(Some Very Apologetic) Notes
You guys have no idea how sorry I am about my terrible lack of updates. Nearly every day I stop and go "Jeez, I haven't updated my fic since freakin' January!" And for that I apologize. I hope that I have not forced anyone away because of my suckiness. But here it is finally...AN UPDATE!!-Gasp- And since I somehow blanked and couldn't exactly remember where I had the story going, I had to come up with something else. This chapter is gonna be just a little bit different.
Alright, so of course because this story was set after the S2 finale and we are now in S4 and already know how Dean's deal ended, so the story is a bit messed up. So I hope ya'll don't mind reading "in the past."
Perhaps I'll wrap this story up pretty soon?? Tell me what you guys want to see. A final chapter? Or many more to come? Suggestions for reminiscent scenes?
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Chapter 8
"Dean's your weakness. The bad guys know it too...it's gonna be the death of you, Sam."
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"So this is the place, huh?" Dean wrapped both hands around the railing and leaned over a bit to look down at the water rushing by.
"Yep. This is where all the articles indicated." Sam joined his brother in examining the noisy river below.
Dean pushed back off of the railing and turned to survey the old, rusty bridge. He walked slowly along the wooden planks, reaching into his jacket for the EMF as he carefully evaluating his surroundings.
"What's with people in jumping off bridges these days?" Dean wondered aloud as he flipped on the meter. "Why can't they just off themselves in the nice, quiet safety of their own home? Why do they gotta make it a public thing?"
Sam scrunched up his lips and looked at Dean with mild disapproval of his lack of sympathy for the tormented.
"Doesn't sound like they wanted to make it a thing at all. I'm telling you, something's not right here."
Dean flicked at the EMF's screen when the needle failed to jump into the red. He made a low Hmm sound and turned to walk back to Sam.
"Maybe, maybe not. Not getting any reading on the EMF though." Dean palmed down the antenna and looked up at Sam. "But why do I sense a Sammy-theory in the forecast." Dean smiled triumphantly when Sam shifted his weight: the number one sign that his prediction had been correct.
"Well, I was thinking spirit-related influence. Ya know maybe all the victims were passing by here, had a run-in with the spirit of someone who fell off this bridge-"
"And the spirit is reenacting its death by tossing their asses into the drink." Dean finished, picking up on his brother's train of thought. Sam nodded and shrugged lightly.
"Spirits are sort of hell-bent on making their victims suffer the same way they did."
Dean squinted a bit and flipped the EMF back on, sweeping it along a stretch of the bridge's railing.
"True, but like I said..." He held up the meter and danced it back and forth. "...Nada."
"It wouldn't explain why the suicides cycle every month instead of every year, though."
Dean's arms flopped heavily down at his sides and he craned his head back. He growled out an aggravated noise.
"Gah, this case is giving me a headache already."
Sam chuckled. "Dude, we've only been in town a couple of hours."
"Yeah yeah." Dean mumbled. He blew out a breath and walked back over to Sam. "Speaking of which, what time is it?"
Sam glanced at his watch before returning his hand to the warmth of his jacket pocket.
"Five til midnight."
Dean nodded and stowed the EMF in his pocket. "Five minutes til the twenty-fifth. Guess we'll find out soon enough if that little theory of yours has any truth behind it."
Sam nodded, but looked unsure. "If it is a spirit, we'd better start gearing up."
Both brothers headed back to where the Impala was parked on the side of the bridge. Their boots clunked in and out of sync with each other as they walked. The water in the river created pleasant background, and at the moment the only, noise as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped open the weapon-stocked wheel well. Sam picked up two of the shotguns and handed one to Dean. After checking and finding that the shells in the chamber were empty, Sam pulled out the old shells and dug new salt-rounds out of compartment in the lid of the tire well. Deep in thought, and focusing on the task at hand, it took Sam a few moments to feel his brother's eyes watching him.
Sam looked up, pausing halfway through closing the shotgun's chamber. Dean was watching him, a strange mix of love, concern, and uncertainty showing in his eyes. The look had become a frequent one over the past year. Sam had become very familiar with it and although he wanted more than anything to ignore it, he knew he had to inquire.
"What?"
Dean looked at him for a moment longer before dropping his gaze to the shotgun in his hands. Slowly, disinterestedly, he loaded rock salt shells into the twin chambers of the gun.
"Just wondering uh..." Dean paused and took in a deep, measured breath. He clicked the gun's chamber closed but kept his eyes on it as he continued. "...Just wondering how you're doin'."
Sam felt the muscles in his shoulders and back tense and the tight feeling that had become a nearly constant presence lately returned to his chest. He didn't need to ask Dean to elaborate, Sam knew what he was referring to. It had caught him off guard though. He hadn't been expecting the subject of the nearing close of Dean's year to be brought up on this particular hunt. Nothing had really happened to provoke Dean to mention it. That was, in-fact, one of the reasons Sam had taken interest in the hunt. Actually Sam often found himself measuring his words and actions to prevent any confrontations when it came to the matter. He swore he'd find a way out of the deal for Dean, but besides that Sam really didn't care to talk about it.
"Dean..." Sam sighed out, the one word loaded down with wariness and frustration. Dean's seemed-fascination with the gun ended and he looked up at his brother.
"I'm just saying. We both know there's only a few months left. I'm just...I wanna know if you're alright-"
"Alright?" Sam scoffed loudly, suddenly angry. He turned to face Dean, not missing the surprise and mild hurt on his brother's face but not really caring. "Of course I'm not alright, Dean. My brother is going to Hell in fifty-nine days and there's still no solution in sight. Would you be alright?"
Dean closed his eyes wearily, his shoulders sagging. He turned to mirror Sam's stance. "Sam, it's just-"
"Would yoube alright, Dean?" Sam repeated flatly, his voice hard and low. Dean closed his mouth, as if rethinking what he had planned on saying. He lowered his head a little and just looked back at Sam's wild eyes.
"No. You wouldn't be." Sam answered for him when Dean continued to say nothing. He violently tossed the shotgun back in the trunk and stepped closer to Dean. "You'd be a mess. You'd be scared, you'd be freaked..." Sam counted off on his fingers. "You'd be pissed, you'd be reckless. You'd be everything I am every hour of every day. So no, I'm not alright. And you can't fool me anymore by pretending that you are. You told me yourself, Dean. You're terrified."
"Oh well excuse me for showing a little concern for you from time to time." Dean raised his voice to match Sam's onslaught, taking another step forward so they were a little under a foot apart.
A cloud of breath puffed thickly between them as Sam laughed bitterly.
"From time to time? Dean, all you do is worry about me. Hell, that's how you got yourself into this in the first place."
"I just want to make sure you'll be okay. Just...promise me you'll be alright afterwards."
Sam shook his head shortly, his jaw clenching tightly.
"I can't promise that. And I won't. It would just be a lie."
The truth of the statement stole the air from Dean's lungs. That was all it came down to: Sam was not going to be alright or anything resembling so. As much as Dean tried to convince himself otherwise, that Sam was stronger, that he could get over it, he knew deep down that Sam was going to be just as broken as he himself had been that night in Cold Oak, South Dakota. A shine clouded over Sam's eyes that forced Dean to look away; he didn't want to see the pain he was causing his brother. He knew what Sam felt. Dean had felt it every day following the morning he woke up choking on a breathing tube. He knew how if felt to have someone he loved give their life for him. The guilt Dean felt for putting that burden on Sam's shoulders was just another chewing emotion on top of every other one that he was feeling. Dean went from terrified, to remorseful, to relieved a thousand times a day, but not once did he feel regret. Not once did he ever wish he had not made that deal. He'd done it without hardly thinking twice, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Dean heard the sound of the cloth of Sam's jacket move and he heard Sam sniff quietly. He gave Sam a moment to collect himself before looking cautiously up again. Sam was looking away somewhere over the top of the Impala. His eyes still glistened, but their heart-breaking gaze was no longer focused on him.
Sam flapped his hand quietly against his thigh in a nervous tic he'd picked up over the years and he shook his head curtly. He knew that Dean was going to Hell in a few short months, but Sam felt that he himself was already there. This was his Hell. Watching every hour slip away with no hope of stopping them ticking by or of breaking Dean's deal. Every search that rendered him useless felt like a waste, for it was precious time he had not spent with Dean. Sam often felt himself caught between the two, and the pressure weighed on him heavily.
It wasn't fair. Then again nothing in either of their lives had ever been fair. But this, to Sam, was just downright cruel. Dean was the best man he knew. He was selfless, courageous, loyal, loving. He was...well, he was Dean. And he didn't deserve what he had coming. For that, Sam felt guilty. He knew that Dean had done this for him. It was all his fault, Sam had concluded that many times over in the past few months. He had let himself get taken at the diner. He'd let his guard down. Sam had let himself get killed. And because of all the things he felt he'd done wrong, Dean was going to suffer. Was suffering. Sam saw it in his brother's eyes everyday, despite how hard Dean tried to hide it. He'd admitted it to Sam twice. Perhaps the only two times he'd ever admitted to being frightened in his entire life. "I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to Hell." And "I'm scared, Sam...I'm really scared." In one year, a little over three hundred days, Dean had let his walls down twice.
After Broward County, Sam had a much better understanding on what Dean had gone through in Cold Oak, but it didn't stop the guilt and it didn't stop the truth from being the same: Dean was going to die if he couldn't stop it. And no Trickster would be around to magically bring him back this time. Sam puffed out a heavy sigh and blinked slowly to look back at his brother.
"Dean, it's just-" Without warning Sam was yanked back and tossed into one of the support beams lining the railing of the bridge.
"Sam!"
Both brother's had been so caught up in their own minds and personal struggles that they hadn't noticed that the five minutes that separated them from midnight had ticked away. Sam felt himself hit the support beam with enough force to make a dull gong sound. Air whooshed out of his lungs and he slid to the ground with a pained groan. Sam's eyes squeezed tightly shut as he gulped for air. A strangled-sounding breath, and his chest heaved with grateful inhales. The sound of Dean calling his name, conveying a sharp edge of danger, snapped Sam's eyes open again. A sharp breath sucked in between his lips as Sam found himself looking up at a misty figure standing over him. Round, pain-filled eyes looked down at him. The ghosty lips turned down in a sad frown and long blond hair, fluttering from a seemingly non-existent wind, fell around the girl's shoulders. In life, she could not be more than nineteen or so, but the sorrow in her eyes betrayed her number of years. The spirit tilted her head to the side a little. The look of sympathy that the girl fixed on Sam sent a chill through him. Something close to...understanding smoothed the girl's features and, with speed only gifted to beings of the other world, she reached down and put a ghostly hand on the side of Sam's head.
Sharp, icy pain jolted through Sam and suddenly he was watching his own memories flash quickly before his eyes. The images swirled faster and faster until Sam felt as if he was falling. He heard his named called and the unmistakable bang of a shotgun before reality shifted and faded.
October 1995
"Damnit, Sam! I told you to stand guard!"
John kicked the door open the rest of the way after Sam unlocked their motel room. He rushed quickly past his youngest son, cradling his oldest, bleeding, in his arms.
"I didn't see it, Dad. I-...I'm sorry." Sam quickly rushed into the room after his father and brother and hastily closed the door behind him, locking every mechanism on the door. "I'm sorry." Sam repeated shakily as he ran to where his father had placed Dean on one of the motel beds. He watched helplessly, his heart racing and chest heaving, as John fussed about Dean's still, blood-covered body. John lifted the soaked bandage on the boy's chest and made a growling noise before letting the dressing fall back and running out of the room into the small kitchen.
Sam took the moment to assess his brother's injuries for himself. He took two, cautious steps to stand by the side of the bed. Dean's body trembled, his closed eyelids fluttering along with the movement. The amount of blood scared Sam. He'd seen Dean take some terrible beatings before, but this...this was bad. And it was all his fault, Sam knew that. He was supposed to be watching Dean's back while Dean was watching their father's back. But the thing had moved so fast, had come out of nowhere. Sam had gotten a shot off and was able to alert his brother enough for him to turn in his direction, but still the beast had gotten Dean. It had jumped on him, knocked him down and pinned him. Sam prayed to God that he'd be able to forget the sound of his brother's screams as the other-worldly animal clawed and tore at him. It only took two, well-placed shots on John's part to successfully kill the creature, but the damage inflicted could not be undone. Sam had started to blame himself even before his father's scoldings, but after John had finished his verbal reprimands, Sam felt as if he might die from guilt.
Dean, being the person he was, had made a point to reassure Sam that it wasn't his fault before shock took over, but Sam knew his brother was wrong. Sam knew he should have been more alert and aware of his surroundings, instead of resenting the fact that he had to skip his best friend's school play, a play he'd promised he'd be at, to go on a hunt. Sam picked up a clean towel lying near the head of the bed and removed the now-useless bandage covering Dean's marred chest, placing the fresh towel over the wound and applying gentle pressure. Quiet tears rolled down Sam's flushed cheeks as his attempts coaxed a weak groan from Dean. Sam sniffed and looked up at his brother's pale, pain-pinched face.
"I'm so sorry, Dean. You would've found a way to stop it if that thing had come at me...I should've prevented this."
Sam watched the lines his brother's face smoothed, and he hoped for a moment that Dean would regain consciousness. Instead, the tremors stopped. The flutter of Dean's closed eyelids slowed and stilled, as did the shaky rise and fall of his chest. Sam felt as if a giant hand had wrapped around him and squeezed hard.
"Dean?...Dean!? Dad! DAD, come quick!"
Dean's heart had stopped that night. It had taken John nearly ten minutes to revive him and the rest of that night the eldest and youngest Winchester had held a beside vigil at Dean's side, hoping and praying that he would pull through.
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Sam's mind swirled and the memory faded, leaving him in a pitch blackness. He pulled in deep, shaky breaths and felt only a little surprised to feel tears on his face. He felt sick with the guilt that the memory stirred up, as if it were new. Why had that happened anway? "He died...he died because of you. Why didn't you focus? Pay attention to the task at hand?" Sam startled a bit at the voice that seemed to come from the very darkness surrounding him. He didn't recognize it. It was soft and female and cold... "You could have spared him that pain."...But it spoke the truth and Sam found himself unable to deny that.
"I tried." Sam's voice cracked. "Not hard enough." The very voice itself seemed to stir up emotions inside of Sam, and he found himself fighting to keep it together.
"I'm sorry." "Tell that to your brother...and your girlfriend."
"No." Sam choked out, reaching desperately out into the void around him, as if to prevent what he felt was about to happen, but the images had already started to fly by again, the memories going by as if pieced together in a slide show. Reality bled into the past again.
October 2005
Sam twitched as he felt light splashes on his forehead. Opening his eyes he saw her above him, her lovely features frozen in a look of pain and confusion, stomach bleeding. Before he could react, fire erupted around her, consuming her, taking her away from him.
Sam sat straight up in bed with a gasp. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back and chest and more rolled down his face. He dragged in deep breaths as he forced himself to remember that it was just a nightmare. He felt Jessica shift beside him and he looked over to see her sit up, her features scrunched with sleepiness, but filled with concern nevertheless. She place a hand gently on Sam's back.
"Everything ok?" Her words slurred with fatigue. Sam nodded quickly and poked his thumb and index finger into his eyes, rubbing hard.
"Yeah, m'fine."
Jessica nodded and rested her head against Sam's shoulder, closing her eyes.
"Mmyou sure?"
Sam puffed out a deep breath and nodded.
"Yeah. Just had a bad dream that's all." He said as he turned and eased them both back down to the pillows. He hooked an arm around Jess' stomach and pulled her close, using her presence to ward off the remnants of his nightmare. Jess snuggled comfortably back against him and put her hand over his.
"Mmk...tell me if you ever...wanna talk...about it."
Sam took advantage of the fact that she was already asleep and didn't respond. He lay there, eyes open, staring out the window over Jess' shoulder. That had been the fourth night in a row that he'd had the exact same dream. At first, he thought it had just been a bad dream, but now it was starting to get to him. It was starting to freak Sam out a bit. He knew he'd feel better if he talked about it with someone, so they too could tell him "Oh, it was just a silly dream." and he could get over it. But he didn't want to tell anyone about it. Verbalizing what he saw would make it more real in his mind, Sam knew that. Besides, it was just a dream right? A typical nightmare? It was perfectly normal.
He pulled Jess a little closer, allowing himself to breathe in the scent of her hair. The light, clean smell pulled Sam's eyes closed and quietly reassured him that he was worrying about nothing. It was just a nightmare. Everyone had them. Pulling in one more deep breath of Jess' scent, Sam fell into a dreamless sleep.
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"She asked you what was wrong every single time you woke up from that dream." The voice hissed accusingly "And you never told her the truth."
Sam felt the grief welling in his chest increase until he was panting for breath, quiet sobs hiccuping with each exhale.
"I didn't-...I didn't know." "Yes you did. You felt there was something wrong, you just chose to ignore it."
Sam couldn't find anything to say. The voice was right.
"You could have saved her. If only you hadn't been so bent on trying to be normal."
Again it was right. Sam had thought about that for months after Jessica died. How he should have stopped it, could have stopped it, if only he'd warned her somehow. Sam waited as the voice remained quiet for a moment. He brushed at the tears running down his face. His eyes darted around, trying to see anything in the complete darkness.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked the voice, anger suddenly creeping into his broken voice. "What do you want from me?!" He demanded loudly.
The voice didn't answer, leaving absolute silence to engulf him. Sam pulled in a few shaky breaths and tentatively reached his hand out. He swept his arm carefully through the air in front of him, hoping that maybe he could find-
"You won't find your brother." The cold retort cut off Sam's brief hope of solace. He let his arm drop, his hands immediately clenching at his sides.
"Why? Where is he? I swear to God if you-"
"Relax, he's not a part of this. It's you I'm interested in."
The unexpected reply stopped Sam short. His anger melted away and he swallowed over the sudden lump of fear in his throat.
"Why?" He asked in a husky voice.
An odd whistling noise that sounded vaguely like a deep inhale reached through the darkness.
"Because I can relate to you." The voice said, something close to respect sounding in the words. It sent a chill down Sam's spine.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Sam breathed hard, his heart beating faster, as he waited for a reply. Instead, the darkness parted and memories flicked by as if his life had been set on fast forward.
He watched helplessly as a handful of incidents where Dean had put his own life in danger to protect him flashed by. The werewolf when Sam was ten, the Churel when he was thirteen, multiple malevolent spirits and demons, all flicking by so fast and with such vibrant detail that Sam's breath caught in his chest. The images continued to fly by as the voice spoke, as if narrating the instant-replay of all the tragedy in Sam's life.
"You've undergone such pain and sadness throughout your life, Sam."
Sam's heart fell as he watched Dean suffering at the hands of the Yellow-Eyed Demon that night at the cabin.
"We are the same."
At the hospital, watching from the doorway as doctors rushed to resuscitate Dean, watching later as they failed to do the same with John.
"S-stop...please." Sam whispered hoarsely, feeling himself unable to prevent the voice from getting through to him.
"I too suffered terrible heartache in my lifetime, Sam. I know how painful it can be, how hard it is to carry on sometimes."
Sam watched a familiar memory and again felt the desperation he'd felt when Dean had refused to leave him at the clinic in Oregan. The fear he'd felt at the thought that he might not be able to stop himself from killing his own brother. The memories blurred past and slowed, bringing Sam to his knees as he relived memories he wasn't entirely sure he'd remembered before. He saw his own hands killing Steve Wandell, beating Dean half to death.
"Stop." Sam whimpered, clutching at his head with clawed hands.
"He loves you very much, doesn't he?" The voice said almost kindly as the next memory played out: Dean walking into the abandoned house back in Cold Oak, pulling Sam close in a tight embrace.
Sam felt the warmth of tears slide down his face as he stared numbly at his memories, not feeling like fighting them anymore.
"Yes." He said softly.
"And he will be leaving you soon?"
Sam saw the look of sheer defeat on Dean's face outside the cemetery when he had forced him to tell the truth about the deal.
"Yes." Sam repeated, even more quietly.
In a drastic change, Sam saw Dean smiling, the two of them laughing, goofing off, just being brothers.
"Do you want to live with out him?"
Sam watched himself hug Dean after waking up from hundreds of Tuesdays and six months of hunting alone.
He shook his head weakly, tears rolling steadily down his face. "No." The reply sounded like a light sob. The montage of memories stopped and darkness closed in again.
"You don't have to." The voice purred.
Sam blinked, surprised and suddenly intrigued by what the voice had to say. "How?" He asked eagerly, sounding chid-like. Without being able to describe how, Sam felt the voice smile.
"It's so easy. It won't even hurt. You just have to let go."
Sam swallowed hard, thinking it over. Could it really be that easy?
"Yes it could be." The voice answered his unspoken question. It sounded simple enough in Sam's mind. It hurt so much to think of having to live without Dean. Sam wasn't sure he could survive that twice, and honestly, he wasn't interested in finding out if he could either.
"You wouldn't have to be alone. You wouldn't have to suffer anymore. You wouldn't have to watch your brother die in a few months."
It certainly sounded appealing. Would Dean be mad at him?
"He wouldn't be mad." The voice sounded a little aggravated, but for some reason Sam felt compelled to believe what it said.
"What do I have to do?" Sam said finally, giving in.
"Just let go." The voice cooed soothingly. The darkness around Sam lightened a bit and he was able to make out the ghostly figure he had seen before. The sad eyes shown with pity and the young, ghostly features reflected sympathy. The young girl nodded and she held out her hand, palm up, towards Sam. She curled her index finger gracefully in a beckoning manner.
"All the pain, the sorrow, loneliness...it will all end if you just let go." Sam saw now that the voice he'd been hearing did indeed belong to the blond-haired girl. She smiled sadly at him and lifted both arms out in front of her, as if offering the promise of an embrace. The girl nodded encouragingly and Sam found himself reaching back for her, leaning forward to accept her invitation. Sam could have sworn the girl's smile turned into a smirk and that her lovely face contorted cruelly into a twisted and terrifying mask, but before he had time to take a second look, the girl vanished and he was falling.
"Sam, NO!"
The familiar voice snapped Sam back to reality with jolting abruptness and he found himself free-falling towards the stream below the bridge. The icy cold of the water hit him like a punch to the stomach, snatching the air from his lungs. He sank heavily below the surface and was instantly swept away by the rapid current. Sam tried to kick his legs, use his arms to propel himself back to oxygen, but found that he could do neither. He couldn't actually move at all; his entire body felt paralyzed and numb.
Sam's forced himself to think clearly and everything came rushing back. The possible hunt, the uncertain motive, the spirit. He groaned inwardly. That girl's spirit. She had been the one responsible for the "suicides" he and Dean had been investigating. He had been half right about a spirit's influence in the town's recent deaths. Sam felt a wave of shame as he contemplated his own weakness. She had gotten to him, put him under some sort of trance, and tricked him into playing her game. She had made him her next victim. That was what she did. She found people, discovered their weakness and used it to break them. She made them relive their most unpleasant memories and played with their emotions. Basically torturing them psychologically until they couldn't find the will to go on. All those people hadn't jumped to their deaths; they'd been lured to them. Sam wished he could have figured that out before he decided to take a swan-dive into freezing cold water.
A swift roll from the river and Sam scraped against the bottom of the stream. Pain flared in his back as jagged rocks tore through his clothing and over his skin. Sam stifled a groan, forcing himself to not to suck in an instinctive breath of air to brace against the pain. His lungs burned and the cold water stung at his eyes. The current forced water into his nose and mouth, compromising the small amount of air he'd managed to preserve on his descent towards the water. Disappointment in himself quickly faded to panic as Sam realized he wasn't ready to give up. He needed to get back to Dean, get back to finding a way to save him. Panic quickly changed to fear when Sam's body still refused to respond to the commands his brain was giving it and he came no closer to breaching the surface. The sound of the stream rushing around him started to fade and he felt his body relax with the pull of unconsciousness. The voice in his head, not the cold one that had tricked him into jumping off a bridge, but the one that always kept him motivated, comforted, centered, echoed loudly through his mind. "It can't end like this, Sammy. Don't you dare let it. Fight, damnit!" The cold feel of defeat wrapped around Sam's chest, providing a strange contrast to the burn in his lungs as his limbs again failed to move. Darkness closed in, pulling at his eyelids and closing them. "I'm sorry." Sam hoped Dean wouldn't be angry with him.
...To Be Continued...
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Notes
Ok, so like I said...quite different from the other chaps. This one actually had some PLOT in it haha.
I hope that was satisfying as a chapter after having to wait for so damn/honking/screwing/freaking long for it. I promise the next one will be up soon.
Again, tell me what you guys would like to see for this story.
Reviews are like writing insanely strange yet funny episodes of Supernatural...and I'm Ben Edlund: )
O.-Lil-.O