A.N.: Here is chapter 13! More Dean angst for those of you who love it! Hope you enjoy. :-)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
He may as well face it.
Sam's not going to find him.
Not that he gave up, or that he isn't trying to get to him, but that by the time he finds him (if) there will only be an empty shell of where Dean used to be.
The simple act of breathing becomes steadily harder. It should just be in and out but he finds that he is short of breath within minutes now.
He starts to cry. A fact that he feels ashamed about, but he can't help it. He can't prevent the sadness from overtaking him as he thinks about how he would feel if the roles were reversed.
If Sam was the one missing, running out of air…
"I know you can hear me you bitch!" He roars. "You've got the wrong guy! I have a brother that needs me, I save people," he heaves in a breath each intake of air becoming a struggle. "Please,"
"Goddammit," he groans, his mind flashing through images of Sam. Finding him, standing over a burning pyre his eyes red, grieving for him as he becomes the last living member of the Winchester family.
His head has resumed its steady thrum of pain, and the rest of his body is tight as distress entangles his limbs.
He's going to die.
In the ground.
His last moments are going to be spent fighting for specks of oxygen, gulping in the last remaining air like a fish, pleading for life with his last breath.
Like all of those other poor bastards.
Terrified.
Alone.
Trapped.
No.
He won't go out like some crazed lunatic. If this is it he's going out at peace. Something he has been denied his entire life.
He lets his muddled mind drift. Towards Mom and Dad and Sam. Towards memories of when life was simple, and love was abundant.
He can't remember the last time he has felt this. Maybe it's the concussion or the oxygen deprivation, but he feels happy. He feels like if this is how he goes it could be worse. In his line of work it could be so much worse.
He thinks about the burdens that will be stripped away from him. He won't have to carry the guilt of his father trading his life for his, the pain, the overwhelming responsibility of keeping Sam safe. He'll be free from the maddening worry that Sam might turn into a monster someday, that he might have to put a bullet between those puppy dog eyes.
So you're taking the easy way out. You're just going to leave him all alone?
The gravelly voice that bounces around in his cranium startles him and all of his visions of peace shatter and leave horror in their wake.
Sam would be vulnerable, broken, too twisted by grief and rage to care about what path his feet were taking him.
Dean couldn't leave him alone, couldn't sentence his brother to that fate.
His eyes snap open as he stares at the dilapidated wood above him. Fury starts to replace the fear that has consumed his mind as he thinks about the unfairness of it all.
He's not going to die.
He can't.
He won't.
He's Dean fucking Winchester and he is getting out.
With no previous thought to what the repercussions to his actions could be he slams a fist into the decrepit wood.
It groans and starts to give away as he does it again and again. His body long since spent, his spirit refusing to die.
"Hurry the hell up Sam!" he yells as an ooze of dirt falls onto his face. "Getting a little tired of being in this shit hole!"
He lies back down with a moan as his strength gives out. His vision starts to tunnel in as he fights the urge to pass out.
He can taste dirt on his lips as everything starts to fade away.
He swears he hears Sam yelling his name.
Sorry Sammy. Not gonna make it. Can't hang on anymore…
A.W.: Coming up...Sammy to the rescue!