Chapter 7 – Letting Go
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?
A/N: Here's the second part of the last chapter. It's relatively less dramatic than the previous one, but it just means that it was even more challenging to write. I hope you enjoy it.
All types of kudos go out to my beta Siara Elen for her wonderful patience and insightful feedback. A great big thank you to the readers, followers and reviewers. Let me know if you like it, or don't. All feedback is appreciated.
Somehow I still don't own anything related to Supernatural.
But once in a while the odd thing happens,
Once and a while the dream comes true,
And the whole pattern of life is altered,
Once in a while the Moon turns blue.
W.H. Auden
SPN~SPN~SPN
Dean tried to open his eyes. He fought to wrestle the thick ropes entangling his limbs and brain, but ever since his heart crapped out on him sleep was dreamless, black and hard to shake. He had a fleeting thought that this oppressive darkness was a prelude of what death was like, but he hardly held on to that idea before it flashed away, and he was once more fighting to pull the door open to wakefulness.
Waking wasn't quick and sudden like when his dad would rip the covers off his bed and yell at him like a drill sergeant. Back then, he could leap out of bed and into his boots in one swift move. Now, there was a crushing weight on his chest, and ice in his bones. The air felt thick and wet like it couldn't be inhaled. He commanded his eyes to open and when they finally did it was to a blurry, colorless world.
The last thing he recalled was being in a car, except the lack of motion disoriented him until he realized they were stopped. He took what he believed were deep breaths, allowing time for his vision to clear when he saw that they were by a park, one with a humongous, butt ugly swing.
He blinked at the sight then turned to Layla. She wasn't there. He scanned the interior of the car, spotting the notepad lying on the driver's seat and their cell phones propped up on the dash within easy reach in case Sam called.
He scrubbed his face, peering out the windshield at a town that seemed dormant, no desolate was a better word. He pushed open the car door and willed himself out. The movement caused shafts of pain to burn through his chest bringing white spots to his eyes. Head rush, he lied while hanging onto the door to avoid falling on his ass on Main St. USA. For once he was willing to accept help but there was nobody around to offer. Serves him right, he thought stupidly. He held fast until the world stopped spinning and the buzzing in his ears abated. He scanned the area, noticing Layla on a park bench, shoulders hunched, and head bent. He knew that posture from years of taking care of an overly sensitive, baby brother; she was crying.
Adrenaline rushed up Dean's spine, stiffening his shoulders, and propelling him away from the Impala and the only thing holding him up. Several times he stopped to catch his breath before continuing resolutely towards her. As he approached, he heard her soft sniffles and suddenly felt uncomfortable for intruding on her moment of weakness. Dean stopped, clearing his throat to forewarn her of his presence. He hoped it would be enough, that she would do what he would if he cried; wipe her eyes, blow her nose and brush the whole thing off.
But she didn't. She didn't try to hide or turn away. She didn't try to put up a wall to cover up her pain. Instead she faced him full on, eyes brimming with heartbreaking despair, opening and allowing him to see her wounded heart.
Something inside him twisted and his hands clenched around an imaginary knife. He wanted to kill whatever was hurting her because protecting people was what he did. Except there was nothing to stab, nothing to shoot, and even if there was, he couldn't kill anything bigger than a fly let alone cure her cancer. He was powerless; more so because he never had to deal with the messy parts after a hunt, saving people, hunting things, that was his job. The aftermath wasn't.
Layla's tears wobbled on her eyelashes then overflowed, spilling down her reddened cheeks. The sight made his heart open and even though he couldn't save her, his arms knew the width and depth of someone who needed to be held. His feet moved to close the gap until he was able to tug her into his frame.
The young woman buried her face into his midsection and let out a muffled sob. She clutched at his leather jacket and Dean couldn't do much more then hold her as tightly as she hung on to him.
When her tears ebbed and her sobs quieted, he tried to bring her back to the now, running his fingers through her hair.
Layla's body relaxed under his touch. She took a deep shuddering breath, letting him go.
Dean watched her wipe at her face ineffectually. For once he wished he carried tissues in his pocket like his emo brother. He fingered the bottom of his sweater, extended it out as far as it would stretch, and offered it to Layla.
She looked up with a flush of embarrassment coloring her features. "I think I soaked through it already."
Dean poked one finger from behind the fabric. "There's still a dry spot," he quipped.
That got an almost smile out of her, but she declined his offer with a shake of her head. He lowered himself next to her and there they remained, quietly leaning into each other. He didn't need her to tell him what brought this on; he already had a pretty fair idea. He was content to sit with her until she was ready to leave.
Layla sniffled, staring out at the empty playground. "I should have come alone."
"Hey, I'm the one who wanted to see the World's Largest Porch Swing, remember?" He nudged her, hoping his attempt at humour wouldn't fall flat.
She shook her head and looked straight ahead. "I knew what I was doing when I shoved that flyer into Sam's hands," she confessed.
"Yeah, bucket list." He confirmed.
"Not really." She looked down and refused to look at him and instead she pulled her coat tighter around her throat. "That's just a list. It's not life." she explained with a heavy sigh.
Dean sensed she might cry again, and he averted his gaze to give her some privacy.
"There are lots of things I'll never get to do," she continued, looking out at the far distance. "I'll never get married, have kids, or be a grandmother…"
Dean's hand moved automatically to his chest to temper the pressure building up at the fact that she was dying.
Layla's shoulders hunched forward, bracing against the biting wind. She clasped the bottom of the bench and her arms stiffened as if she was trying to hold on to something. "When I was a little girl, I spent summers at my grandma's," She said softly, smiling at the memory. "She lived in the country, on a small farm. Mornings were spent chasing butterflies, catching grasshoppers and feeding the chickens. In the afternoon, when it got too hot for chores, we'd sit on the porch swing, sipping lemonade." Layla lowered her gaze to her feet. "Sometimes she'd tell me stories of her childhood, or my mom's and after supper, we'd snuggle under a heavy blanket, swinging back and forth until the moon and stars came out."
It brought Dean back to his and Sam's childhoods. After their house burned down, they moved around so often that the only constant was the Impala. It became home for Dean and his best memories were inside that sleek, black muscle car, carved in the vinyl of its arm rests, traced on misty fogged windows, and stuffed inside metal lidded ashtrays. Riding in the backseat with his brother tucked against him made him fell safe as he gazed out through the window at the endless night.
"Sounds like…a great childhood," he mused.
"It was," Layla whispered, staring at her hands. "The first thing I thought of when they told me there was nothing more they could do for me was that I'd never sit on that swing with my grand kids." She swiped at her eyes, trying to push those feelings aside. "Silly, right?" she asked glancing over at him.
Dean shook his head.
She bit her lip and swallowed hard. "When I heard those words, it was as if all those dreams got swept away and suddenly there was no tomorrow, only a past; one that I'd never get to share with anyone. It was as if time stood still, except the world kept spinning, the sun rose and set and life went on. But not for me. I was stuck in that moment and it felt like I was already dead."
Dean realized this was what happened to his dad. John Winchester was never the same after that one, horrible night that robbed him of his wife and his children of their mother. He was stuck in that moment, consumed by it until his grief turned into blinding anger. Afterwards, avenging his wife's death became his sole purpose, his reason for being. There was no future to dream of and hope for because it had burned on the ceiling. The real tragedy was that his children became imprisoned in that same moment. When the doc gave Dean the bad news about his heart, he didn't feel like his future had been snatched away. He hadn't had one, not for a long time.
"The hard part wasn't letting go of hope," Layla continued. "That kinda slips away with every test result and every treatment that doesn't work…but to let go of wanting something? That's so much harder."
A lump welled in Dean's throat because he had learned those lessons a long time ago. No matter that he understood his mom was dead, his heart couldn't help wanting her back.
"I thought if I came here and made peace with that fact, that I'd finally get closure and be able to let go of that dream, but it was stupid..." Layla swiped at her eyes. "And I dragged you to the middle of nowhere for nothing."
"Hey, what do you mean, nothing…you're not gonna deny me this, are you?" Dean scowled, pointing over to the mother of all swings.
"It's okay. You don't have to." Layla smiled, soft and shy.
It made her even more endearing for being so self-conscious and Dean was submerged in her gaze when something passed between them, transfusing him with an understanding that bonded them. Suddenly, Dean felt compelled to help her get closure.
"Sam won't…let me live it down…if we don't ride that thing," Dean huffed.
Layla gave a short laugh. "Sam will have a field day, either way."
"Oh, and I'm sure…you'll have… nothing to do with that," he accused, pushing up to a standing position and holding out his hand. "You…coming?"
She looked between him and the swing and placed her hand in his.
His lips twisted into a crooked smile as they made their way to the middle of the park, and stood before the swing. Dean thought it was grotesque, more like a child's swing on steroids; huge, red and metallic. He peered at Layla and judging from the look on her face, she wasn't too impressed either. But then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Dean pursed his mouth. "Not the best time…to be meditating," he joked.
Layla remained still with eyes closed. "I'm just trying to imagine it the way I remember it."
Dean tilted his head to look at the darkening sky, hoping the rain wouldn't come until they were done. The move unbalanced him and he swayed into Layla. Her eyes shot open at his change in position and she grabbed his elbow to steady him.
"Not as solid as I used to be," he wisecracked but his face was ashen.
"Maybe we should go." Layla guided him towards the swing and eased him to a sitting position.
Dean took a few steadying breaths. "Oh no…you don't." He tugged her down. "You're not…getting out…of this."
Layla landed on her behind with an oomph. She didn't return his smile instead looking towards the car "We really should get going. What if Sam calls? He'll worry and I promised…"
Dean couldn't take his eyes off her. She was a good person and were it not for his accident and her cancer they would have never met. Yet, here they were, in the middle of Nowhere, USA, sitting side by side on a stupid swing. It struck him that they'd never be here again, that he'd never have this moment or the opportunity to tell her.
"You'd have been a great mom," he whispered, but just as quickly, his eyes flicked away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that...I mean I did, but...sorry," he bumbled.
Layla blinked a few times then something lifted from her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered earnestly, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
Dean gave a short, nervous laugh. He was at ease around most women, but with Layla he was completely out of his depth. He didn't know what to do or where to look.
The swing shifted slightly and Layla toed the ground tentatively. "Wouldn't do if we didn't swing now, would it?" She kicked out her legs to get it going.
Dean nodded, doing his best to synchronize but his lungs ached with every breath of cold air and he gave up, sitting back while Layla propelled them.
With each forceful push, they moved higher and faster. The steady rhythm reminded Dean of a pendulum as if they were counting out time. The wintry wind blew through Layla's hair adding to her a childlike enthusiasm so that Dean had no trouble picturing her as a young girl running through fields, pigtails bouncing off her shoulders. He gave a short laugh at the movie playing in his mind's eye.
Layla turned to him. "What?" she asked with a bashful smile, as if she had been caught doing something wrong.
"I just had an image…of little Layla, running wild, grasshoppers in hand."
She ducked away from his teasing stare. "I guess I was a bit of a tomboy," she confessed then kicked harder.
They coasted in silence, the hypnotic influence of the motion causing Dean's thoughts to drift back and forth, back and forth. He rode this tide of images until he saw her first as a little girl then a as a grown woman, picturing her as a mother and grandmother, just like in her dream.
"I can see you…," he rasped with a vague wave of his hand.
Layla peered over at him, but he continued to stare at some distant spot.
"Of course you can. I'm right here, silly," she teased.
"Nah, on that porch swing…like you wanted," he clarified.
"Really?" She poked him in the ribs. "What do you see?"
He cut to her from the corner of his eye, catching the expectant look on her face. "You have five kids."
"What?" she yelped. "I'll be fat and dowdy." Layla pouted then kicked her feet angrily on the next push.
"Well, you would have stopped after four… but the last one was an accident…about 8 years younger than the others…she's hanging off your hip."
She glowered at him. "I'll have a big belly and bigger…" She pulled her sweater out indicating huge breasts.
"Lucky guy," he choked, ducking when she tried to swat him. "That's not all…you're barefoot…cooking up a storm."
"Barefoot?" Her mouth turned down in anger.
"You burn more meals than not," Dean continued mercilessly. "But your husband…"
Layla's eyebrows shot up, daring him to say something mean.
"He never complains…always compliments you…"
"Of course, he does," Layla muttered, the corner of her mouth turning up.
Dean's tone softened. "He worships you…can't wait to get home…you have a beautiful family and you're content. You're doing what you were meant to do."
The smile on Layla's face faded and Dean tensed. He hadn't meant to say something so insensitive to someone who would never have that life.
"Sounds wonderful," she whispered and leaned into him.
Dean relaxed and relished the feel of her next to him.
"My turn," she chirped.
"Huh?"
"You're married, with two kids."
"Me?" he wondered in disbelief.
"Yeah you. You're sliding out from under a car, all greased up. I see the start of a beer belly."
"Hey…this is all muscle," Dean defended, patting his stomach.
"There's a pretty woman bringing you a cold drink."
"That's…more like it." He smirked.
"A couple of teenage boys, the rough and tumble types. You're teaching them about cars."
"Darn right," he agreed, his chest puffing out.
"The older one looks just like his mom…the younger one like you."
"They're both…handsome, aren't they?" He beamed. "What are their names?"
"Your wife..." Layla hesitated, scrutinizing him. "She's…Brandi."
Dean's eye grew about two sizes bigger amazed at how quickly Layla had him pegged.
"Your oldest is named after your dad, the younger one, Billy. You don't have favorites but, he's special…."
"I never…thought that far ahead," Dean confessed, averting his gaze as something caught in his throat. Truth was he didn't think he was worthy of that kind of love, that kind of life.
His mood shifted and Layla swung her legs a little harder, moving them higher. "You have a girl, out there?" she asked.
Dean cleared his throat knowing that if Layla knew what kind of 'girls' he spent time with she wouldn't be sitting here with him. "Nah…"
"Well, you had your hands full taking care of that brother of yours. Must have been a full-time job feeding him," she joked.
That got a small smile and a nod out of Dean.
"What about Sam?" she asked her voice soft and eyes low. "What do you see in his future?"
Layla's question sparked a bittersweet ache in his chest. Dean knew his brother had always yearned for a normal life, a real future, for the one thing Dean could never give him. Except maybe now...
Dean thought for a moment then looked out past the park. "Sam's a little greyer…a little fatter. You know... working at an office and all... He's got a beautiful wife…looks like a librarian. Three kids…all girls…tall and skinny like weeds…got that from him. He's coming home in a minivan…briefcase in one hand and…a dog jumping up to greet him." Dean pictured every detail, could practically hear the dog barking and the kids squealing. It felt so real it hurt.
"He's happy..." Dean's voice cracked and he took in a shaky breath, turning away before he made a complete fool of himself. Almost instantly he felt the old walls going up for having allowed Layla to glimpse into his heart. Everyone one who did always left and a part of him was afraid she would too. Instead she pressed into him, keeping him close, warming him and something of her melted into him. There was a moment of fusion, a oneness in their isolation as if they were the last two people on Earth.
They continued to swing in silence, suspended between the world of the real and the unreal. Dean felt the familiar pull of exhaustion. He closed his eyes, but this time, the darkness was replaced by a blinding light. Sam was there, walking into the sunshine, his kids hanging from his shoulders and his wife leaning in to kiss him.
It was the life his brother deserved and Dean was standing right there when Sam turned to him and smiled. The perfection of that moment pierced Dean with a sense of clarity. He was at once broken and fulfilled because letting Sam go meant his brother could have that life. Rather than feel empty, Dean was filled with an immense sense of relief. It allowed him to be pulled back from that place where Sam would go but he couldn't follow until it receded completely and he was back on the swing.
Layla peered up at him, smiling in understanding. "You okay?"
It was ironic that she had come here seeking closure yet, he had found it as well. Dean nodded, he was more than okay and something inside him stilled. He didn't know whether he'd make it to the end of the week, much less the end of the month. He didn't have a future, and would never see Sam's, but strange as it sounded, he was at peace with his fate because all he had was this moment, this simple, shared moment and for once in his life, it was enough
TBC...