Chapter 11 – A Different Path
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?
A/N: Well the brothers had some nice moments during Dean's birthday but things went off the rails. Can Layla bring them back together again?
A huge thanks to my beta Siara Elen. However, betaed or not, I always take all the credit for the errors as I keep making changes up until posting time.
Many thanks to the readers, followers and especially the reviewers.
Somehow, I still don't own anything related to Supernatural.
Enjoy
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Sam fingered the smooth lines of his phone. He wanted to make that call, wanted nothing more than to scream at dad and tell him he was a horrible father. He wanted to let him know they were out of options and that his son, his first born was dying. He wanted to call him every dirty name in the book, to hurt and shame him into coming. He wanted dad to know how much Dean needed him. Sam wanted to yell until he was hoarse and empty but he was already more than half way there and he realized what he really wanted was to tell dad how much he needed him.
Sam's jaw clenched as he stared at the phone then snorted in derision at the thought this was his only connection to his father. He shoved the phone into his pocket and sagged against the wall because what the hell good would it do to spill his heart to a voicemail.
Sam let out a long breath, looking straight ahead. The clouds hung heavy and low. They were a colour he had once termed northern grey. Had it been summer, he would have said it was bound to rain but at this time of the year, it would come down as ice pellets or freezing rain. Sam hated both but that wasn't all, right about now he hated everything. He hated how the winter sun wasn't warm enough. How the days were too short and the nights too long. He hated how time slipped away so quickly. How his brother was sleeping more and breathing less and that there was nothing he could do to help. He hated that dad wasn't here. He had a lot of hate in him, and Sam hated that too.
He picked up the sound of a door opening and his heart skipped at the sight of Layla. He straightened, pushing off the wall suddenly realizing there was one thing he didn't hate, Dean.
"He's resting," Layla answered before Sam got himself more worked up.
He ran his hands through his hair then looked back at the sky. Yeah, he definitely hated this wet, cold air and he wished it would snow instead. "I should get back inside." It came out of his mouth, but his body stayed put.
Layla waited a beat. "You want to talk about it?" she asked.
Sam's head snapped around. "What's there to talk about?" he ground out then clamped his mouth shut. He didn't want to talk to her.
Layla wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill but stood silently, waiting for Sam to return to the room. He didn't.
"He's trying so hard to be brave," she started.
Sam's shoulders stiffened. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I know how difficult this is for him," Sam gritted. He understood that Dean's whole purpose had been ripped out of him. That his brother couldn't hunt or save anyone. But there was one thing Dean clung to; his role as the big brother. "I don't need him to be brave. I need him to live," he yelled angrily.
Layla stood in silence and watched him pace back and forth. Sam was practically smouldering; fists clenched and breaths pluming out like a steam engine. His Adam's apple bobbed as the pressure within his chest built and built and built then he rounded back on her, fury in his eyes. "You wanna talk? Is that what you want?" His voice was loud and thick with anger. "How about we talk about how unfair this is, or better still let's talk about how he didn't deserve this. You wanna know why he's dying? Huh?" Sam's eyes filled. "He was saving a couple of kids. Dean sees someone in trouble and he just jumps in, he doesn't think. He never thinks, not when it comes to helping others. Those kids would have been dead instead…"
Layla's face darkened. "I didn't know...he said it was an accident."
"Of course he'd say that," Sam breathed, the vehemence leaving his eyes and the resignation setting in his belly.
"There's not gonna be a happy ending no matter how much I pray, or how much I believe. He's gonna die and when someone dies they disappear and everything about them is gone. Not just his body, but everything...like that stupid laugh of his when he pulls a prank on me. The way he talks about his car like it's a real person. His horrible singing. The way his eyes glaze over when he bites into a really good piece of pie. How he calls me Sammy just to annoy me."
Sam sucked in the air he hated so much. He wasn't just losing Dean, he was losing a part of himself and he could feel the void growing with each passing day. "When he's gone, I'll be a son, but I won't be a brother."
Layla watched the soundless tears sliding down Sam's cheeks. "He's still your big brother. Don't take that away from him. Let him have that," Layla pleaded.
Sam looked up wide-eyed and desperate. Could this be what the preacher meant when he asked whether he could give Dean what he needed? He stared at Layla as if she had all the answers. Maybe she did. Sam wiped at his cheeks. Despite the fact that he loomed over her, he felt like a child again. She was the one dying, yet she was comforting him.
Layla placed a hand on his arm and he instantly felt warm liquid gush through his veins. If it was possible to feel love, this was it and Sam understood why Dean needed her. He didn't deserve her sympathy, not after every unkind thought he'd had about her.
"We can't always change the outcome," she whispered, gazing up into broken eyes, "but we can change how we get there."
Her words touched Sam, gave him permission to let go of his anger, to stop looking for someone or something to blame, to stop hating and just be. He let out a long breath, emptying his body of all those feelings. She squeezed his arm and he nodded in acceptance.
"I better go back and check on him." She backed away, leaving him to sort out his feelings.
Sam blinked and she was gone yet something of her lingered inside of him.
A bitter gust of arctic wind whipped around, taunting him. He inhaled the damp air then looked up at the northern grey clouds piled up in the sky. It had started to drizzle and the icy precipitation came down like tiny diamonds. He clung to that image, tried to memorize the scene, to breathe it in, to sear it into his heart. He couldn't hate it, not today. Especially not today because it would always be a reminder of the one thing Sam could never hate.
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Layla shut the door and peered over at the couch. She found tired, green eyes blinking up at her in a mixture of fear and relief. She smiled to put him at ease.
"See, you can't get rid of me that easily," she chided, moving to sit on the edge of the couch by his hip.
Dean was too weak to sit up. "Sam?" he mouthed. The lone syllable was strained and sluggish but Layla heard the underlying meaning behind it; 'Is he coming back? Is he okay?'
Worry had taken a toll on him and the green of his eyes contrasted with the dark smudges beneath. She tried to smooth away the worry, pushing the short strands of hair away from his forehead and lingering to check his temperature. "He needs a few minutes to work off that pie," she joked.
"Cold," Dean murmured as his dark lashes swept against his pale cheek.
"Let's get you warmed up." Layla reached for the blanket.
"No...you" Dean sighed, his eyes pointing to her hands.
She rubbed her hands together. "Yeah, it's cold outside," she agreed then tucked the bedspread around him regardless.
Dean's eyes swung over to the window. "Doesn't have a coat," he wheezed while his hand grabbed at the front of his shirt.
"You worry about him, huh?" She thought of Sam's words, of how selfless Dean was and how he always thought of others.
He gave her half a shrug. "Can't... help it."
His pale face displayed weariness from years of doing just that. Putting others first was automatic for him, Layla realized. It was part of his make-up, who he was and although his physical heart was damaged, that part of him wasn't diminished.
"He worries about you, too."
"Shouldn't…"
"He can't help it," she whispered, because Sam's worry was inevitable, he had everything to lose.
A flash of guilt filled Dean's face and he looked away. Layla hated how the brothers' love for each other was working against them. She needed to get them on a different path.
"Remember the day in the diner when I talked about letting others be strong for us?"
Dean nodded.
"Sam's strong. Maybe more than you give him credit for."
"Shouldn't…have to be."
That was big brother speak for 'I'm supposed to be the one taking care of him, worrying about him, not the other way around'. She wanted to convince him, to let him see that he didn't have to give any of that up, that he could still be the big brother.
"You know what takes real strength, real courage?" she asked, her eyes peering down at him.
Dean met her gaze, exhaustion lining his face. He was putting all of his efforts into listening to her.
"Letting him be the hero." There was an argument forming on his face and she countered it immediately. "You used do to that when he was a kid, didn't you?"
Layla could almost see the flood of memories running through Dean's mind but his mouth set into a stubborn line.
"Not the same," he argued, fingers tightening against the fabric of his shirt.
Layla understood how painful and humiliating dying was; you lost little pieces of yourself every single moment. It was why Dean refused to let go of any sliver of independence, why he had to compensate for all those missing pieces except in doing so he was hurting Sam. It didn't have to be that way.
Layla leaned in, her hand covering his. "I'll let you in on a secret," she whispered. "When you accept someone's help, it's not to lessen your own suffering...it's to alleviate theirs."
His eyes shifted away as he considered her words.
"Will you try for Sam?"
Dean looked up, his eyes softening. He nodded. "...and for you," he breathed.
She squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture; his grip was strong and sure, same as his heart. She thought of the children he saved, and the brother he raised. He never asked, 'Why him.' His purpose was clear, and he had always done his best. Nothing could change that now, she thought. He would try for Sam and her. She accepted his gift with a smile.
The radiance of his spirit swelled, pulsating all around them. She opened her heart and something attached to her. It made her think that they had always known each other, and that meeting him was not mere chance. That this path they were on had been decreed since the beginning, that they were bound to each other for a reason. A profound silence enveloped them and it was at that moment, that her purpose became just as clear as his.
TBC...