Chapter 4 –Breathing Underwater

Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?

A/N: Thanks to all those still hanging in. Don't be shy…let me know what you think. Feedback is always greatly appreciated.

A big thank you to my beta Siara Elen for her insights and encouragements.

I don't own anything related to Supernatural. All I can claim are the errors, grammatical or otherwise.

This fic is for entertainment purposes only. Enjoy.

"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."

Søren Kierkegaard

SPN~SPN~SPN

Dean had no idea how long he sat on the preacher's stairs. He had no idea why he couldn't feel the cold wind whipping all around him, or why his mind kept wandering. Dean had no clue why his hunter instincts weren't on full alert and trying to figure out how the preacher had done that to him. All he knew was that he wanted to hold on to the memories, to the feelings that invaded him when Le Grange laid his hand on his shoulder. Images of his father that were so real he could practically touch him. Sensations that were so profound, he could feel his mother's embrace, her warmth, her love. It electrified Dean, made his body hum and yet, he couldn't gather the strength to move from where he sat. The hunter didn't even try to deny what had happened, or what he was still feeling. He wanted more but his body wouldn't cooperate and he shut his eyes as his heart hammered unevenly while his lungs constricted with pain.

Open your heart…the preacher had requested. When he had, it took Dean's breath away. That moment just went on and on and on as if he was flowing out into infinity. Dean hadn't wanted it to end and at the same time, he wondered how his heart could survive it.

"Dean?"

The young man felt a hand on his arm and he blinked up stupidly at kind eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Layla asked, worry ghosting over her face.

Dean shook his head. He tried to think of an answer, but couldn't. "Don't know," he rasped honestly.

Layla looked him over, noting that despite his weakened state, his eyes shone with wonder. "Your brother's looking for you," she added warily, assessing whether the young man needed medical attention.

"Sam?" Dean huffed.

Layla smiled at his question. "You have any other brothers?" she asked, grinning mischievously.

"Why didn't he call?" Dean asked bewildered.

"He did."

Dean leaned to one side and fished the cell phone out of his pocket - 9 missed calls. "Oh," was all he managed, as he stared at the undeniable proof in his hand.

"Give him a call before he gets the State Police, the FBI and CIA on your case," she teased.

Dean stared at the phone and nodded dumbly before pressing the call button.

Sam's panicked voice surged through the speaker, "Dean. Dean? Where are you?" He paused a millisecond before starting up again. "Dean? Can you hear me?"

"Sam, gimme…a chance…," Dean breathed tiredly.

"You scared the shit out of me," Sam choked out, each word laced with worry, anger, relief.

"Sorry, didn't…hear…" Dean's apology faded into the cold air.

"Are you okay?" Sam whispered. When he didn't hear an immediate response, he continued worriedly. "Where are you? I'll come get you."

Dean looked around to situate himself.

"Dean? Dean," Sam called out, once more.

Layla heard Sam's frantic calls, and took the phone from Dean's hand. "Sam, its Layla."

"Layla? Where are you?"

"He's alright," she added before he could get another word out. The young woman heard the breath being released on the other end of the line. "I'll bring him back to the hotel. Sit tight. We'll be there in a couple of minutes." She waited until Sam acknowledged her statement then gathered Dean from the preacher's steps and led him to her car.

The ride back to the hotel was strangely muted. Layla eyed the young man and took his silence and uneasiness as a sign of guilt for having worried his brother. It wasn't. Instead, Dean's fidgeting was due to his apprehension whether he could get Sam off this faith healing track. As much as he had been elated by the effects of his meeting with the preacher, he doubted any of it was real. The hunter sagged into the seat and wondered whether he had been hypnotized. How else could he explain it? If Le Grange was the real deal, if he did this out of the goodness of his heart, why didn't he heal him right there and then? The hunter surmised the preacher needed to put on a show to fill the collection plates during his Sunday service. Le Grange was slick. Dean had to give him that much. After all, those lines might have worked on anyone. Hell, they almost worked on him and he didn't believe in any of this crap. The only thing he knew for sure was that evil had many faces. His visit with the preacher reinforced his assumptions that he had to keep his brother away from this shyster. He hated the thought of Sam being taken in by Le Grange's mesmerizing voice only to be disappointed by this fake healer.

Moments later, Layla was pulling up to the front of the hotel and helping him out of the car. When they entered the room Sam literally attacked him; hands clutching at the front of his big brother's jacket while taking in Dean's pale face and tired eyes.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean joked, shrugging Sam away.

It was the casual recklessness in his brother's voice that turned Sam's relief into anger. "Where the hell were you?" he demanded in a clipped tone, eyes boring into his brother's.

Dean looked away. He didn't have it in him to fake whatever was needed to get Sam off his case. "Can't a guy get some fresh air?" he grated in annoyance, trying to maneuver around his brother's hulk.

"We looked for you for almost an hour," Sam admonished, holding his brother's elbow.

Dean swayed, then leaned into his brother's frame and just like that, the worry and concern were back on Sam's face.

"You can hardly walk," Sam scolded without bite, helping steer his brother around the furniture.

"Been walking since before you were born," Dean muttered, but for once he didn't try to separate himself from his brother's groping bear paws.

Sam took charge, gripped his brother by the shoulders and sat him on the bed before giving him a cursory once over. Dean closed his eyes, suddenly feeling as drained as an emptying tub of water. The emotions from earlier in the day were now a distant memory. He was bone tired, hurting and trying to figure out how to keep his brother away from Le Grange. But, despite his mistrust of the preacher, his mind kept going back, trying to recapture the images and feelings from earlier. He couldn't help wanting his mother, longing to smell her perfume, hear her laugh and feel her hands smooth away his pain. He didn't care if it wasn't real because in reality, he could hardly remember her. It had been so long, and with each successive year her memory had faded until all he could conjure up were snippets of her, incomplete, half-formed and fuzzy. Not today. Today, he had seen her, felt her to the point of overflowing, but now he was just a vacant vessel. Dean slumped against Sam, let out a hollow breath and tried not to fall face first into the bed.

The young woman moved closer, eyeing the two men worriedly. "Do you need anything?"

Sam pulled his stare away from his brother. "I'm really sorry to have bothered you," he whispered in an effort to assure Layla he had everything under control while holding his brother.

"No bother at all," Layla replied. "Wasn't too hard tracking him down," she ribbed gently then placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'd best be going."

Sam nodded and the young woman closed the door behind her. He turned back to Dean who grimaced as he reached up and lightly rubbed his chest.

"Do you want to lie down?" Sam asked, as he sat on the bed.

The vise-like grip squeezing Dean's heart tightened swiftly and suddenly. It came on whenever he looked at his brother's hopeless, heartsick and desperate face. He hated being the reason for Sam's anguish. Worse still, he'd have to see that look until his last breath.

"Let me get the meds," Sam whispered, but didn't move away.

"Nah," Dean huffed. For once his damaged heart had nothing to do with the pain. "Just tired," he added and leaned his forehead into his brother's shoulder. It was the only way not to look at Sammy's face. It was what the mighty Dean Winchester had been reduced to; being held like a goddamn baby.

Sam felt the weedy breaths scraping across his collarbone and wound one arm around his ailing brother, handling him like he might crumble. Dean allowed Sam take on more of his weight because if he was being really honest, he would have admitted to needing someone to do that for him. They sat unmoving, breathing each other in. Maybe it was the warmth of Sam's body, or the smell of the cheap hotel soap on his skin, or whatever the stupid preacher had done to him. Whatever the reason, the past seemed more vivid than the future and Dean felt an old remembrance floating up into his consciousness. It was the memory of Sam as a baby, when Dean could easily fit him in his arms. When he and his mom and Sammy would lie in bed together, tickle each other and play peek-a-boo. They would giggle and laugh like it was the greatest thing in the world. And it was, until Dean's world was flipped upside down and he lost his mom, he lost his home, and he lost his center of gravity.

The little boy couldn't comprehend any of it. He looked for Mary, asked for her constantly. At the end of each day, exhausted and panicked at not finding her, he cried incessantly while John rocked him to sleep. This went on for weeks until one day, grief stricken, John snapped, yelling out that she wasn't coming back. Ever.

The harsh tone of his dad's voice froze the little boy, but the sight of tears spilling down his father's cheeks terrified him. It cut the hope right out of his heart and Dean knew then that his mom wasn't coming back. He stopped calling for her, stopped crying, and stopped talking. He never wanted to be the reason his dad cried, or got angry, or left.

He couldn't say how long that phase lasted, but he knew when it ended - it was the day his little brother reached up for him. The gesture opened something in Dean's heart, something that had been lost, taken away along with his mother. Sam held out his arms, demanding Dean take him. When he did, Sam stopped crying, flashed him a gummy grin and snuggled into him. In that instant, he got a part of his mom back.

True, John barked out, 'watch out for Sammy' so often that the words became imprinted in Dean's DNA. But more than Sam's safe-keeping, it was his little brother's happiness that was etched into his soul. The memory of his mom, her smile, her laugh, drifted up every time his brother giggled.

If this, letting Sam hold him, made his little brother happy, then Dean could let him. Especially when time was flowing away like a raging river and there was so much more he wanted for his brother. He wished it could be as simple as when they used to lie in that bed and Sammy listened to him intently. Maybe it could still be that way.

Dean gathered his breath and tried. "I used to…hold you."

"Huh?"

"I used to…hold you," Dean repeated all breathy like he was running out of air. "Like dad…used to hold me."

Sam tensed at the mention of his father but also at the fact that this sounded like a confession or some dying declaration and he didn't know what to do or say.

Dean ignored the shift in his brother's mood. He had to build a bridge that would hold his brother and father together when he was no longer around. "After mom," he swallowed hoarsely. "After mom…I cried every night…I don't know for how long…and dad…he used to hold me…like mom used to hold me…every night," Dean said softly as he exhaled. "You would lie in your basket…and when you cried…I would hold you…" Dean paused for a moment. "I remember the first time you fell asleep in my arms. You were so small, so wet and stinky…not so different than now."

Sam could have sworn he felt his brother smirk. "Jerk," he whispered because even when everything was going to hell, Dean was trying to make him feel better. He waited for the standard reply, but it never came.

"One day, you got to be too big, and now..." Dean exhaled painfully, leaving the rest unsaid.

Now, Sam realized, the tables were turned. Now, he was the one doing the holding…like Dean used to…like dad used to…like mom used to. For the first time, Sam truly understood how interwoven their lives were. How Dean was his link to his father and his mother. How Dean had kept his family together even when they couldn't be. They had come full circle and Sam automatically pulled Dean tighter, trying to meld him into his own body, to breathe for him, to will his heart to beat.

"You'll always be my big brother," Sam declared, not only because it was true, but because he knew this was the most important thing in the world to Dean.

"That's right…don't you forget it…b*tch," Dean whispered with a flush of pride and love.

Sam turned and let his lips brush against his brother's temple. "Never."

In that tiny hotel room, they held on to each other like two men on a sinking boat; each trying to hold the other's head above water, but ultimately knowing one would have to let the other one go.

SPN~SPN~SPN

That afternoon Dean slept while Sam did his best to get an appointment with Reverend Le Grange. He left multiple messages but had not received a callback when he watched his brother stir and wake. Sam quickly hid all the medical records he had gathered from Mr. Miles and Dr. Fielding and helped his brother up. Like clockwork, Dean asked when they would be leaving to find dad.

"We don't even know where he is and it's not like he wants to be found," Sam said as he let his anger at his dad's absence spew. He regretted his words as soon as saw the crushed look on Dean's face. It made it sound like their dad didn't care or couldn't because he was hurt, or worse. Either way, Sam was screwed, and his only hope was this faith healer.

"Listen, something's happening here," Sam said as he maneuvered Dean over to the couch. "I spoke with Mr. Miles. He gave me access to his medical records. He was paralyzed, spinal cord was severed but today, I watched him walk." Sam's face lit up with hope, but Dean couldn't look and Sam knew he had to try a different approach.

"We can't just leave. This is right up our alley…you know saving people…"

Dean ignored the fact that Sam conveniently left out 'hunting things'.

"I've got an appointment with his doctor tomorrow," Sam stated. It was a bold faced lie, but if it could buy him another day or two it would be worth it.

Dean lowered himself onto the couch and tried to zip up the hoodie. He heard the appeal in his brother's voice and just as quickly felt the stabbing pain in his chest and the slow burn in his muscles. He had no argument and no strength to try and change Sam's mind.

"Whatever," he breathed, let go of the unzipped hoodie and leaned his head back.

Sam stopped. His brother who would normally see right through him, never caught on to his untruth. He was too preoccupied with trying to breathe. Sam sat next to him, looked Dean over and finished zipping him up.

"Hey, we'll look for dad, okay?" Sam said gently, trying to placate his brother. "Soon as we get a lead. Until then let's stay put. Let me work on this while we're here."

Dean gazed into Sam's expectant eyes, sighed then nodded in defeat.

Dean's capitulation was way too quick for Sam who reached out and palmed his brother's forehead.

"Stop feeling me up," Dean muttered, but didn't swat his brother's hand away.

"No fever," Sam stated, slightly appeased. Dean turned away, but not before Sam saw the shame of his weakness surfacing behind the pain. He checked his watch and got himself up before it became even more uncomfortable. "It's time for your meds. You want a bite of something first?" he asked over his shoulder.

Dean watched his brother scurry around the room, pull a shitload of bottles from the duffel bag then line them up on the table. Sam read the labels, sorted through them then filled a large glass with water. He dumped the pills into a cup before he made his way to his brother who didn't move to take the offered medication. Sam placed the glass and cup on the coffee table, hoping he wouldn't have to fight Dean on this, again.

"What's that?" Sam asked, picking up the small notebook, looking questioningly at Dean.

"It's Layla's…must have forgotten it." Dean took it and fingered it before he flipped the pages slowly, finding the bucket lists; his and Layla's.

"She's probably looking for it."

"Probably," Dean said pensively as he stared at the lists.

"I'll call her."

Dean nodded while his mind churned on a niggling thought that couldn't quite pinpoint. He automatically picked up the glass and a couple of the pills. He did his best to swallow them down but with each successive tablet, it became harder and harder.

Sam hung up, glanced at his struggling brother and returned to his side.

"Layla and her mom are having supper at the diner tonight." Sam said then carefully fished more pills from the cup, handing them to Dean, one at a time. "I told them we'll swing by after they finish and meet them," he said with that too hopeful look that always sank Dean. The older hunter finished the last capsule before he wrapped his arm around his protesting stomach, and slouched back into the cushions.

Sam winced sympathetically. "You should eat something," he nagged softly, got up and rummaged through the meager food offerings; one bruised apple, one under ripe banana, half a can of unsalted peanuts. Judging from the repulsed look on Dean's face, there was nothing convincing enough for his brother.

"Please," Sam begged.

Dean tightened his grip around his waist. He didn't want to tell his brother that his tongue felt as if it had been seared, that everything tasted charred, burnt, bitter. "Alright…banana," he said to pacify him.

"How about half?" Sam asked, readying the knife to slice through the fruit.

Dean shook his head. "Saving my appetite for our double date," he teased grimly. Sam's eyebrows shot up and he almost cut himself while Dean smirked at the surprised look on his brother's face. "Me and Layla," he continued mischievously as Sam handed him a good chunk of banana. "You and…"

"Don't even say it," his little brother protested. Sam picked up the closest pillow, tossed it making certain to miss having never meant for it to hit the mark.

Dean took a nibble of the banana, chewed it loudly, obnoxiously, with an open mouth until his brother made a disgusted face, turned and went about preparing the next round of pills. Dean sat back, wondering where to ditch the fruit when his eyes landed on the pack of Lifesavers. Medication gives me dry mouth, too. Layla's words hung in the air, gave him pause. His eyes cut to the notepad…two bucket lists and suddenly the air felt heavy, like he was at the bottom of a murky lake and trying to breathe underwater.

SPN~SPN~SPN

Sam wanted to call off the whole thing. Dean didn't look good, paler, listless and more fidgety than usual. When he suggested they take a rain check, Dean stubbornly refused. After returning her notepad, Dean sat across from the young woman. He scrutinized her every move, listened to every word and even examined Mrs. Rourke like someone piecing together a puzzle. Sam tried to ignore his brother's strange behaviour and focused on getting more information about the preacher.

They learned Layla was an elementary school teacher from a nearby state. Word of the preacher had spread and she'd come to see him for herself. She had witnessed several healings and was convinced of the authenticity especially after having met with Le Grange.

"How can you be so sure?" Sam asked, genuinely interested in what this woman had to say.

"I know it sounds strange, but there's something about him. He sees into your soul, like he knows things, understands you. Maybe he's channeling a higher power. When you meet him, you'll understand," Layla said to Sam.

"Don't they miss you…at school?" Dean asked, avoiding the young woman's eyes.

Layla looked cautiously at her mother then smiled as she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm on leave. Medical."

"Medical?" Sam asked surprised.

Dean didn't seem shocked by the revelation and ran his hands through his hair while he stared out the window. His mind spinning on all the clues that now made sense. Gives hope to the rest of us…no time like the present to make your dreams come true… He didn't need to know anymore.

"About a year ago, I started having headaches, blurry vision. The doctors sent me for tests," the young woman continued.

Layla's mom took her hand and Dean noticed that Mrs. Rourke's eyes were filled with a deep and abiding sadness. Just like Sam.

"They found a tumor. Chemo didn't work. Radiation didn't work.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, his voice barely a whisper and his jaw muscles jumping.

Layla's smile showed no trace of bitterness or self-pitying. "Don't be. I'm no different than anyone else who comes here. No more special, no more worthy."

Dean frowned. How could she think she wasn't worthy or special? She was gentle, kind and good-hearted - exactly the type of person who deserved a miracle. His Adam's apple dipped as he struggled to find his voice.

Layla reached out, covered his hand, not needing to hear the words. "Not everyone can be saved, Dean. It isn't why we're here."

For the second time that day, Dean felt like his soul had been spread wide open. Saving people was exactly what he did; it was his job, his responsibility. His father had drilled it into him from the time he was a child. He didn't know anything else and never questioned it except, Layla seemed so sure of this that doubt slipped past Dean's normally implacable defenses and his mouth moved of its own accord. "Then why are we here?"

Sam was surprised by Dean's earnest expression and solemn voice. His brother had always avoided conversations about the meaning of life, purpose and fate. Yet, here he was, requesting insight from this petite woman.

Layla's eyes crinkled at the corners and her mouth turned up slightly. She seemed pleased by his question, and leaned forward to draw him further into her gaze. "We're here to make a difference," she started thoughtfully, serenely, "to make the world a better place."

Dean saw the warmth in the young woman's eyes, felt her belief in the touch of her hand. He wanted to know more and nodded slightly.

Layla's face softened as she continued. "Avoiding death is not living."

Sam's eyes shot up and he caught Mrs. Rourke watching him. They stared at each other for a moment, each knowing they would trade anything in the world to avoid the death of their loved ones.

Layla and Dean were oblivious to this silent conversation and she smiled shyly as she spoke, "I know this sounds like one of those self-help books on dying, but I've had a lot of time to think about this. Living is about opening ourselves up to others and letting them into our hearts. When we listen, when we accept and embrace another person for who they are, we give them a sense of belonging. You don't need to be a superhero to change someone's world. You do it by being an everyday hero, by encouraging, supporting and believing in someone. When we do that, we empower them to fulfill their most profound needs and in doing so, we allow them to reach their moments of perfection."

Dean shuddered at the feeling that Layla could read his mind or see into his heart. Although he was a social being, he always shied away from really getting to know people. It was easier to keep things superficial, not to have attachments, or friendships, or chick flick moments. That was how he needed it to be in order to do his job and move on. But after Sam left, it had gotten harder. Life was a string of lonely days and lonelier nights spent in bars, or in a bed with a stranger who didn't have any interest in knowing him either. It was a vicious circle. One he had gotten good at because he couldn't name one person, other than Sam or his dad who would miss him when he was gone. Even so, his dad was nowhere to be found…

Dean tried to blink away his shame but Layla squeezed his hand. "It's not too late," she whispered.

But it was, Dean thought bitterly. It was too late and he'd never know any of that. Not now, not ever, because his days were numbered. As numbered as the heartbeats that staggered and somersaulted with each bitter regret. He didn't really want to die. He didn't… Dean clutched at his chest. Every muscle in his body was tensing, causing spasms.

Sam's worried face suddenly appeared way too close; his huge hand on the back of Dean's neck, solid and warm, like an anchor holding him in this world. Sam knew his brother had reached his limit. "It's been a long day," he said worriedly to Layla.

The young woman nodded and let go of Dean's hand. The hunter felt himself go cold at the loss. He didn't want to leave, but he couldn't get his tongue and his brain to synchronize. The next moment, Sam was holding both him and the door as the cold air bit into his skin matching the feeling in his chest. He looked back at Layla standing stoically by the table; one hand holding on to her mother, the other one signaling to Dean in a half wave. She didn't deserve what was happening to her and he was struck by the sudden fear that he might never see her again.

Dean struggled to remain upright, allowing Sam to drag him back to the motel. Once inside, he batted away his brother's helping hands before sitting heavily on the bed. He despised feeling weak and helpless. He hated Sam's dewy-eyed stare and he wanted nothing more than to cut himself off from his brother's pity, Layla's illness and his own inability to do anything about it. All he could do was fall back on the bed, drape his arm over his eyes and close himself off from the world.

"Dean?" Sam whispered and placed a hand on his brother's arm.

Dean shrugged him off. "Leave me alone."

The pain in Dean's voice was not physical, and Sam wanted to give his brother time and space to deal with this latest blow. He stood, gathered his things, and looked Dean over one last time before he made his way to the washroom.

Sam closed the door, then stared in the mirror as he contemplated Layla's situation. He felt the ache in his chest for the young woman but just as quickly he did his damnedest to stamp out those feelings. He couldn't be side tracked by someone else's bad luck. Dean needed him, all of him, and he couldn't spare any time or energy for Layla. He pushed her out of his mind and focused on Dean instead. He thought about all the good his brother had done. All the lives he'd saved, the monsters he'd killed, and then Layla's words about purpose resurfaced, resonating deep within Sam.

He thought back to his life with his dad and despite how much they fought, they were more alike than he wanted to admit. They were both stubborn, volatile and in pursuit of something excruciatingly out of reach. Dean knew their hearts better than anyone else and he was always right there, by their sides, running, chasing, reaching out with them to grasp what they needed. He was not only the dutiful and obedient son, but dad's soldier in his quest to avenge Mary's death. He was not only the protective, unselfish big brother, but Sam's ally in his pursuit of normalcy. Dean fought tooth and nail to let Sam have the childhood he never did. It was the only reason Dean ever defied his dad. It was the only reason he let him go off to Stanford.

For his troubles Dean was stretched and pulled every which way including in opposite directions. But he never broke. Never took sides, never abandoned either dad, or him. It was more than Sam could say, and he felt the guilt climbing up his throat for a brother who sacrificed everything to put their needs ahead of his own and never asked the same in return.

Sam grabbed his toothbrush and began brushing roughly when a sound from the next room interrupted his thoughts. He automatically turned his head, listening for any kind of distress. He heard a string of angry curses, followed by the thump of boots hitting the wall.

The silence that followed weighed Sam down, rooting him to the spot. He debated whether to check on his brother when the stillness was broken by the squeak of bed springs followed by crying, muffled and desperate. This was the sound of Sam's entire world coming apart and when he gazed up at the mirror, he was ashamed at what was reflected back. He stared into the eyes of a coward, the eyes of someone who didn't want to care about Layla and that's when he realized that his brother was a true hero. His brother whose soul should have been hardened and closed off, whose heart had been burdened with guilt and weighed down by doubt and self recrimination. His brother who had everything to lose, who had nothing left to give and was barely holding on, had enough heart for everyone.

TBC…