Contains dialogue from the episode Bedtime Stories, it belongs to Eric Kripke and Cathryn Humphris.
Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)
"So, it's really over," Doctor Garrison says slowly.
"Yeah," Sam answers. "All thanks to you."
"Callie was the most important thing in my life. But I should've let her go a long time ago."
"See you around, Doc," Dean says, as a goodbye.
The doctor smiles a little and remarks, "I sure hope not," before he walks away.
"Y'know, what he said … that's some good advice," Dean says to Sam, an expression on his face that says he wants Sam to get the meaning behind his words. Sam does get it, and it's like a knife in his gut.
"Is that what you want me to do, Dean? Just let you go?"
Dean doesn't answer. He looks down, and then he looks up at Sam with something unreadable in his eyes, and then he just walks away and the knife twists.
Sam follows Dean out of the hospital, and they don't talk as they make their way back to the motel. They don't talk once they get there either. Dean orders Chinese food and puts on some game show Sam's never seen before and they eat in complete silence, sitting on their own beds. Dean's only a few feet away from him but it might as well be a hundred miles. He might as well already be in Hell, for how disconnected to him Sam's felt the last couple of days. Sometimes, Sam almost manages to forget about everything that happened and he finds himself, for a day or two, acting like nothing is different. But then he always catches himself, and that's when his heart sinks and his stomach clenches and he goes back to being an inch away from tears almost all the time and Sam's not sure how much longer he can keep going like this.
He can't lose Dean, but Dean won't let him do anything to get him out of the deal. Every idea Sam comes up with, Dean just shoots down. Sam knows he's just being the big brother as usual, because the crossroads demon did tell Dean that if he tried to get out of it Sam would die, but Sam can't think about that. It was probably just an empty threat anyway, and he has to at least try. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't. Dean, though, just doesn't seem to care at all. About any of it. He doesn't seem to care that he's going to die, going to go to Hell, but it's more than that. It's like he also doesn't seem to care that he'll be leaving Sam up here all alone. Like he thinks Sam will be completely fine without him. It's that part of it that Sam doesn't know how to handle – that has tears prickling the corners of his eyes just thinking about it. He'd always thought he knew exactly how much Dean loved him, even if he hardly ever says it out loud. Sam doesn't understand how Dean can claim to love him so much and yet still not care about leaving him alone for the rest of his life. Sam's brain can't wrap itself around how both those things can be true at the same time, and it leaves him achy and confused and so, so sad.
"You doin' okay over there?" Dean asks, but he doesn't sound genuinely concerned. He sounds annoyed, like he can tell Sam's suddenly having a moment and he wishes Sam would strap on a pair and get over it.
The knife twists again, doing a 360° circle and then slowly dragging itself out over the already wounded flesh.
"I'm fine," Sam says tightly, resolutely not looking at his brother and blinking furiously to keep the tears back.
"Whatever," Dean mutters, pouring salt into every place Sam's bleeding, and he can't be here anymore. It's killing Sam to think Dean wants him to just let him go – to just let this happen and not try to stop it – and Dean being completely apathetic about it hurts too much.
Sam gets up, tossing his hair in front of his face to hide the tears he can't quite hold back, and he leaves the room. He doesn't go far, just a couple feet away to where the Impala's parked outside their door. He climbs up onto the trunk and sits on it, his heels resting on the bumper, and stares blankly in front of him. Sometimes he wants to just curl into a ball and cry like a little kid, but he can't let himself do that either. He just needs to keep moving. Keep researching and making phone-calls and wracking his brain for ideas. Eventually, he'll find something to save Dean. He has to. And until then, he'll just have to work harder at not letting Dean's indifference bother him so much. Sam tries his best to remind himself that Dean does love him, and that this is just how Dean acts when he's afraid and doesn't want anyone to know it. Even still, he can't shake how much it hurts to see Dean so emotionless about something that's tearing Sam up inside.
Sam sits there alone for maybe twenty minutes, just going over everything in his head and trying to pull himself back together without much success, when he hears the scrape of the door opening behind him and soft footsteps approaching. He doesn't look up, but he moves over a little so there's room for Dean to lean against the car, the backs of his thighs against the front of the trunk.
"M'sorry," Dean offers after another few minutes of tense silence.
"I said I'm fine," Sam mutters.
"Yeah, I know you did," Dean answers. "And I also know you're not."
"What'm I supposed to do?" Sam asks brokenly. "If I can't …"
"Nothing. Everything. Whatever you want," Dean says quietly. "You'll just … live."
"Without you."
"Sam, you're gonna be okay. I mean, yeah, it's gonna suck for a while. Like it did when we lost Dad. But eventually you'll be okay. You … you've never needed me like I need you."
The worst part is, Dean actually believes that. He's wrong, he's just so god-damn wrong, but Sam's never been able to convince him of that. "Yes I do," he whispers.
"You'll find someone else," Dean says, almost coldly. "Someone better."
Sam shakes his head and blinks back tears again. "I won't. I've told you a million times, there is no one better for me than you. And I don't want to find someone else. I want you."
Dean doesn't react for just a moment, and then he moves slowly in front of Sam, pushing between Sam's legs. He frowns up at him, a truly sad look on his face for the first time since he made the deal, and slides his hands into Sam's hair and pulls him down for a kiss. Sam grabs his brother and kisses him back desperately, unable to stop the grief and anger and pain from pouring out of him as he does. Dean moves in as close as he can, wrapping one arm around Sam's back so their chests are pressed together, and lets Sam attack his lips almost hysterically. Every emotion Sam's felt in the last few months floods to the forefront of his consciousness and it's almost more than he can take.
"You still got me," Dean says roughly. "Okay? I'm not gone yet. Don't check out on me."
"I'm not the one checking out." Sam's voice wavers pathetically, and Dean nods.
"I know. I know I'm an ass sometimes, alright? I do. I just … there's some things I can't talk about. But we got less than a year, Sammy. I don't wanna waste it being sad about something we can't change. I wanna spend it with you. Makin' the most of the time I got left."
Sometimes that's what Sam wants too, but he can't say it out loud without feeling like he's admitting he can't save Dean. And Sam will die before he gives up on that.
"Come back inside," Dean requests softly, resting his forehead against Sam's and petting slowly through his hair.
"Why?" Sam whispers miserably. "So you can fuck me to shut me up?"
"No." Dean shakes his head, making Sam's move a little too. "No. Not even a little bit."
"What, then?"
"So I can show you how much I love you," Dean says simply, no trace in his voice of the embarrassment and awkwardness that would normally be there when he says things like that, and it almost breaks Sam all over again.
Tears spring to his eyes for the millionth time today, but Dean just takes Sam's hand and gently pulls him off the trunk of the car and back into the room. He closes the door behind them and pulls Sam back in for a kiss, softer and slower this time, and soul-searingly deep in a way that strips Sam right down to his bones. He feels like an exposed livewire, all his feelings way too close to the surface to be comfortable and sparking where Dean touches him. Dean pulls him back to one of the beds, and he seems to get that Sam's in no place to deal with slow and sweet right now. He needs to feel Dean, real and visceral and alive, to know that Dean's still here with him and that Sam still has something to fight for.
Almost out of his own control, Sam starts tearing his clothes off, and thankfully Dean follows his lead and strips himself down as well. Once they're naked except for undershirts that Sam doesn't have the patience to let them take off, Sam pulls Dean down onto the bed with him, shuffling awkwardly up until his head rests on a pillow, and Dean crawls up with him and then blankets Sam's body with his own. He kisses Sam passionately, sliding his tongue into Sam's mouth and licking over his teeth and the inside of his cheeks and then swirling it languidly around Sam's. Sam digs his nails into Dean's back, rocking his hips up so his quickly hardening cock rubs against Dean's between their stomachs. The friction is too dry and not quite enough but it still sends sparks of arousal up and down Sam's spine; makes his skin explode in goosebumps. Dean grinds into him as he kisses Sam almost aggressively, and it's exactly what Sam needs to make all those nasty emotions fade into the darkness for a while.
"What d'you want?" Dean asks, the worlds a messy slur against Sam's slick lips.
"This," Sam answers. "Anything. Just you."
Truthfully, he wants actual sex. Nothing ever makes him feel quite the way that does – nothing ever makes him feel as connected to Dean, like their souls are braiding themselves together. But Sam doesn't think he could wait long enough to get to that point right now. He's too close to the edge of insanity. It hurt too much to see that doctor watching his daughter die and to know that'll be him and Dean soon if Sam can't do anything to stop it.
Dean keeps kissing him and grinding his hips down into Sam's; Sam's head spins and his skin prickles and nothing matters anymore except him and Dean and this moment. He's never, ever letting Dean go. He doesn't care if a demon has a different plan for them. This, right here, is where Dean belongs, and this is where he's going to stay if it's the last thing Sam does. Eventually, the dry slide must stop feeling good for Dean because he rolls off Sam, settling beside him and pulling him into a sort of one-armed horizontal hug. He doesn't let his mouth detach from Sam's and Sam's happy about that because his body might forget how to function properly if Dean stopped kissing him right now. Dean reaches down between them with the hand that isn't trapped under Sam's neck, smearing their mixed pre-come over his palm and then wrapping his hand around both their cocks. It doesn't quite fit, so Sam pulls back just long enough to spit into his palm a few times and wrap his hand around them too.
They stroke together, fingers and hearts and lives intertwined, and the pressure is perfect and Sam drowns in it. Dean drags his teeth over Sam's bottom lip, and they can't really touch since their hands are busy but they're pressed up against each other and nothing ever fills up the holes inside Sam like having his brother this close to him. Dean's scent is in his nose, Dean's breathless grunts in his ears, Dean's skin warm and tacky against Sam's, Dean's strong hand squeezing and stroking his cock. The pleasure overwhelms Sam like it always does with Dean, and he's skating the edges of an orgasm way too soon to not be embarrassing but Sam learned a long time ago that being with Dean breaks all the rules.
"Sammy," Dean whispers, harsh and breathy, and Sam's never heard a more beautiful sound.
He kisses Dean just shy of roughly and starts moving their hands faster, up and down their side-by-side shafts. Sam feels it deep in his gut first and then it explodes like a firefight to the rest of his body. Warm and gooey crackles along his veins and he grunts and comes into the miniscule space between them, and Dean isn't far behind him – painting the sheet and Sam's stomach with his hot, sticky release.
It takes Sam a long time to come down from this one. He floats, like he always does, on the cloud of lingering bliss; completely relaxed because he can feel Dean there next to him. When he manages to open his eyes, Dean is right there, just looking at him. Sam knows he was a little crazy tonight, and he can feel Dean's concern like a wave of heat, but he can't deal with it right now. He sits up, pulling his white t-shirt off to wipe at the mess of come on his stomach, and then tosses it across the room in the general direction of his bag.
"You missed me," Dean says, looking down at his own shirt with a smile. "The bed wasn't so lucky."
Sam still feels like he's dangling off the edge of a cliff, struggling to gain enough footing to pull himself back up to safety, but he manages to laugh a little, and it feels good. "Looks like you're bunkin' with me."
"Flip that around. This is your bed, bitch."
It's stupid that after all this time Dean still insists on taking the bed closer to the door, but he almost always does. He still feels the need to protect Sam even though it's been a long time since Sam's needed protecting, and sometimes Sam doesn't hate that as much as he pretends to.
Dean gets up and walks around the bed to the other one. He pulls the quilt and sheets back and then climbs into it and bounces around a little until he can get comfy. Sam doesn't ask – he just crawls into the other side and lies down with his head on Dean's chest and one arm thrown over Dean's stomach, and Dean doesn't say anything about it. He worms one arm under Sam's neck so he can wrap it around Sam's back, and he kisses the top of Sam's head. There are things he wants to say, Sam can almost feel them buzzing under his brother's skin, but Dean remains quiet so Sam does too. Words wouldn't do much right now, anyway.
Sam lies there for almost an hour after Dean falls asleep, just to be sure he's really out. He watches Dean's beautiful face, relaxed and peaceful, and if Sam still believed there was a higher power looking out for them, he'd pray for Dean to have nice dreams tonight. Dean's breathing is soft and even, and eventually Sam slowly – carefully – removes himself from his brother's arms and manages to roll over and get out of the bed without more than a sleepy snuffle from Dean. He gets dressed and packs a backpack in the bathroom so he won't wake Dean up, and then as he's leaving, for just a moment he looks down at Dean's sleeping form and almost starts crying again. He loves Dean so much. It still hits him hard sometimes and leaves him off-balance. He loves Dean too much, and that's why he couldn't listen when Dean told him not to summon the crossroads demon. Sam doesn't know if it will work. But he has to try.
He walks, because the rumble of the Impala would definitely rouse his brother, so it takes him about fifteen minutes in the chilly night air to find a crossroads just outside the town. He pulls out the box with his license and the other things he put together earlier, and digs a hole right in the center of the gravel road with his hands, putting the box in it and covering it back up. It's a minute or two before she shows up, and Sam waits with his heart beating into his throat. He knows it doesn't matter which way he turns to look, she'll show up behind him and startle him just for the fun of it. And he's right.
"Well. Little Sammy Winchester," a female voice says from behind him, and Sam doesn't know how she knows the nickname that's supposed to belong to Dean but he's tempted to blow her head off right then and there for using it. "I'm touched. I mean, your brother's been to see me twice, but you … I never had the pleasure."
Sam just glares at her, and her eyes glow red as she asks, "What can I do for you, Sam?"
Sam pulls the Colt out of his back pocket and points it square at the center of her chest. "You can beg for your life."
"We were having such a nice conversation, and you had to go and ruin the mood."
"If I were you I'd drop the wise-cracks and start acting scared," Sam grinds out.
She smiles. "It's not my style. That's not the original Colt. Where did you get that?"
Sam just keeps on glaring at her, but she doesn't need him to answer.
"Ruby. Had to be. She is such a pain in my ass. She'll get what's coming to her. You can count on it."
"That's enough. I came here to make you an offer."
"You're gonna make me an offer," she repeats, her voice lilting like she thinks it's funny. "That's adorable."
Anger burns bright through Sam's veins, but he keeps his voice level. "You can let Dean out of his deal right now. He lives, I live, you live. Everyone goes home happy. Or – " he cocks the gun for effect and points it back at her " – you stop breathing. Permanently."
She grins again and then laughs a little. She circles around him, and Sam matches her steps in the other direction, not letting her get too close. "All this tough talk. I have to tell you, it's not very convincing. I mean, come on, Sam. Do you even wanna break the deal?"
Sam narrows his eyes. "What d'you think?"
"I don't know." She turns back around to face him. "Aren't you tired of cleaning up Dean's messes? Of dealing with that broken psyche of his? Aren't you tired of being bossed around like a snot-nosed little brother? You're stronger than Dean. You're better than him."
"Watch your mouth," Sam growls furiously.
"Admit it. You're here, going through the motions, but truth is? You'll be a tiny bit relieved when he's gone."
"Shut up."
"No more desperate, sloppy, needy Dean. You can finally be free."
"I said shut up!" Sam says loudly. She knows how he feels about Dean, she must, and she's mocking it and Sam's about ready to snap. He can't remember the last time he was this angry – the last time he had this much pure hatred coursing through his body.
"Huh. Doth protest too much, if you ask me."
"Alright. I've had enough of your crap. You let Dean out of his deal right now."
"Sorry, sweetheart. But your brother's an adult. He made that deal of his own free will. Fair and square. It's iron-clad."
"Every deal can be broken."
"Not this one."
Sam figured she would say that. Luckily he has a counter-offer. "Fine. Then I'll kill you. If you're gone, so's the deal."
She smirks at him. "Guess again."
He falters. "What?"
"Sam, I'm just a saleswoman. I got a boss like everybody. He holds the contract, not me. He wants Dean's soul bad, and believe me, he's not gonna let it go."
"You're bluffing," Sam tells her. She has to be.
"Am I? Shoot me, if it'll get you off. But the deal still holds. And when Dean's time is up, he's getting dragged into the pit."
"Then who's your boss? Who holds the contract?"
She smiles like she's truly enjoying herself, and Sam really, really wants to shoot her anyway, even if it won't do any good. "He's not as cuddly as me, I can tell you that."
"Who is it?"
"I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Sam. There's no way out of this one. Not this time."
It's more than Sam can handle to hear someone say that. His heart beats even faster and every cell in his body lights up with terror and dread and his head is screaming at him, a million different things that he can't understand, and he believes that she can't do anything to help him even if she did want to, but there has to be a way to save Dean. She's wrong. There has to be, because without Dean, Sam will shatter. He'll break into a billion pieces and nothing, nothing will ever be able to put him back together again. He doesn't know what makes him do it. He's barely aware of making the decision. He just holds the gun back up and pulls the trigger, sending a bullet flying into the air and landing with a sickening crunch right between her eyes, and watching with sadistic satisfaction as she twitches and shakes and drops to the ground.