Chapter 16 - The More Loving One

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

A/N: I won't go into my sad tale of what happened to me this last month. What's important is what's about to happen to Dean, Layla and Sam. So you better get reading!

I don't own anything related to Supernatural.

This chapter is unbetaed. All errors belong to me.

Qdicted thank you for the kind words. Your review touched me and I only wish I could have responded directly to you.

A special shout out to all the folks who take a moment to leave a lovely review. I appreciate every single one of them.

Enjoy

SPN~SPN~SPN

How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.

W. H Auden

SPN~SPN~SPN

"Already signed…my donor card," Dean quipped, the words fading as quickly as he was.

Sam flinched then shut the worn leather wallet. "Sorry," he mumbled, keeping his eyes averted. "Was looking for an insurance card," he admitted, then trudged over, sat on the edge of the couch and relinquished the wallet by placing it on his brother's chest. It remained unclaimed while tremors wracked Dean's body.

Sam let out a heavy sigh. "We gotta talk," he started with unease, knowing he'd be met with stubborn determination.

"Nothing to…talk…about," Dean rasped.

"You need a hospital," Sam continued undeterred because he'd spent long hours last night propping Dean up, listening to his wet, gurgling breaths, afraid he might drown or stop breathing. Every touch and movement was accompanied by a moan or a whimper and Sam couldn't imagine letting Dean continue to suffer without proper medical attention.

Dean's eyes were weary, apprehensive and they lacked their usual fight. "Not…yet," he whispered.

The plea nearly broke Sam because his brother had to beg him to have today. He turned towards the window, to the dim sunlight that broke through the cloud cover. It was Sunday; Layla would be released from the hospital and then they'd head for Le Grange's service. Dean wanted to be there and Sam didn't have the heart to deny him.

"Okay," Sam capitulated. "Not now," he added knowing the time was coming when staying in the motel room wouldn't be feasible because his brother's earlier wisecrack, Dean looked wrecked and not long for this life.

"Card's in there…" Dean breathed, accepting the compromise by pushing the wallet towards his brother.

Sam sniffled, fingering the old leather before flipped through the cards. His eyes barely making out the print until he scraped against something worn and uneven. He slipped out a picture; old, faded and creased. He couldn't recall where or when it had been taken but there he was, holding Dean's hand, swinging gleefully with a huge smile on his face. The sheer joyfulness in those eyes touched him. When he looked at the image of his brother, he expected to see the same look. He didn't.

Despite being about seven, Dean looked guarded and all too serious. He was thin, wearing pants that were too short and clothes that were mismatched. He could have been the poster child for CPS. Sam stared at those haunted eyes and saw a brother who had grown up without the benefit of a mother and without the benefit of a place to call home. He could have made the same argument for himself but that would have been a lie because Dean had been all that for him. Whatever Sam needed, wanted, Dean was there to provide it; love, friendship, security.

He continued to scrutinize the photo with adult eyes, seeing a brother that wasn't larger than life but a fearful, distrustful kid. A boy who a few years earlier might have worn the same carefree look but instead looked old before his time, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not only was Dean's childhood taken away but whatever was left of it he'd sacrificed so Sam could have one.

Dean tried to reach for the photo and Sam eased it into his hand.

"Remember?" Dean breathed, a small smile touching his eyes.

Sam shook his head, he didn't. Worse still he'd never felt as lonely as Dean looked in that picture.

Dean glanced at it for a moment longer, "…was…a long…time ago," he wheezed, handing it over.

But it wasn't, Sam thought. It was today, it was yesterday, it was every single day. Dean was always giving, even half dead; he was always the one who loved more than Sam ever could. He had watched his brother at the hospital, hardly able to speak yet comforting Layla, trying to get her to eat when he could barely swallow food himself. Dean held her hand for hours because when it came to those he loved, Dean didn't hold back, didn't know how. Maybe neither did Layla. She refused to close her eyes while Dean was there, making sure he rested while she listened to his breathing. The way she looked at him was something Sam had never experienced. There was tenderness and softness that shone in her eyes which Dean reflected back. She brought out those traits in him, brought out the good from behind the bravado. His brother deserved her, deserved to be happy but it would never come to pass. This connection they shared would never blossom or grow into something deeper.

"You were…a happy…kid," Dean recollected.

"If I was happy," Sam said, sniffing back tears, "it was because of you."

Dean tensed. "Don't…" he pleaded, eyes dulled by ache as if that chubby, little boy was long gone. "Be happy…that's all…be happy."

It was, Sam understood, all Dean ever wanted and the preacher's words about his brother needing him to live reverberated in his chest with new found meaning. Sam focused on the photo, thumbing it gently, trying to smooth away the creases. This moment, frozen in time didn't tell the whole story. There were all the living moments, the ones Dean created or allowed him to have, the ones that melded together into one life - Sam stopped scrutinizing the picture with adult eyes, stopped seeing Dean as a kid with a chip on his shoulder and saw him as his four year old self would, as his protector, as his superman.

"I will," he promised, giving his brother what he wanted most. Sam swiped at his eyes, needing to say so much more. He wasn't that little boy any longer, now it was his turn to step out from behind Dean's shadow, to walk ahead and lead the way.

Sam drew in a breath. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be just like you. I followed you around, imitated you…must have been a pain in the butt, huh?"

Dean shook his head lightly, denying the statement.

"When I got older, I thought I knew what I wanted to be…went off to Stanford, studied law. But it wasn't what I was meant to do," he said pensively. "I didn't have to go that far. What I wanted to be was right in front of me," he said, holding his brother's gaze. "I'm gonna be the one that helps others. I'm gonna be someone's hero like you've always been to me," he whispered, taking in a shaky breath.

Dean's eyes burned bright. He tried to blink away the emotion rising in them but regardless, a tear slid down his cheek.

"I'm gonna make you proud, Dean," Sam choked out, throat stinging with grief and gratitude. "I'm gonna make you so proud."

Dean sucked in a breath. "…always been …proud…," he exhaled, the words floating on the lightest of breaths.

Sam bit down on his lip, his heart crumbling. He buried his face in Dean's chest, allowing him to be the big brother one last time.

Dean soothed him the only way he knew how. He closed his eyes at the feel of his little brother in his arms and although he couldn't stay, his arms refused to let go.

Sam inhaled deeply, taking in Dean's scent, understanding what he'd known all along; his brother wasn't in any tee-shirt or in some picture, Dean was buried somewhere deep in his chest. When Sam left for Stanford, he'd wondered how long Dean would have waited for him at that bus stop but he already knew the answer. No matter how long Sam lived, his big brother would always be right there. Dean had never left that spot, he was leaning on the Impala, watching and waiting, refusing to leave, ready to take him home, always and forever.

SPN~SPN~SPN

Roy Le Grange paused, waiting for the shuffling of papers and the creaking of chairs to subside. A hush fell over the parishioners as hands clasped together in prayer. The preacher listened attentively, his heart tuning in to each and every appeal. He grasped the podium firmly, lifting his eyes skyward in quiet supplication, seeking strength and guidance before facing the worshipers.

The crowd quieted, granting him their full attention.

"The ability to love," he began, his voice lilting softly, "Is God's greatest gift to us."

Strains of amen were heard among the churchgoers as Le Grange nodded his head, listening to the reactions. Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder, acknowledging the preacher's statement as his brother drooped into him.

"You're good, bro," he encouraged, shifting and taking on more of his brother's weight, determined to help Dean get his wish and have this day.

"Can any of you imagine a world without love?" the preacher posed.

The parishioners shook their heads and denied such a possibility. Layla's heart did too as she leaned in to brush her hand across Dean's cheek. Despite her own fatigue, she studied him carefully, noting how drained he was of color except for the grey tinge of his lips and the darkening circles under his eyes.

At the feel of her hand Dean sought her out. His vision had dimmed and he could only make out dark shapes and shadows, but she was like a candle in the dark and he'd find her no matter what. He rested his cheek against her hand, seeking her warmth, repeating his mantra – please God, choose her, choose her, choose her…let it be her.

"This earth would be a mighty lonely place," the Reverend reflected.

"Mighty lonely," the congregation murmured sadly.

Dean tightened his grip on her hand.

"Love," Le Grange stated assuredly, "Is as essential to us as water and air."

It was, Layla believed. Her recovery had been no coincidence; Dean had been by her side, giving up his strength for her. It was why she had gotten better while he had become weaker.

"We are deceived into thinking we don't need others. We are deceived into believing we don't need love. But without love our hearts would shrivel up and die," Le Grange drawled seriously then stopped, recalling those he'd administered to that had been neglected, forgotten and unloved.

"I've seen people with cancer and AIDS. I've seen people afflicted with Parkinson's and Alzheimer's but the most prevalent disease in our society today is isolation and loneliness."

The crowd whispered its assent while Dean wheezed in a breath.

Le Grange stepped to the side, releasing the podium. "Loving one another takes nothing away from us. Yet, so often we hold tight to our hearts as if there was a limit to how much we could love."

The air stilled as the parishioners contemplated the preacher's words whereas Layla pressed against Dean, getting as close to him as possible.

"There is no limit to our capacity to love," Le Grange whispered, opening up his arms. "Love is not something you get, it's something you give."

Dean allowed himself to ease into her and Sam let him. He continued to pray, holding nothing back. Let it be her…please, God, choose her, choose her.

"Love can perfect and heal us," Roy pronounced as he out a long breath, pausing, listening for the word of the messenger. Tiny sparks filled his darkened vision and he felt the heat of God's love touch him and open him up. He turned towards Sue-Ann, signaling for her to approach and lead him down to the floor.

"Praise the Lord…Amen…" the worshipers cried out as the preacher descended the stairs to be amongst them.

The Reverend raised his hands in prayer. "Love can heal us."

Some of the parishioners stood as they raised their hands overheard. "Heal us dear God, heal us," they intoned.

Please let it be her, choose her… Dean prayed with every fibre of his being.

"Love can save us," Le Grange whispered softly.

Layla only had eyes for Dean, wearing a look of pure devotion.

"Every person here is as much a part of the healing as God is," the preacher affirmed, reaching out to touch those closest to him. "Love one another."

Sam felt a hand grasp his shoulder, another his arm. The worshipers were uniting as one, holding each other, forming an unbroken chain. Some knelt, some stood, others remained seated but all were joined.

Le Grange moved around, touching faces, shoulders, arms. A murmur arose, a soft humming of Amazing Grace hung in the air, lifting each heart. "When we love, we manifest the divinity God has granted each of us."

Sam watched the hopeful and expectant faces but he didn't share their faith. He knew his brother well enough that Dean never thought he should live any more than the next person. Sam was certain his brother would never accept being healed in lieu of Layla. His brother was willing to sacrifice himself for the good he knew she would bring to the world, plus her well-being was more important to him than his own. Dean had been at war his whole life, willingly sacrificing himself for others and now he would lay down his life for something worthwhile.

Le Grange was before them, hand reaching forward. Sam's breath caught in his throat as the preacher grasped Dean's shoulder and held on to it. His logic told him this wasn't meant to be but his heart wouldn't listen and he straightened, pulling Dean up, eyes shining with desperate hope, wanting this more than he'd ever wanted anything in his whole life.

The Reverend's lips moved wordlessly, holding tight to the young man, listening to the chorus of angels overhead. The tent stilled, aware the defining moment was at hand. Sam's entire life hung in the balance. Not that long ago it was his fist pushing down on his brother's chest, his breath blowing into Dean's lungs that kept him in this world. Now he waited for someone else to breathe life into his brother.

Dean's weary gaze locked into darkened glasses. Even though he had been robbed of his voice, he hadn't been robbed of his will. Somehow he found the strength to push himself forward and Sam watched helplessly as his last shred of hope was stripped away.

Dean offered Layla's hand to the preacher. Le Grange inhaled deeply, knowing what the offer was. He inclined his head in acceptance, taking the young woman's fingers in his. It was the first time today Dean had let go of her hand, it was the last time he would hold it.

"Layla, please stand," the preacher requested.

The congregation began a chorus of Amen and Glory be to God. Mrs. Rourke let out a soft sob, clutching her daughter's hand tighter before turning to Dean and whispering her thanks.

Layla held Dean's gaze in a moment of understanding, a moment of acceptance, a moment of shared deliverance. She leaned in, kissing his cheek, lingering a few moments, her hand brushing his face. His heart swelled to life and he wished his throat would allow him to speak, to say the one thing he had never told a woman.

"Alright now," the Reverend intoned as he stepped out of the row and into the aisle taking Layla with him. The congregation rose, raising their hands, their voices melding with the angelic ones from on high.

"God's mercy has been revealed to us. Blessed are we to witness this love," Le Grange pronounced, spreading arms open. "Join us," he entreated.

The parishioners stood and crowded around while Layla glanced back at Dean. Sam didn't need to be asked. He pulled his brother tighter, bracing him in his arms.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Dean looked up into a face he'd know anywhere; he saw no hint of resentment for Layla, no sign of heartbreak for him. Sam was no longer that angry teenager constantly fighting with dad. He wasn't that pouty little kid who had to get his way. He wasn't that chubby baby that took his first uncertain steps towards him.

Sam lifted Dean carefully, giving him a moment to recover from each move. When Dean's feet refused to carry him, Sam hugged him against his chest and walked him over. Dean vision blurred at the bittersweet thought he had helped Sam take his first steps and now his brother would be the one to help him take his last.

"Alright now," the preacher whispered, laying his hand on Layla's head.

The congregation closed in, holding hands, grasping the preacher or Layla, humming gently, swaying in unison. Sam felt himself moving in time with them, his chest filling with the vibrations of their voices while his arms held on to the thing dearest to his heart.

"Alright now," Le Grange whispered as he submitted to a higher power.

Despite being blinded by the unearthly light surrounding Layla, Dean couldn't look away and a buzzing sound roared in his ears. They say when you're about to die your life flashes before your eyes but when Dean blinked he saw the future. There was Sam, the way he had imagined on that swing; strong and sure, kind and gentle, giving and selfless. Dean saw the man, the husband, the dad Sam would be one day be and he knew he was right to let him go. He saw Layla too, kids all around her, shining her light on everyone who met her. She was young and vibrant, she was old and at peace, having lived a full and happy life, surrounded by her loved ones, waving to him from that porch swing.

"Open your heart," she mouthed, her eyes shining as if the sun rose in them as she urged him to breathe.

Dean had no choice; he took one last breath, allowing his heart to open, letting her love slip into his veins. Suddenly he was falling, falling, falling into Sam, falling into the darkness, falling away from Layla, away from her light.

It was only when he hit the bottom that he began to rise. He was being pulled in a thousand different directions, he was being ripped apart, body separating from soul, flesh dropping away from bones until he was swallowed by something bigger than himself. He was everywhere and nowhere. He was one and he was a trillion stars. He was yesterday and tomorrow. He was this moment and eternity. There was no beginning and no end. She was all around him, enveloping him in her love, igniting him with her light as she burned through his core. All he knew was that he was loved. He was loved and he couldn't understand how he could feel so alive when he was dying.

TBC…