Chapter 5 – Closing Doors
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?
A/N: I apologize for taking so long to post this chapter. I promise to do much better with the next one. Thank you to the readers, followers and reviewers. I wouldn't be posting this if it wasn't for all of you. As usual, feedback is greatly appreciated.
A huge thanks to my beta Siara Elen who helped guide me.
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.
¹ - 1 Corinthians 13:2
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Dean hadn't expected to see the morning. Not after last night. Not after leaving the diner and being invaded with a terrible sense of foreboding.
When Sam finally managed to drag him back to the room, he'd allowed himself to be overtaken by anger then grief. Grief for Layla, grief for himself and the things he'd never do or know, and grief for putting Sam through all of this. Those thoughts gripped him with an all-consuming despair, knocking the wind out of him until he couldn't catch his breath and he thought he might just die on that ratty bed cover. Afterwards, the only thing he remembered was the fear in Sam's eyes. The rest was a blur until he woke to the rhythmic sound of his brother snoring next to him.
Dean managed to slit his eyes open to the soft light filtering past the threadbare curtains. The morning glow suffused his brother's relaxed features reminding him how young Sam really was. Dean watched him sleep, watched the rise and fall of his chest and studied the contours of the face he knew so well. He automatically laid his hand over his heart as the familiar sight calmed him and filled him with gratitude because his brother hadn't abandoned him like he'd asked. But just as quickly, those feelings dissipated, replaced by a sense of guilt and failure because he'd be doing exactly that to Sam; deserting him and leaving him to fend for himself.
And for what? For being boneheaded and trying to fry that rawhead while his ass was sitting in a puddle of water. He could practically hear his dad admonishing him for his stupidity, could taste the disappointment for letting them all down. He was at once glad dad wasn't here to see this and then just as equally petrified that he'd never see him again. He swiped at his eyes in anger and frustration, tensing when Sam mumbled and grimaced in his sleep. He watched his little brother through water logged eyes, hating the burden he had placed on his young shoulders. He knew he should have ditched Sam when he had the chance. Knew he shouldn't have gone back to the motel to look for him except, he knew why he did. He knew why he couldn't ditch Sam. It was because he wasn't brave enough to be the one to leave, wasn't courageous enough to go it alone. Dean took in a shallow breath and automatically reached out for his brother. He tried to grab onto the one thing he could never let go of, the one thing he never wanted to leave behind and suddenly, dying was so much harder than living.
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"Are you sure?" Layla asked, not hiding her surprise as she looked up from the brightly coloured flyer. The young woman had her eyebrows pulled up to her hairline while she waited expectantly for his answer.
Dean didn't have much of a choice. Sam had his heart set on seeing this doctor and after scaring the kid senseless last night, he couldn't deny him this. He couldn't bear the thought of Sam blaming himself for not trying harder, for not researching every possibility, for not turning over every stone in his search of a miracle. Dean knew it didn't matter either way. Nothing was gonna save him. He felt it in his bones, felt it in the pit of his stomach, and in every labored breath. Time was running out, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold on. That's how he ended up trying to enlist Layla to take him off Sam's hands. Just for a little while, just enough time for his brother not to have any regrets.
Dean's bleary gaze took in the pink of her lips and the beginning of a mischievous smile. It made him forget what he was about to say except he needed to answer before Sam marched back from the washroom. As if on cue, his big, little brother lumbered towards them like a rain cloud. Sam was hunched forward, eyes downcast, completely distracted by his own inner thoughts, causing Dean to stiffen at the sight.
He turned back to Layla, noting she wasn't buying his offer to join her on a bucket list quest, not after brushing off her suggestions the day before. He switched tactics. "My brother needs to go out…he won't leave me alone after yesterday's stunt so, you're like…my last option," Dean finished just as Sam slid into the seat next to him and wiped his hands dry on his jeans.
"Well, when you put it that way," Layla puffed looking supremely insulted.
"Put what that way?" Sam asked, turning from Layla to Dean.
The emotions from last night were still etched into the lines around Sam's eyes. Dean felt the weariness radiating off his little brother and although he hated the thought of Sam on some futile pursuit, he knew letting him meet the doctor was the best antidote.
Dean reached over and pulled a flyer from the clip on the wall. "It's something I've always wanted to see," he breathed out casually.
"What?" Sam asked.
Layla quickly shoved the flyer into Sam's hands, pointing to the image on the cover.
Sam's eyebrows twisted comically. "The world's largest porch swing?" he asked disbelievingly.
Dean's heart sank as he grabbed the leaflet and saw the bright red, metallic contraption. He looked up hoping Layla would bail him out.
Instead, she stared at him with a smug smirk. "That's exactly what Dean was telling me; how much he wanted to wanted to ride that swing," she added for effect while Dean scowled at her dirty tactics.
Sam peered over at his brother's plate which hadn't been touched. He wasn't keen on letting Dean out of his sight except he needed time alone. He sighed as he checked his watch before leaning back into the banquette. "Where is it?" he asked absentmindedly already planning how and when he could stake out the Reverend's house.
"Not far," Layla replied before Dean could get a word in. "We'll be back before you know it," she stated confidently.
"You need to eat something," Sam said tiredly, pushing the plate towards his brother.
The look of exhaustion on his brother's face propelled Dean to reach out and stab a sausage with his fork. "Was waiting for you to get back…" he lied as he bit into the link.
"And your meds," Sam continued without much hope.
"And my…meds…" Dean agreed, trying to work the food around his mouth and down his throat.
Sam looked up suspiciously, scrutinizing his brother because Dean was never this cooperative, not lately, and he knew this behavior should worry him. Sam's face became serious and he weighed all of that against his need to track down the preacher. In any case, he didn't have the time or energy to question his brother's motivations.
"You'll keep your cell phones on and answer when I call?" Sam continued, looking pointedly his brother for that last part.
Dean nodded, noting the slight lift of Sam's shoulders and the hint of hope in his brother's bloodshot and weary eyes. Dean was backing himself into this corner willingly but oddly, the thought comforted him because letting Sam search for a miracle might be enough to lessen his brother's guilt when none of this came to pass. His hope was that Sam wouldn't grieve for long. That his brother would leave hunting, go back to school and forget all about him. It was for the best, he mused because after all, if it wasn't for him showing up at Stanford, maybe none of this would have ever happened.
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Layla gazed forward as she drove past the gently undulating hills which seemed to roll by like waves. Dean had dropped off a few minutes ago, having bravely hung on for the first half of the drive during which she regaled him with her best childhood tales and embarrassing moments. From time to time, he piped in with stories about Sam, never himself, a fact which didn't escape Layla.
She tried to get Dean to open up, asking about his favourite foods, movies and music but the conversation always returned to Sam. Despite his gruff demeanor, Dean spoke proudly of Sam's achievements and how after all this was over, he hoped his brother would return to school and become a lawyer. Layla caught the depth of devotion in the way Dean's voice deepened and softened at the mention of Sam. When she asked about their mom, the young man fell silent. After a long pause he'd told her their mom died when Sam was a baby and his dad and his brother were all the family he had.
It was with this knowledge that she understood why Sam was equally dedicated to his older brother. In spite of Dean's promises, Sam couldn't bring himself to leave until his brother had eaten a little more of his breakfast and taken his pills. She had watched their back and forth banter and how Dean put up a brave front even as he struggled to eat half a pancake. She noted how Sam held back, even when he was itching to grab hold of the utensils, cut Dean's food and assist in any way he could. She thought it was ironic that Dean would do anything for Sam, except allow him to help.
When she tried to get the conversation going again Dean closed himself off, gazing distractedly out the window until he leaned into the door and fell asleep. Occasionally she glanced over, ensuring he was comfortable and breathing easily. She turned on the radio to keep her company but the solitude of the ride forced her thoughts back to the reason for the road trip.
She knew she should have been more truthful with Dean about her motive, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him why she needed to go. She spied the exit for Hebron looming in the distance and felt a flash of guilt and culpability for dragging him along. She prayed he wouldn't wake once they got there because today wasn't about crossing an item off her bucket list or experiencing something before she died. Just the opposite, it was about making peace with herself for the loss of promise and the dimming of possibilities.
Layla steeled herself against that thought as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She wasn't going to Hebron to make her wish come true. She was going there to close the door to the life she had dreamed of, to the life she would never have.
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Sam's leg jumped up and down nervously as he peered at his watch then tapped it to make sure it was working. The large hand had moved forward one minute. That couldn't be right, could it? He sighed then chewed the skin around his thumb. He'd have no fingers left at this rate but f*ck, this was Dean he was trying to save, not some random stranger.
"Come on Le Grange. Where are you?" he growled in frustration, slamming his head back against the head rest. He turned, stared at the preacher's house, wondering how far the man could have ventured. After all, by all accounts Le Grange was blind. Or was he?
There it was again, the doubt and uncertainty scratching at his brain. He knew it was the strain of worry and fear that were playing with his mind. No matter, he began to doubt whether he could trust what Mr. Miles and Dr. Fielding had told him, or even what he had seen with his own eyes. The one thing he could trust was Dean, and Dean wasn't buying what the preacher was selling. What if his brother was right? What if this healing thing was a scam? If it was, it meant he had just wasted two precious days on some wild goose chase. Sam refused to think that way because this was Dean's best hope, hell, his only hope.
He checked his watch and restarted his calculations. It had been one hour and seventeen minutes since he'd arrived, knocked on the preacher's door and got no response. Fifty-six minutes since he tested Dean's phone and got a snarky hello. Twenty-six minutes since he started to lose patience.
Sam used to be good at waiting. Hell, he'd had a lifetime of practice, learning to out stubborn his dad. Dean on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. His brother wasn't one for waiting. He was all action, and motion and couldn't sit still, not in a classroom, not on the sofa and especially not on a stakeout. On more than one occasion Sam was the recipient of spit balls, paper airplanes, annoying singing and obnoxious bodily noises courtesy of his immature, big brother. Now, Sam understood Dean. He felt that same pent up energy, felt coiled up, ready to explode because there was a ticking time bomb lodged deep in his heart. If it went off, he wouldn't be able to put the pieces back together. Not after Jess.
Sam scrubbed at his face wanting to erase the image of his girlfriend burning on the ceiling. It was replaced by the image of Dean lying on that damp, concrete floor not moving, not breathing, and not living. Sam's insides felt like they were being ripped apart. He didn't know what to do with these feelings, didn't know how to calm them or stop them. So he did something he hadn't done in years. He began to pray.
Sam thought he might have forgotten how, but when he gripped the steering wheel and closed his eyes, his heart started to speak. At first, his prayer was frayed and scattered like his thoughts; one moment he was begging, the next cursing angrily, and finally bargaining for Dean's life. Despite his heartfelt plea, there was no bolt of lightning, no burning bush, no sign anyone was listening. There was nothing except the ring of his cell phone.
Sam fumbled to answer when he saw who was calling.
"Sam Winchester?" the voice asked.
"Speaking." Sam's heart was racing as he clutched the phone as tightly as he held the steering wheel moments ago.
"This is Reverend Le Grange."
Sam let out a short, forced breath. "I've been waiting for your call," he whispered, relief washing over him in torrents.
"I know," the preacher confirmed.
Sam blanched at the thought of how many messages he'd left for the man. "I'm sorry, but I really need to see you."
"Well, your prayers have been answered."
Sam felt like he had been dunked into a tub of ice water. The preacher's words froze him from the inside out and he couldn't get his mouth to move.
"You've been sitting outside for a while now," the older man continued.
Sam looked up, spotting a car in the driveway. He couldn't reconcile the fact that it wasn't there a minute ago or that he never noticed it arriving.
"Why don't you come on in," Le Grange drawled.
Sam's thoughts were running away from him because nothing added up. The only thing that really mattered now was that this was his opportunity. "Okay," he exhaled.
Moments later he found himself at the preacher's threshold.
"You must be Sam," a woman said as she shepherded him in.
He nodded in reply and followed her to another room. The preacher was seated on the sofa; book in hand, fingers moving effortlessly over the bumps and ridges on the page.
"It's Sam Winchester," she announced.
The preacher lifted his head. "Come on in. I know how anxious you are to see me."
"I'll leave you two to talk," the woman said then left.
Sam didn't hesitate. He approached the preacher purposefully, not willing to waste a second of Dean's precious time. "Reverend, it's my brother..."
"I know," the preacher said simply, gesturing for the young man to sit.
Sam did so, rubbing his sweaty palms across his jeans. He gathered his courage and began once again. "I'm sorry to have left so many messages, but my brother, he's very ill. The doctors can't help…and I was here last Sunday…I saw…"
"What did you see?" the Reverend asked as he levelled his face towards the young man.
The question caused Sam's doubt to resurface and he swallowed hard. "I saw a man…a man who couldn't walk - a paraplegic…he was healed."
The preacher became pensive. "How do you know he couldn't walk?"
"I met with him and his doctor, he told me…"
"So you didn't have faith in what you saw?"
"I had to make sure it was real…" Sam defended but his heart sank as soon as the words were spoken. "I'm sorry…I…he's my brother…"
"A mind can only comprehend what the heart knows," Le Grange said as he rose, edging closer to Sam. The preacher's fingers searched mid-air until they found Sam's shoulder. This simple touch quelled the storm rising in the young man's veins. "I take it your brother means a great deal to you," the Reverend whispered, taking on some of the boy's grief.
Sam had expected a lecture but instead the tone of the preacher's voice was soothing and all understanding. He not only wanted to trust this man, but needed him to know what was in his heart. He exhaled loudly, releasing the fist-sized knot in his chest along with the words he longed to speak. "He means everything to me."
The preacher stepped back, releasing the young man. Sam felt the pull of something letting loose in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed thickly at the emotions gushing up his throat. These were the very feelings he had fought to keep buried, like a hidden treasure. Feelings he had never shared with another, not even Jessica. They had once sustained him, but now they were dead weights pulling him under, suffocating him. He leaned back and set them free.
"For most my life, my brother was the only person I could talk to. The only one who would listen to me," he said, voice cracking as if every word was being chipped out of his heart.
The preacher nodded in understanding.
"He was always there for me. He cheered me up when I was sad. He made me feel safe when I was scared. He laughed when I laughed. He was my best friend…my only friend," Sam admitted. "He was there for me when it mattered most, he stood by me when no one else did and…I thought…he'd always be there."
These words ignited a flash of remorse in Sam as he thought back to the day he left for Stanford. The day he left Dean. The image that remained with him was not the hard look in his father's eyes after he'd told him not to come back. No, the image that was seared into his brain was the sight of his brother standing by the side of the road after they had said their goodbyes.
As the bus pulled away, Sam watched Dean getting smaller and smaller, watched as his brother refused to move, refused to leave, and instead stood guard like a lonely sentinel. Sam was certain that had he returned, even hours later, his brother would have still been there. The thought haunted him for the longest time, causing him to wonder how long Dean waited. It was a question his guilty conscience never wanted answered.
Sam shook away the memory only to have a similar image appear before his eyes. This time he was the one on the side of the road. He was the one leaning against the Impala waiting, waiting, waiting…like Dean had, for a brother who would never come back. The thought of a world without Dean…Sam couldn't imagine that. Didn't know what it felt like not to have that one person there that would always take him back.
His body filled with sorrow and regret and the next words spilled out from the wound in his chest. "I feel so alone…like the world is playing a cruel joke on me...but this is real," he whispered, holding back tears that felt like acid. "And, I wish it wasn't…I…wish it wasn't real. I'd do anything, to change this…anything," he said honestly.
"You would trade places with him?"
Sam thought about it. He would take Dean's place. He would do it because he had nothing left to live for. He'd lost Jess, school and his dream of a normal life. He was back to hunting, the thing he wanted most to get away from and he was doing it for the same reason his dad had - revenge.
He saw the span of his existence following the same path as his father's. A path filled with empty motel rooms and dead ends. A path that lead away from normal until there was no way to get back. Sam didn't want that for himself and he felt the heaviness lifting from his shoulders as he gave himself permission to let go of that life.
"I would," Sam declared.
The preacher became pensive. "Except that's not what your brother wants or needs."
Sam felt the blade of a dull knife poking deep into his heart, not because Dean didn't believe in miracles, but because the preacher was right, his brother didn't want one, not for himself. Sam clenched his mouth, preferring to remain silent rather than betray Dean to this man of God.
"You want this for yourself," Le Grange continued. "That's the difference between you and him." The older man turned away from Sam and towards the window.
Sam felt this opportunity slipping away and he couldn't let it end this way. "I don't know what that has to do with anything," he objected. "I came here for my brother. I need you to help him."
"Your brother doesn't feel worthy of such a blessing. It's why he gives himself away." Le Grange placed his hands on the window sill, refusing to look at Sam. "Did you ever wish your brother could love you less?" he asked softly.
"What?" The word was scraped from the bottom of Sam's dried up throat. It was exactly what he had wished for during those last weeks before his departure for Stanford. He had lashed out at Dean, fought with him and tried to hurt him with cruel words. Dean chalked it up to raging teenage hormones, or some girl but in reality it was Sam's attempt to get his brother to hate him so that letting him go would be easier. No matter what Sam did or said, Dean couldn't hate him, couldn't love him any less.
The preacher was waiting for his answer and Sam knew that lying was not an option. "Yes," he confessed shamefully, his voice barely audible.
"You come here looking for a miracle when you've already received one. Despite everything you've done, despite your belief that your soul has been tarnished, filthied, your brother is incapable of loving you any less. In fact, he will love you all the more for it."
How this old man could know any of this was beyond Sam's comprehension and wildly conflicting feelings were running rampant in his chest. He didn't know whether to trust the preacher or pull his knife out against him.
"You want to help your brother?" Le Grange asked seriously, turning back to face him.
Sam felt a rush of fear enveloping him.
"Don't ask whether you would die for him or trade places with him," the preacher posed. "Don't wish for him to love you less. The real question Sam Winchester, is whether you could love him more? Whether you would live, for him, because it's what he needs and not what you want?"
Sam turned away, feeling exposed and naked.
The silence in the room was answer enough. Le Grange moved back towards the sofa, sat in his chair and picked up his Bible. He flipped through the pages, stopping at a seemingly random spot. He ran his fingers over the bumps and began to read. "I may have the gift to speak what God has revealed, and I may understand all mysteries and have all knowledge. I may even have enough faith to move mountains. But if I don't have love, I am nothing.¹"
The preacher shut the book and it sounded to Sam like a door closing. He swallowed hard then stood, shoulders stiff and heart empty.
"I'll pray for you," the preacher offered.
Sam turned and left. He had come seeking hope but was leaving with questions he couldn't answer. Questions that would determine his brother's fate.
TBC...