Chapter 15 – Fearless

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

A/N: This chapter was supposed to be way longer but alas, real life got in the way and prevented me from working on this. So, I'm posting because I'd hate to keep you lovely readers waiting even longer.

I don't own anything related to Supernatural.

This chapter is unbetaed. All errors belong to me.

Thank you to the readers and followers but especially the reviewers who keep my muse inspired.

Enjoy

SPN~SPN~SPN

The water was cold already, Dean mused as the corners of his mouth turned down. It was why he hated taking baths, that and because you had to sit in your own dirt while trying to wash it off. Except that wasn't really his case since he hadn't been out digging graves or fighting monsters. No, the last time he had done that it didn't turn out so good and sitting in this wet mess only reminded him of that. He shivered at the memory of that awful moment when he watched the sparks and flashes take hold of the rawhead before they turned around and raced towards him. The whole thing played itself out in excruciatingly slow motion and still, there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it or get away from it.

Now, that moment of helplessness had become the story of his lowly existence. He couldn't wait to get out of this tub yet couldn't finish washing up. He tried to raise his arms but they were unwilling to comply, instead sloshing down limply. He was exhausted despite not having done a damn thing this morning. Hell, it was Sam who got him out of his clothes. It was Sam who made that pathetic hissing sound when he noticed the burn marks striping his back. It was Sam who gave him a tiny sliver of dignity by not saying another word or making another sound before helping him into the tub, handing him the soap and washcloth and leaving him to soak in his own dirt and humiliation.

Dean's chin dipped lower as he stared down at his fingers. The tips were grey, soggy and wrinkled, like the pale underside of a dead fish. They mirrored the state of his being because his body was withering away, disintegrating before his very eyes. This was the furthest thing from what he'd imagined. He'd always thought he'd go out in a blaze of glory, that it would be quick and painless. But it wasn't like that. It was more like an old man's death; slow, agonizing, and degrading.

Dean frowned at the cloudy sea surrounding him. The surface was still, placid like that of a lake. There wasn't a wave or riptide in sight, not a thing to knock him over or pull him under. Yet, it would be so simple to slip below the surface and allow the water to hold him down. He flexed his fingers experimentally, causing ripples to float out towards the edge of the tub. It might be for the best, he reflected. Everyone knew how this story was going to end so why not cut to the chase and get this whole thing over with.

Dean considered how easy it would be for him, but not for Sam. His little brother would be the one to find his water logged body, would be the one to feel responsible then carry that guilt around for the rest of his life. Dean couldn't stomach the thought of what it would do to Sam, or Layla. Whatever he was feeling paled in comparison to the pain he'd put them through. So he closed his eyes against the sight of this watery grave, accepting to take on his suffering in exchange for theirs.

Still, after last night it felt like a defeat because he couldn't take away Layla's suffering. He shuddered at the thought that she'd have months of that ahead of her, months of hospitals and painful procedures, months of having her life stripped away piece by piece. Last night, he felt as helpless as in his worst nightmares, the ones where he ran and ran but couldn't save his brother or father. For his family he would die, but for her it wasn't just his body he was willing to give up, he was ready to let go of the things he knew, of the things he believed if it could help her.

A week ago he hadn't even known she existed; now he couldn't imagine a world without her, not while he was in it. Her goodness, her compassion awakened something in him, forcing him to look deep inside his heart, to a place he rarely ventured to. He realized he had let his fears and insecurities rule his life rather than his hopes and dreams. He had tried to protect the world from monsters and himself from love, foolishly believing that if he didn't let anyone in he wouldn't get hurt. Except all his walls and shields couldn't keep Sam and his dad close by, or make him feel any less empty or alone.

When he'd first met Layla, he had pegged her as a church lady. Normally, that would have been his cue to turn and run, but his body wouldn't allow it. More surprisingly, she didn't try to get away either. Why she stuck around, Dean couldn't say. After all they were opposites; he lived in the shadows, she in the light; he subtracted evil from this world, she added kindness; she saw the good in everyone, he saw the bad.

But despite her gentle nature, she was no pushover and she challenged him with the strength of her convictions and how she lived her beliefs. He admired her courage for being so open because he could never reveal himself the way she did. He was a master of deception; hiding behind fake badges and wisecracks except the only one he really fooled was himself for believing that was the only life for him. But Layla didn't see any of that, didn't see his flaws and weaknesses. She welcomed him into her world, drawing him out little by little. When she spoke, he listened because her words rang true. The more he got to know her, the more his old life seemed to fade into the background replaced by something new.

Whereas once the weight of a gun, the handle of his knife held tightly in his hand would have been the only things that brought him comfort and security, now it was the warmth in her eyes, and the joy in her smile that made him feel real and alive. The change left him wondering whether he'd been wrong about other things, whether he had only half lived.

The story might have ended with him living out his last days filled with remorse and regret, but she wouldn't let him. Her zest for life fuelled a desperate want in him for those things he'd missed out on, all those things he'd denied himself for fear they'd be taken away. It was so much easier to be fearless when there was nothing left to lose, when he'd be the one leaving it all behind. That was until last night.

Dean would have rather gone blind than see Layla like that, than see her with all the radiance drained out of her. In that hospital room, he reached for her hand, brushing his fingers over her wrist, searching for her heartbeat. It thrummed softly, reverberating through his whole being. More than anything he wanted to take away her pain. He wanted her to live. What if Layla was right about Le Grange? What if all it took was for him to believe in order to save her? Would he continue to hold on to his beliefs? The fear of betraying the only life he'd ever known, of denouncing what his father had taught him dissipated in the touch of her hand. Everything blurred until he couldn't tell the difference between the beats of her heart and his own. They were as one; opposites united and he let go of all his preconceived notions, needing to believe in everything she did; in miracles, in God and angels. He wanted it so bad that he prayed for her with every fiber of his being.

Dean took in a shaky breath, muscles tensing at the ache in his bones. It hurt not to be with her. His skin burned for her touch. His eyes longed to see the world as she did. His arms yearned to hold her once more.

"Hey," Sam whispered, peeking around the door and catching Dean off guard. "You ready to get out?" he asked, waiting for Dean's answer before entering.

Dean nodded and the next thing he knew Sam was pulling him out, covering him up, keeping up a soft monologue and distracting him from getting too embarrassed at being handled like a baby. He didn't have to like it but if it meant getting back to Layla sooner than Dean could put up with this.

"Whadda ya say we stop off and pick up some breakfast for her?" Sam asked. "How about pancakes?" he continued without waiting for an answer.

Dean nodded.

Sam smiled while buttoning Dean's shirt. "Yeah, I figured she was a pancake girl." He stepped back then rummaged through Dean's travel kit. "You want some hair gel?"

Dean sighed and reached for the tube but Sam pulled it away and twisted it open.

"Of course," he teased, "You wanna look your best for her." He squeezed the gel into his palm and began applying it.

Sam understood how much Layla meant to his brother. It wasn't just a connection they shared, it was something deeper. He saw it last night when he stood in the doorway to Layla's room and watched Dean kiss the back of her hand. He knew exactly what it meant; he had read it one of Jess' woman's magazines. It was an issue on decoding relationships and he'd found a dog-eared a page that explained the significance of different types of kisses. Sam didn't really believe the article but all that mattered was that Jess did. That night he kissed her hand and watched her face light up. He wasn't trying to be disingenuous; he only wanted to make her happy. Except, his gesture was premeditated instead of spontaneous and he'd never had the desire to kiss her hand until he'd read the article. But there was no way his brother had ever read any of those magazines and even if he had, the gesture wasn't done it for Layla's benefit, she wasn't even awake. What it meant was that Dean adored her, pure and simple. In her he'd found someone who gave him what he needed and Sam didn't have to be afraid that she'd take Dean away from him; in reality she was bringing out the real Dean.

"Perfect," Sam breathed, spiking Dean's hair just the way he liked it. "Ready, big bro?"

Dean peered up at the use of a phrase from another lifetime. When Sam started school, Dean shouted out, 'hey, little bro' from across the school yard, always within earshot of Sammy's classmates. Dean wanted everyone to know those words were reserved for his little brother, no one else. It meant Sam was special, the only one he would call brother because brother was another word for family, for trust, for love.

The use of these words were Sam's way of reassuring him and when Dean looked up into familiar eyes there was something different about them, Dean stopped seeing the little boy that was Sammy, and started seeing the man his brother was growing up to be.

TBC…