Okay, first off a massive thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this fic, I appreciate you all so much!
This is going to be the last chapter of it, and I have a feeling a lot of you are going to hate me for it, not to give anything away but I definitely went with the sadder ending for this one.
Hope you enjoy!
Men Don't Cry, They Bleed
Chapter Five: Ending Evil And Starting New
The amount of anger that suddenly appeared within Dean's features was to a level Sam had never seen before. His face contorted from calm and understanding to pure, unadulterated fury within a second as the sound of the front door being slammed closed echoed throughout the room. He straightened himself up from where he had been crouched before his brother immediately, his fists balled at his sides as he tried and failed not to let the true amount of rage he felt show. His brother didn't need to see that. But she did.
Sam stood beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder, but the way they were positioned mirrored their stance when they had hunted together. Dean was just an inch in front, his left shoulder just brushing Sam's right, ready to take on any threat first, while Sam stood behind him, as if prepared to pull his brother back should he take anything too far, ready to jump in when Dean needed him. But, neither noticed, because it was a habit neither of them had ever been aware of. In fairness, Dean was far too wound up in the woman who was about to show her face to them to notice much of anything, and Sam was too concerned with what his brother was about to do when faced with his sister-in-law.
Chloe stepped into the living room and dropped her bag down to the couch. Her movements were simple, casual, as though she didn't have a potentially lethal man twice her size glaring right through her. It was like she hadn't even processed that they were standing there. She didn't seem to care. Sam knew the look on Dean's face could have any normal person, man or woman, shaking before him in fear, but she didn't even glance at them.
But then, slowly, her eyes traveled up to Dean, and then they moved to Sam. A small smile crept up on her face and she nodded knowingly, as though everything suddenly made sense to her. "I knew it was you." she said simply, her voice was soft, quiet, steady, her cold blue eyes now locked with Dean's hard and unforgiving green ones. "I drove past you on your way here. I knew it."
Dean narrowed his eyes at her, curious. What did that mean? She had seen him and known something was up? She had worked out that he would be able to get the answers from Sam that no one else could get close to? Had that been enough for her to come rushing back to the house? Is that why she was there, standing with a somewhat smug look on her face? Did she think she had beaten him there? That she had gotten away with everything? He almost felt like laughing in her face, because she didn't know how busted she truly was.
"What's your point?" he snapped at her, his tone hard and threatening, impatient, as though he was warning her not to try and mess him around. He wasn't about to take any sarcasm from her. "What, did you come running back to make sure I'm not doing anything to ruin your perfect little family, is that it?"
The small smile at her lips became a little more noticeable, complacent. "Something like that."
Dean just continued to frown at her, she was playing games with him. She was standing in front of him and Sam, actually showing the audacity to take the whole thing as a joke. He had never thought he could hate someone as much as he had come to loathe her over the past half hour. "You listen to me," He stepped forwards slightly, his eyes dark. "Sam might have more about him than to punch a woman in the face, but, believe me, sweetheart, I am not Sam." She quirked an eyebrow at him, as if to ask what his threat was. "I will kill you. And I wouldn't think twice about it."
Chloe nodded again. "I knew you'd come here, Dean." she said calmly, her voice never wavering, as though she knew something that they didn't. Why didn't she look concerned that Dean knew? Why wasn't she afraid of him? Why wasn't she explaining herself? Something was wrong. And, Dean wouldn't admit it, but the level of self-satisfaction that still held on her face was starting to unnerve him. It was like she had something on them, or, more importantly, on Sam. But, before he could think up something to say, she continued. "And, I knew he'd tell you."
There was something else in her expression as she said that, her eyes were focused solely on Dean, and he didn't miss the small hint of wariness in her gaze towards him. It was as though she knew Sam wasn't a threat to her, because he wouldn't do anything to stop her. He never had done. He had never lifted a finger to stop her hurting him. He wouldn't fight her. But Dean was different. Dean, she didn't know. Dean, she couldn't predict. Dean, she had nothing to hold over him, she had no power, no leverage, not like she had with her husband. And that made him a threat to her, to everything she had there. And, as though she had planned the whole thing out, as if she had known exactly what she was coming home to, she smiled at him, and then she pulled out a gun from the inside of her jacket, aiming it straight to Dean's chest.
Dean's eyes went wide at the sight, he hadn't expected that for a second. He had no weapons on him, he hadn't assumed he would need anything, not when entering the supposedly safe house of his own brother. His brother who seemed to be even more taken aback by the sight than Dean was. He stared ahead at his wife, as if frozen in shock, unblinking. He didn't know what to do, or how to react.
"I am not going to let you take my baby away from me, Dean." she told him simply, her voice almost too relaxed considering the situation. "And you can't have Sam."
That was when Sam seemed to realise that she wasn't messing around. She wasn't bluffing, not this time. She was deadly serious, she intended to shoot his brother. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," He stepped forwards, holding his hands out in front of him, as if to show his surrender. "What the hell are you doing?" But her eyes never left those of the older hunter. "Put the gun down." She didn't react. "Now."
Chloe shook her head. "Don't you see, Sam?" she spoke softly, but there was a smile on her face. "This is the only way. This is the only way we can be safe. I'm not going to let anyone break up our family. I'm doing this to protect us. To protect you."
"Protect him?" Dean scoffed in her face. "If you wanted to protect him you'd walk out of that door and never come back. You're in this for you, and only you." he spat the words out at her, looking down at her as though she made him feel ill.
She shook her head at him, bemused. "Where do you get the nerve, storming in here like this after weeks, Dean. You come when it damn well suits you, and don't pretend otherwise. You know nothing about me and Sam, and you have no business with our daughter." She stepped closer to him and frowned up at him. "What happens between me and my husband is nothing to do with you."
Dean nodded slowly. "You make me sick." he pushed the words through gritted teeth, and both Sam and Chloe could feel the anger radiating from him. Sam stepped forwards, because he could see how riled up his brother was getting. His fists were shaking at his sides, and he knew it wasn't going to be long before he used them. He was past the point of being livid. Dean was gone, in a way Sam had never seen before. There was no talking him down now. Not from that.
But before anyone could say anything more, before Chloe could try and argue her case, before Dean could provoke her further, before Sam could try and defuse the situation, the gun went off. The sound of the gunshot rang throughout the room, and everyone froze. Chloe's hands trembled, she stared ahead in shock, her eyes wide, unblinking. Dean had closed his eyes, bracing himself for the burn, ready to feel the white hot pain of the bullet piercing through his flesh, prepared for the impact, but, instead, the only pain he felt was from the hard shove to the back of his shoulder, enough impact behind it to push him out of the way. He straightened himself up immediately, on instinct he was prepared to fight, but the sight he found stopped him where he was.
Sam was standing where he had been just a moment ago, a dazed look on his face. Dean allowed his eyes to travel down to his younger brother's chest, to where the deep red liquid was starting to seep through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He felt sick. The realisation of what had happened hit him like a slap to the face, he was frozen, he couldn't even move. It was as though everything had stopped around him, like the world had stopped turning and it was just the two of them left starting at each other like that.
"Sammy," he breathed out, the shock evident in his voice. "Sam." He lunged forwards as his brother's balance wavered, he was unsteady on his feet, swaying where he stood. He caught him before he hit the floor, supporting all of his weight as he gently lowered him to lie down before him. He ignored how his hands were shaking and held onto his shirt tighter. Sam just looked up at him, and Dean could see it all in his eyes, they both knew that he was done. "Sammy, just hold on, alright?" he said softly, his voice was shaky, but he forced as much confidence forward as he could. "You're gonna be alright."
Sam shook his head slowly, looking up at him through heavy lids. "Dean—"
"Just—" Dean tried to stop him. He tried to tell him not to talk, that he had to save his energy, that he shouldn't move, but he couldn't. Nothing came out. He couldn't think straight enough to form words.
"You always wanted to be a dad." he said before Dean could get anything out. And that caught the breath in Dean's throat. He stared down at him, eyes wide, as if warning him not to even dare speak what was going through his mind. He couldn't hear that. He couldn't take that. No way. But Sam ignored it, because he had to say it. He had to be sure. "This is your chance." His voice was just a pained whisper, barely audible to himself, but he knew Dean could hear every word that left his mouth as clear as day.
"Sammy," Dean shook his head, and tears formed in his eyes. His throat hurt from the effort of pushing back his emotion. He could barely breathe. He didn't know what to do. "No."
But Sam took the little strength he had in him and took a hold of Dean's sleeve in a loose grasp. "Take care of Leah." he told him, voice firm, and Dean could see the amount of effort it was taking him to even keep open his eyes. He couldn't take it. Why wasn't Sam fighting? Why wasn't he telling him that they were going to be fine? Why was he talking to him like he was about to die, as though it would be the last time they would ever see each other? He couldn't hear it. He didn't want to hear it. But Sam wanted him to, and he was making sure that he got his message across before it was too late. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam stopped him before he had the chance to even think up an answer. "Promise me," he rasped. "Keep her away from Leah." Dean frowned, but then he realised who he had meant, and for that moment he had forgotten that there was another person in that room with them. "Promise me you'll take care of her."
Dean nodded slowly, not bothering to wipe away the single tear that escaped him as he looked down at his dying brother. This was really it. "I promise." he choked on the words, but Sam heard, and he smiled up at him, almost unnoticeable, but definitely there.
"Thank you." Sam whispered, and the loose grip that he held on Dean's sleeve became so much looser, to the point that his arm dropped down to his side. His eyes were becoming heavier and heavier, enough that he could no longer keep them open. He fell into the darkness, allowing the unconsciousness to wash over him, and then that was it. He was gone, just like that, he slipped away.
"Sam?" Dean gripped the front of his shirt harder, shaking him roughly, desperate. "Sammy?!" But there was nothing.
Sam didn't answer, and this time Dean really did see red. His eyes went dark, hard, unreadable. He was suddenly so consumed with fury, blinded by his own rage, he didn't even feel himself stand. He didn't realise how tightly he clenched his jaw, because he seethed with anger, and that was the only thing he could feel at that point. It was a display powerful enough to have Chloe cowering back against the wall in fear. The gun was held loosely in her left hand, completely forgotten about, her eyes fixed on him.
"Dean," she whispered, shaking her head, still trying to back away, as if she could sink into the wall to escape him. "Please, I'm sorry."
But Dean didn't even hear her. He was too angry to listen, too mad to find words. He didn't speak as he moved towards her, like a man possessed, driven to harm. There were only two thoughts consuming his mind; his brother was dead, and the thing that had ended his life stood right there before him, guilty and defenseless.
She opened her mouth to say something more, probably to beg him for her life, or to ask him to leave, to stop what he was doing and walk away. But how could he do that? How could he leave after that? He couldn't leave his niece with her, because Dean knew the type of woman she was. The first thing she would do, her first priority after this would be to get herself off the hook for Sam's death, and the more than likely solution would be her pinning it all on Dean. And then she would raise Leah, alone, feeding her lies about her own father, her family. He couldn't let that happen. He had made a promise to his brother, and he only saw one solution.
Before a single word could pass her lips, Dean reached out and clasped a hand tightly around her throat, quick enough that it could have resembled a snake attack. He held her there against the wall, hard enough that her feet left the floor, his hand around her neck, squeezing as she clawed at his skin with her fingernails, and glared down at her without mercy. He couldn't even see anymore, he couldn't feel, he couldn't hear. It was as though he had completely checked out of his own body, he wasn't in there. He didn't know what he was doing. But his grip got tighter, and her movements became less. The fight was lost in her and her body became slack. Her kicking against the bottom of the wall stopped, her nails no longer raked through the skin of his hand, she no longer fought or struggled against his grip. Everything stopped.
Dean let her drop to the floor at his feet without remorse, and the thud was enough to break him from the murderous trance he seemed to have undertaken. He took a small step back and looked down at his shaking hands, he couldn't even process what he had just done. He could never remember feeling such a rush of anger before. What the hell had he just done? He had just murdered someone, a human woman, with his bare hands. He blinked, hard. Did he really feel guilty about what he had done? Had it been a mistake? Or had she deserved it? He was trained to kill monsters, and, in his eyes, there was no black and white, the woman had been evil. She had been a monster to him. She had been a threat to his family, and, as far as he was concerned, as long as that woman as was alive, Leah was never going to be free. Because there was always that chance she would find her. She wouldn't give her up, ever, Dean knew that. She would twist it around and make sure that she kept her daughter, because that was who she was. He couldn't take that chance, not with his niece.
Slowly, hesitant, he turned back to where Sam lay on the floor behind him, and he realised just why he had done what he had to her. He had snapped. Tentatively, he dropped down to his knees beside him and shook his head slowly. The tears stung in his eyes as he bowed his head to his brother's shoulder. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go from there? Sam was dead. His kid brother was gone. Really gone. It was over, he had let him down and he had failed to protect him. How could he forgive himself for that? What would their Mom have said? Or their Dad? How was he ever supposed to make it right again? The tears rolled down his cheeks but he didn't feel them, he couldn't, because he couldn't feel anything. He was numb. But maybe that was better. He couldn't feel how truly dead he was inside now that the only family he had left was gone. The kid he had tried to protect his entire life was lying in front of him, blood pooling beside him on the white carpet, dead. Gone. Never coming back.
What had he done?
And then he heard a sound, something that pulled him from his thoughts. Something that most people probably wouldn't have picked up on, but he had learned to train himself to hear even the smallest sounds. He heard a soft whine, coming from the floor above, and his stomach sank completely. Leah. Lying upstairs, six months old, orphaned. Because of him. He pulled a hand down his face, shaking his head to himself, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to push back the overwhelming emotion. Things had seemed so fine that morning, he had walked into that cafe with a grin on his face at the thought of seeing his brother again, and within half an hour everything had gone so wrong. How had it gotten to that point? How had things gone so wrong so fast? He wanted to run away, he wanted to just walk out of the door and leave, never having to look back. He wanted to find something to make the unbearable pain go away. But he couldn't.
He had made a promise to his brother, and he had to stick to it. He owed him that much.
Reluctantly, he pushed himself stand, finding that his movements were shaky. He turned and walked away from the horrors of that room, never looking back, and slowly headed up the stairs. He moved like a ghost, slow and steady, unnoticeable and numb. It was as though he was just going through the motions, putting one foot in front of the other because that was what he had to do. There was nothing else he could do. He paused in the doorway of the pink bedroom and took a deep breath. How was he even supposed to look at her? He didn't at first, keeping his eyes fixed solely on the carpet, or on the walls, or on the dresser to the side of the room. But that could only hold for so long.
He stopped at the edge of her crib and took a deep breath before he allowed his eyes to finally look at the small girl before him. She looked up at him with bright eyes, as though he was the most interesting thing she had ever seen in the world. Almost hesitant, Dean reached down for her. It didn't feel real, just minutes ago he had used those hands to murder her mother, he had killed her with his own bare hands without hesitation, and yet he picked her up with such care, as though she was made of glass, it didn't seem possible that those two actions could be committed by the same man. What was he ever going to say to her? He had just robbed that child of her mother. He had just had a bullet taken for him by her father. He was all she had left in the world. She was his responsibility. And yet, a part of him felt as though he had already failed her, because he had allowed her father to die. He would never let that go.
He didn't know what came next. He honestly didn't. He didn't have a plan. He didn't have any idea of what to do. All he knew was that he had to pack a bag and get the hell away from that house. He couldn't leave her there. He had to pack her a bag and they had to go.
Dean held the small girl in his arms, shaking his head sadly. "If only you knew what you could've had, kid." he said softly, but she didn't seem to understand him. She gurgled a soft laugh and reached out a small hand to him. Pushing up a broken smile, he took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Everything's gonna be alright, I'm here." he said softly. He pulled her closer to him and she rested her head to his shoulder, seeming content as he rubbed a soothing hand over her back. His eyes fell to the few pictures on the shelf at the other side of the room, and his heart shattered entirely at the sight of one of just her and Sam. He took the picture with his free hand and placed it down on the dresser, next to the empty bag he was ready to pack. It wasn't fair.
"Uncle Dean's gonna take care of you." he whispered, holding her a little tighter against him. "I promise."
The End