were off. You came in a little later with coffee and aspirin, and you were very quiet until it kicked in. I remember feeling, I don't know…" I remember feeling safe, Dean. I woke up with my head pounding, still a little afraid about what had happened and you were there, like always, making it better. I never really thought about what that meant to me, Dean. I'm sorry about that. My whole life, safe, protected and it was all because of you.
"What, Sam?" Dean said.
"It was one of those times when I felt safe, Dean, protected." Sam sighed. "I…" I better stop before I say something…He rubbed his arm where the wight's blade had wounded him. The ache was beginning to creep up his arm. I'll have Bryn take care of it as soon as Dean…
"Sam? What's wrong?" Dean was looking at him, a little frown on his face. He knows something is wrong. I can't let him know, if he knows it got me he might wait to make sure I'm okay, he might wait until it is too late.
"Nothing, Dean." Sam smiled, wondering if his brother noticed anything in the smile.
The cat came back into the room and hopped on the bed. It wandered up the bed and along Sam's legs, standing on his chest it peered into his eyes for a minute before checking on Dean and sitting down. Sam shook his head. Dean and that cat, I'm sure if it could talk it would have ratted me out. Bryn came in carrying a tray with two cups on it.
"That the answer?" Dean asked, Sam heard the dubious tone in his brother's voice.
"It might be. The silver one is for the old wound, similar, but not the same as the first spell for the onflyge, since it needs to be able to work with the spell for the damage the wight did," Bryn said softly.
"Will it work?" Sam said. It has to work, it has to. I need more time. Please, Dean.
"I don't know," she said.
"If it doesn't…Will I wake up?"
"I don't know."
Dean looked at Sam. Meeting his eyes. Sam could see the questions there, the uncertainty. "Sam?"
"I…I…" Tears pooled in Sam's eyes. Is it fair to ask for this? Dean, I'm sorry, I can't, not yet. "Please." Please, Dean, please give it a chance. I…I…
"Okay." Dean sighed. "Let's try it." Sam grabbed his brother's arm. Thank you, Dean, thank you.
"It's two parts, you take the first and then we wait for seven minutes before you take the other. You'll probably be most of the way under by then, just aware enough to drink the second part."
"There's more," Dean said.
"The second part, as it works with the wound, it might be a little rough." Bryn met Sam's eyes. Rough? Oh, god, how rough? What does that mean? Will it be like before? Will I have to face…Oh, god…
"How rough?" Sam whispered.
"It's been awhile since I dealt with this personally. But…you should be prepared."
"Let's just do it," Dean snapped. Sam glanced over at him. Dean? His brother reached for the cup and drank the liquid before Sam even realized what Dean was doing.
"Dean!"
"Sorry, couldn't wait," Dean said with a little half smile.
Thank you, Dean. Sam watched as his brother's eyes closed, Dean's body slowly relaxing as the spell began to work in his body. "How long until the other?" Sam asked Bryn.
"Seven minutes from the first," she said, looking at him. "Sam, I still don't know if this will work."
"It has to," Sam said. It has to, I can't lose him yet. Was it wrong to ask him to stay? Am I selfish for asking? I can't face it without him, not yet.
"Sam…" She put a gentle hand on Sam's arm. "Sam?" Bryn frowned and ran her hand up his arm, stopping over the spot where the wight's blade had slid into his arm.
"It's okay," he said quietly. "As soon as Dean gets the second dose."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Her voice had an urgency to it.
"I needed to be with Dean." He shrugged. I couldn't leave him, not when…oh, god, not when it might be the last time I could talk with him. I…Dean, please. Please come through this. I'm not ready. I can't make it…
"Time," she said, reaching for the other cup.
"I'll do it." Sam picked up the cup and gently lifted Dean's head. "Drink, Dean," he said, placing the cup against his brother's lips. Dean obeyed and swallowed the liquid. Sam set him carefully back on the pillows and smoothed the blankets over his brother. He looked up and smiled at Bryn. "Just a minute more." He rubbed his arm, the ache was rapidly becoming pain.
Dean screamed. The sound was harsh, pain-soaked, his body arching as he fought against the pain.
"What's happening?" Sam put his hands on his brother's shoulders, holding him down as Dean screamed "NO!" the sound coming out in an agonized crescendo.
Bryn put her hand on Dean's chest. "He's fighting the spell. If he doesn't let it work, this will kill him."
Why are you fighting it, Dean? Please, please give it a chance. Is it wrong to ask? Should I let him…Is he fighting it because he doesn't realize…? He always fights, never gives in, he has to give in to this. "Dean, relax, let the spell work, let it take you. Stop fighting it. Please, Dean, give it a chance." The tears were running down his face as Dean tensed beneath his hands. He thought he heard his brother sigh, thought he heard a tiny, nearly breathless "Sammy," and then Dean listened, he relaxed, his body released its tension. Sam left his hands on his brother's shoulders, waiting agonizingly long seconds before Dean took a breath, a shallow short breath, but a breath, and then long seconds later another.
"Sam?" He felt Bryn's hand on his back. "Come with me."
"No, I need to stay." The pain in his arm was becoming unbearable. I have to stay. What if he dies? I promised, Bryn, I promised him I wouldn't let him die alone. Would he know I wasn't here? Sometimes I think I remember dying, sometimes I think I remember him. He was there, with me, I think. How can I not be there for him? How can I leave him alone? I think that's one of the few things he's afraid of, dying alone. I…
"Pyewacket will sit with Dean, let me take care of that before it gets out of control." She gently pulled his hands off of Dean's shoulder and led him through the house to her study. She pushed him into a chair by the large table. "Take off that shirt so I can look at your arm."
"You said it was going to be rough, I need to get back to him," Sam said, pushing himself out of the chair. A wave of pain, of nausea knocked him back into the chair. My god, Dean. Is this what…Oh, god…
"Sam, if I don't take care of this you won't be sitting with Dean at all. Do you want him to wake up and find you dead? What do you think he'd do?"
He'd…He'd…Sam sighed, knowing exactly what Dean would do. He slid the long-sleeved shirt off and looked down at his arm. There was a black mark where the blade had gone in. "Will it get like Dean's?" It can't. I have to sit with him, I need to be there if something happens.
She was gathering things off of the shelf at the back of the room. "Not if you let me take care of it now." Her voice was gentle.
"How rough will it get?" Sam asked again. "Will he…"
"I don't know, Sam. I don't, it has been a long time since I have dealt with this kind of thing." She sighed, placing the items she had gathered on the table beside him. "Wounds like Dean's, like this one of yours, are rare these days. So, I'm not really sure how it will be, and every wound is different, every spell is different." She sounded weary, sad. "I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you more."
Bryn took his arm and smeared a greenish-gray paste on the black mark, pain lanced out from the touch of the medicine. Sam ground his teeth together but couldn't stop the cry that escaped his lips. Dean lived with this for how long? Was the scar like this? Did it…was he…everyday? Was the first wound…She was trying to be gentle but a particularly painful moment caused Sam to lash out, knocking her down. "Oh, god, I'm sorry," he said, trying to stand to help her up. Dizziness kept him in the chair. I have to get back to Dean. She laughed gently, and stood. Bryn carefully bandaged the wound and then wrote on the bandage. Sam looked down at the odd script.
"Runes?"
"A few, some other things too," she said, smiling.
"Dean thinks you're a witch," Sam said through clenched teeth.
"And you don't?" She laughed and patted his cheek. "Sam…"
"Are you?"
"Of course I am," she said with gently irony in her voice.
"But witches…" Pages of his father's journal played before his eyes. "Witches, Sammy, never mix with witches, they are no good and nothing good ever comes of them. They are the devil's bride," he remembered his father saying when he was about thirteen.
"Not all witches, Sam. Most, perhaps, but not all. I'm a little different than even most witches." She laughed. "A little different." She poured a purple liquid into a chalice sitting on the tables and sang softly over it for a moment. "You need to drink this."
"Will I go to sleep?"
"Yes, the spell is…"
"Designed to put the sufferer to sleep so that the magic and the herbs can work unhindered by the conscious mind," Sam finished for her. She smiled. "I remember those seminars."
"Nice to know someone did," she said with a laugh.
"Let me go back in and sit with Dean." She frowned at him. "I'll take it there, I just…"
"Sure." She set the glass down and helped him to his feet. He realized he was leaning on her as she helped him back to the big bedroom. He sank down in the chair by the bed. Bryn left and came back with the cup, he drank the liquid and leaned back into the chair, letting his head rest on the back.
"Was I right?" He heard himself asking her.
"Right?"
"To ask Dean to take the spell. He could have escaped hell," Sam said. I'm starting to sound a little drunk. "And I asked him to stay. I hate that he wants to die." He felt tears in his eyes as the room slowly revolved around him.
"I'm not sure that he wants to die, Sam…"
"No, I thought he wanted to live, but he doesn't, he wants to die." Sam said, the words thick and bitter.
"I don't think that's it at all, Sam. I just think that … Well, he was dying when he came here, not at the end of the year, but imminently. And he wanted to be safe, wanted you to be safe. He wanted to…"
"Not go to hell," Sam said, barely recognizing his own voice. "And I asked him to give that up for me." His eyes closed. "Was I wrong?" He felt a blanket pulled over him. "I'm sorry, Dean." As consciousness slipped away the memory of himself, waiting for Dean to wake nine months before, was playing gently in his mind. "I'm sorry."
Nine Months Earlier
The soft warm wind was wafting gently through the window, the scent of the garden filling the room. Sunlight lit the bed, turning the quilt into a kaleidoscope of colors. Sam hadn't moved, he was sitting in the same spot, his hand around his brother's, waiting. Only, Dean hadn't moved, he was barely breathing. Every breath seemed labored and Sam held his own breath with each inhale, waiting for his brother to die. I did this. I gave him that and now…to late too go back Sam. I thought it would help, I thought he would either get better or go. Dean? I…I don't want you to go, I don't want you to leave. I won't leave, not till we know what's happening.
And he hadn't. He'd stayed by the bed, despite Bryn's urgings to eat, to go into the garden, to sit in the bright kitchen. No, Sam had stayed. Waiting. He wasn't alone, the cat had stayed as well, sitting by Dean, occasionally shifting from one end of the bed to the other, but staying there with Sam, with Dean.
The day had moved into evening. How many days have I been sitting here? One? Two? I'm not sure anymore. I thought…I thought I would know one way or the other by now. Waiting is hard. So damn hard, Dean. The not knowing… Sometimes I think the waiting will kill me and other times I think the hope will. I keep hoping, but nothing changes. Dean? I'm tired of waiting. Please. The scent of food came into the room, Bryn was cooking. She seems to cook when she's upset. Interesting. I think she was making jam yesterday. And always fresh bread. I wonder if when I smell it I'll always remember this? These hours?
Dean sighed.
Sam looked down, his brother shifted a tiny bit in the bed, snuggling into the pillows a little. He sighed again, a deep breath followed by a little snore. The cat bounded off the bed and tore out the door, a minute later Bryn came into the room. She smiled a little at Sam and then looked at Dean, laying her hand on his chest, her smile slowly widened, Sam saw her shoulders sag for just an instant before she turned to him with eyes bright with unshed tears. Sam held his breath.
"He made it," she said softly.
"What?" Sam said in a voice that was barely a whisper. She was suddenly blurry as tears filled his eyes as well.
"He made it," she repeated.
Sam dropped his head into his hands, trembling, the tears flowing from his eyes. She put a gentle arm around his shoulders as he sat there for a moment, trying to get control of the emotions rushing through his body. He made it? How? I thought…oh, god, I thought I had killed him and he made it? Dean? I…how can I ever tell you…I'm not sure I can. Oh, god, Dean you made it. She just said you're going to live.
"Sam?" Bryn said. She gave his shoulder a little shake.
"What?"
"I said will you eat now? Maybe go out into the garden? Just for a few minutes, but go take care of yourself for a minute or two. Take a nice hot shower. Sam, he's going to be okay."
"Thank you," Sam said, standing. A shower does sound nice, maybe just a moment outside, and I should eat something. Dean will give me hell for not eating if he finds out after he wakes up. Sam paused on the way out the door as the thought caught up with him. After he wakes up, he's going to wake up!
He stood in the shower until the water had cooled and then was running cold. After the shower he wandered out into the garden. It was warm, the rich scents of the soil mingled with the sweeter tones of the flowers. He sank down in the spot he'd been weeding several days before, where he and Dean had spent the afternoon, talking. Sam had been surprised once or twice during that conversation. Dean was open, remembering their childhood, talking about hunts to come. He's a different person here. He's more…I'm not sure of the word, but he's different here. I never realized what it meant, being safe. How can I make that up to him?
The cat appeared, followed a moment later by Bryn. She smiled at Sam and handed him a mug of soup before sitting on the bench. "The snoring drove us out," she said with a little laugh.
Sam smiled. "He can snore." He watched a bird hop along the branch of a tree in search of bugs, its call sounding almost like a giggle. "Will he be alright now?" I don't want to know, really, but…
"Sam," she said gently, a little sadness in her voice. "I think so, I don't know."
The cup dropped from his hand. "What do you mean you don't know?"
"As long as he wakes up…"
Anger suddenly curled its way out of his chest. "What? I thought you said he made it?"
"I did, and I'm…" She looked at him. "I'm a little unsure…"
"Why?" He was on his feet, towering over her, the cat was on the bench beside her, hissing at him, fluffed to nearly twice its usual size.
"Sam, no one ever has."
"Ever has what?"
"Lived."
"What?" Sam said, trying to hold onto his anger, but her distress was beginning to affect him. What do you mean? Why didn't you say something? He grasped desperately at the anger, trying to quench the fear that had suddenly blazed up in his chest.
"No one, ever, Sam. No one in all the…no one has lived through the second dose. It's supposed to kill, it's supposed to…I thought…" She put her head into her hands, crying softly. Sam made a move to put his hand on her shoulder and the cat swiped at him, drawing blood.
"I'm sorry," he whispered and left her in the garden, her soft sobs a poignant counterpoint to the giggles of the bird.
Sam walked back to the bedroom and dropped into the chair. She thought it would kill him, I did too, and it didn't. I guess I didn't realize what I had asked her to do. If I had, would it have changed anything? No. I wonder if Dean realizes what I will do for him? The lengths I am willing to go? I… He took Dean's hand in his. He'll kill me when he wakes up. Sam sighed. When…Exhaustion finally caught up with him and he dropped into a soft, dreamless sleep.
Light on his eyelids woke him, the sun was bright and warm against his face. He shifted a tiny bit in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but as large as the chair was, it was not designed for sleeping. Sam was drifting comfortably, not quite awake, caught in a lovely limbo of comfort and warmth when the hand in his tightened. Sam opened his eyes and looked over at his brother. Dean's eyes were open and he had a small smile on his face. "Dean?"
"Hey, Sam." Dean's voice was raspy and weak.
"Hey," Sam smiled at him. He's awake, he's alive. He made it. I think he made it. "How do you feel?"
"Better, I think, still tired." Dean took a deep breath. "Yeah, better." He smiled at Sam. "What time is it?"
"It's still morning, I think." Sam glanced out the window, the light still had the look of morning.
"You don't look so good, Sammy. What's wrong? Are you okay?" Dean said frowning at him.
"What? What do you mean what's wrong? What do you think?" Let's see Dean, you were dying, I tried to kill you. I waited for you to die. I wonder what's wrong?
"I'm fine, Sam, feeling better and better."
"You're fine, Dean? Yeah, fine." Sam said. Yeah, Dean, fine. Did you notice that you're still holding my hand? Huh, Dean?
"I told you it would be okay," Dean said. Sam recognized the tone, it was the "uh, ignore everything that just happened, it's all okay" tone.
"I think you said you were dying." Sam wasn't in the mood to play.
"Sam…I…" Dean stopped himself, swallowing a little. "Morning, huh? Have you eaten yet?"
"Eaten?" What the hell are you talking about Dean?
"Yeah, breakfast? Most important meal of the day?" Dean's voice was rapidly losing volume.
"What are you talking about, Dean?" Dean? Are you insane?
"Have you eaten? Breakfast? Didn't you say it was morning? Sam?" When Sam didn't answer he frowned. "Sammy?"
"Why exactly are we talking about breakfast?"
"I wanted to know if you'd eaten yet. I figure you were probably sitting here all night, I just wanted to make sure…"
Well, that explains that. He thinks it was last night. Sorry, Dean, not last night. It was five days, Dean, five. I checked. I ate, once or twice at least, not much, everything I ate came right back up. That whole killing you thing was weighing on me a little. "Don't worry about it Dean, I've been eating."
"What, all night?"
Sam smiled a little, he knew the smile probably looked tired and sad. No, Dean not all night. He gripped Dean's hand a little tighter. "It's been a little longer than all night, Dean."
"You said it was morning." Dean was frowning.
"It is morning." Five days later, Dean.
"Okay? It wasn't last night? Is there anything to drink?"
"Sure," Sam let go of his hand and grabbed a glass of water from the table by the bed. I should have offered it to him before this. I shouldn't have waited for him to ask. I'm so sorry, Dean. I better get a hold of myself before I just fall to pieces in front of him. He might figure out something is wrong then. He slid his arm behind Dean and gently lifted him up. He helped Dean take a sip. "Do you want to sit up a little more?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Sammy."
"Yeah, Dean."
"Well?" Dean was peering at him with his particularly annoying "we need to talk about something, don't we, Sammy" look.
"Well? Well, what?" Not ready to talk Dean, just let it drop. Please, I'm not all put together yet.
Dean smiled at him. "Nothing." The cat got up and climbed over Dean to look in his eyes for a minute before hopping off the bed. "Stupid cat." Sam noticed Dean's voice had dropped to a whisper.
"Probably went to tell her you're awake. I think he might be a familiar," Sam said with a smile.
"Told you." Dean was smirking.
"Yeah, you did." Oh, god, Dean….
"Am I going to make it, Sammy?" Dean said jokingly.
"What?" The question stopped Sam in his tracks. What? Dean? I…Oh, god, Dean. I thought I had…
"What was hard about the question?"
"She said if you woke up…" Sam looked at the wall. Nice wall, I wonder if it can help with this?
"Sam? What's up?" Dean put a hand on his leg.
"Nothing, Dean, Um…Nothing." Let's see, what's wrong? Hmm. You were dying, you were screaming, you were bleeding black blood all over the place. I gave you poison. I forced Bryn to make that poison, I think I forced her into breaking a promise or a vow. Or at least asked her to. I…
"Sam." Dean paused for a second as pain flared on his face and in his eyes.
"Dean, what's wrong?" What's wrong? It's still there isn't it? Oh, god, Dean. He jumped off the bed and turned towards the door. Bryn has to help, she has to. I can't…
"Nothing, Sam, just a little sore. That's all, relax. You're making me nervous."
Sam sank back down on the bed. "Sorry, man, it's been a long…" Long, long time. First in the hospital and now here. I think I might be at the end of the little rope I had left.
"Would you stop doing that?"
"What?" What, Dean?
"The dramatic thing. I can hear you almost saying something, then just stopping. Knock it off."
"Dean…" I just can't get the words out, not yet, oh god, Dean how can I tell you what I did? How can I tell you how sor…
"And don't say sorry again."
Sam ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, sor…Okay, Dean. I'll just relax."
"That's better." Dean leaned back in the bed, his eyelids starting to droop a little. "I'm okay, Sammy. I think I need a little more sleep—you go eat, take a shower or something. I'll be fine. I'm sure the stupid cat will come back to keep an eye on me." Dean smiled at him and let his eyes close. Sam waited until he was sure Dean was asleep before carefully pulling the blankets back over his brother. He tucked them in around Dean's shoulders and sat back down in the chair with a sigh. He's going to be okay.
Present
He's going to be okay…the contented thought was there as Sam woke. His neck was stiff and aching from lying in the chair. He sighed, sunlight was pouring in through the window. It's always sunny here. Consciousness crept back a little more. My arm…The pain is gone. It still aches a little, but the pain is gone. He felt a smile on his face. The spell worked, that means it's going to be okay for Dean, too. He sighed again, heartfelt.
Sam opened his eyes and glanced over at Dean. His brother was still unconscious, Sam could see Dean's muscles reacting to something—a dream, pain, something. His eyes were moving rapidly behind his eyelids. Sam pushed himself out of the chair and walked towards the kitchen and the rich smell of coffee. A sense of not quite peace, but the calm that comes with a decision made, pervaded his body. He said he trusted me, he took the spell even though that meant giving up…I asked him to face hell for me, again, when he could have escaped. I can't let him…Not if there is a way to…
Bryn was sitting at the table in the kitchen, a second cup of coffee was already waiting in front of the chair Sam always sat in. "Thanks," he said, sitting down.
"I think the wight may have left for awhile. I'm pretty sure it will be back. It will probably hunt you, too, now." She smiled a sad smile. "I'm sorry."
"Me too," Sam said, not sure an apology offered nine months after the fact meant anything. "Bryn?"
She looked at him. "Yes." It was said as a statement, not a question, with weary resignation and gentle understanding.
Does she know what I am going to ask? How? "What?"
"As long as it is not by his own hand, Sam, that's all, and it has to be here."
"Is there any way to escape it?" How did she know?
"His dying? You mean just come here and stay?" She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I can't stop the deal, Sam. He will die, he made the deal, the only thing I can offer is the escape from hell."
"Oh, I…" What do I do now? How can I ask…?
Bryn pushed the bottle she had sitting in front of her across the table towards him. "It takes three, maybe four days to work. Make sure you get here before then."
"What is it?"
"Do you really want to know?" She smiled the sad smile again. "It's a combination of things, herbs and a spell. He won't taste anything until it's too late, he only needs about a teaspoon to do the trick."
"It is…?" Will he suffer?
"It's as painless as a dose of poison can be, Sam. The sooner you get here, the more I can help ease it."
"Will I need it?" Is he going to make it out of here?
"I don't know, yet. I'm sorry. A lot depends on Dean, he has to let the spell work, he has to want to get better."
"I know," Sam said, weariness dragging at him again. I know, he has to want to live and I'm not sure he does. I can't blame him I guess. But I do. I want my brother. I'm not ready to face this without him. I can't. I can still save him, and if I can't…His hand closed around the bottle. I can save him another way. "Bryn, how can I…"
Dean's scream shattered the tranquility of the kitchen. Sam was up and moving towards the bedroom before his brain registered standing up. Bryn was right behind him.
Oh my god, no. Blackened blood was pouring from Dean's mouth, it was drenching the shirt he was wearing flowing out from the center of his chest, marring the colorful quilt. He screamed again as Sam grabbed his shoulders and held him down to the bed. Sam looked at Bryn.
"This is it," she said, laying her hand on Dean's chest.
"This is what?" Sam heard the desperate tone in his voice. What? What's going on?
"This is the crisis, he lives or dies in the next few minutes."
Sam held Dean down as a convulsion ripped through his body, another scream was forced from his brother's throat.
Dean? Please, please let the spell work, please. Please, I'm not ready yet. I know I shouldn't ask, but please.
Please, Dean.
Please don't die.
To Be Continued