Chapter 17 - Paying it Forward
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all the loyal readers who have hung in since the beginning and had to put up with all my delays!.
I had very little time to write this chapter and I hope I did it justice. I was hoping this would be the last chapter put I'm planning an epilogue to wrap things up. .
To all the reviewers, in particular the Guests who I could not respond to directly
***** THANK YOU***** - You are the reason I keep writing.
As usual, I don't own anything related to Supernatural.
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The clouds tumbled and rolled over each other, racing towards the horizon, blotting out the burgeoning light and darkening the town below. It was an omen, Sam thought. A sign the sky was refusing to let the dawn in, refusing to let yesterday go and today begin.
He pushed through those thoughts, continuing his course, taking purposeful steps through the empty streets. He was undeterred by the relentless rain that began the precise moment Le Grange laid his hands on Layla. He swiped at his face and at the morose thought the heavens were trying to drown out this town. Despite the growing sea underfoot, his strides grew longer, faster, in time with the hammering in his chest which hadn't subsided since he woke to the sight of an empty bed next to him. It had caused him to bolt out the door, one destination in mind.
Despite knowing where he was headed, the rain made it hard to see. That or it might have been the fact that he had hardly slept through the night, his mind replaying scenes from yesterday while his logic tried to find some physical law, some plausible explanation for what had happened. Now, as the hours pulled and stretched him further from those events his memory had begun to dim and fade, making it impossible to put the remaining pieces in some semblance of an order. With each successive attempt, things became more confused or half remembered; his brain unable to hold on to what was impossible to comprehend.
There were moments where he almost understood it, where the idea was close, within reach but just as soon it slipped away as effortlessly as a fish swimming through water. Nevertheless, he kept at it, kept digging into his memories until a familiar yet distant song rose through the fog in his brain. It was the hymn during the healing. He was certain the song was not from any language he knew, yet he couldn't say how he understood the words, or how the singing of the congregation grew to an inhuman crescendo, every sound rising and crashing back down, filling the empty spaces in that tent. The whole thing climaxed with a deafening clap of thunder, reverberating inside of him, shaking him to the very core of his being.
That was the start to something Sam had no words for. He didn't know how to describe what came next except it was like being struck by lightning. An intense light shone from inside the tent, filling him with the certainty they would all die. He should have been frightened out of his wits yet just the opposite was true; he had never felt safer.
He recalled how the air, the light seemed to twist and bend around them. How the invisible was revealed, how atoms and molecules came together in a complex pattern, enveloping them until something fractured, and time stopped. They became suspended in this one, finite moment, opening something up in him until he was so overwhelmed by the experience that he never realized he had let go of his brother. Sam looked around but couldn't find Dean, yet he would have said his brother was everywhere. He was in the air he inhaled. He was in the light searing his eyes. He was in the song filling the tent, in the words, in its meaning. None of that was Dean and yet all of it was.
The lingering memory filled him with a sense of peace. It was enough to calm him, to slow him down, allowing him to inhale deeply and quiet his runaway heart. Sam took a deep breath as he rounded the corner, spotting Dean standing on his own two feet. He should have been relieved knowing this was real, that what happened yesterday wasn't a dream and that his brother was whole again. Instead there was a growing tightness in his chest as he approached. He noted how the thick rain drops gathered and clumped in Dean's hair before giving up their hold, running down his cheeks and forming rivulets that raced towards the ground. Dean was shivering, soaked through and through but the world was of no concern to him. He'd been mostly unresponsive from the moment he was healed and Layla wasn't.
"Dean."
His brother blinked away the water pooling in his eyes but otherwise didn't acknowledge him, just stood there staring at the window of Layla's hospital room.
"Let's go inside," Sam urged, tugging at his arm, wanting to get him out of the rain.
Dean stiffened making it clear he wasn't ready and Sam feared he might never be.
"Dean," he tried once more except he had no hold over his brother who continued to stare up, eyes distant and empty.
Sam wiped the water from his face, pulling his bangs away in the process. The clouds continued to roil angrily, creating a barrier between heaven and earth, trying to seal whatever pathway had opened yesterday. Except Sam knew it was already closed because Layla was dying and the preacher was dead. Whatever had entered that tent had burnt out Le Grange's eyes and left them smoldering like a spent gun. Sam had never seen anything like it, had never even heard of such a thing.
But of one thing he was certain; his brother blamed himself. Sam knew because Dean's guilt had chained itself around his heart and taken him prisoner. He didn't know what to do about that. He realized he had never known and that was ironic since he was supposed to be the smart one. He was the one that had accumulated vast amounts of knowledge, had poured over hundreds of books, knew the weakness of most supernatural creatures and the means to kill them. He could recite incantations forwards and backwards and in Latin too, but despite all that, Sam didn't know how to fix this. He didn't know how to save Layla, didn't know how to get through to Dean or pull him back from the verge of breaking.
He searched the sky for an answer but it had never given him one before and it wouldn't now. Sam exhaled trying to empty his body from the fear growing inside of him. He was exhausted from having lived a lifetime's worth of grief and anger in the last few weeks and he couldn't seem to think straight. He couldn't chase down the answers he needed or come up with a solution to all this. There was only one thing he could do because whatever twist of fate had interceded to save his brother had given him time. So Sam waited, right there by Dean's side. He waited for the rain to stop. He waited for the day to begin. He waited for all the answers to his questions to be revealed. But most of all he waited for Dean. He waited for his brother, he just didn't know how long it would take or whether it would be enough, whether he'd ever get all of him back.
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Mrs. Rourke marched towards Dean. "You," she spat out venomously.
Sam put up his hands up, placing himself in front of his brother whom he finally managed to coax inside the hospital. "We came to see Layla," he explained.
She paid him no heed, shoving him aside and rounding on Dean. "You came to see what you did?" she hissed murderously.
Dean didn't move or reply, didn't try to escape or hide against this charge.
"Mrs. Rourke, please," Sam whispered, keeping his voice low, easing in front of his brother.
She didn't even register his words instead pointing an accusing finger at Dean's chest. "You did this," she ground out tremulously, her voice bleeding anguish.
Dean shifted, dropping his eyes away from her piercing stare.
"You…" she faltered, "did this to her. To my baby," her voice broke jaggedly.
"You were there," Sam murmured lowly. "It wasn't like that," he reasoned. After all, it was Dean who gave up his chance at being healed, gave it away to save Layla.
Mrs. Rourke turned to him, heartbreak lining her face. "Then why isn't he in that bed instead of her?" she cried.
Sam could only shake his head in dismay. He couldn't explain what had gone wrong, why Layla's bad luck benefitted his brother, or how their roles had been reversed.
She turned back to Dean, the hard set to her eyes melting away along with her anger."Why? Why, would she do that?" she implored of him.
The question took Sam by surprise. All this time he had surmised Dean's healing had been accidental, inadvertent. That something had gone wrong, that the preacher's healing powers were used on Dean instead of Layla. But Mrs. Rourke's words pointed to it having been something more.
Dean sucked in a breath, his eyes meeting hers, reflecting back a grief that was just as wide and deep.
She took a step towards him, fingers reaching forwards, wanting to feel her child's heart but stopping short, hand mid-air, breath caught in her throat. "Why, Layla? Why?" she asked. "Why would you do that?" she sobbed, hand retreating away from what was not her daughter.
Dean's eyes filled with an awful dread. "I did what she asked…" he confessed then stopped, his throat tightening impossibly. He was unable to go on, unable to defend what he had done.
His admission, the devastated look on his face confirmed what Mrs. Rourke already knew; his healing was Layla's doing.
"Give it back to her," she pleaded in a last attempt to try to save her daughter. Her eyes searched his, seeking the response she wanted but finding nothing but helpless shame.
"Give it back," she cried hopelessly, fingers clutching empty air. His broken eyes stared back and she understood there was no way to go back and change this. There was nothing here on Earth that could save her daughter, nothing. The realization cut the legs out from underneath her. She fell into Dean, filling his arms with desperate sobs. She cried for herself, she cried for Layla, most of all she cried for wanting to undo the thing her daughter desired most.
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Dean was allowed into Layla's room. While Mrs. Rourke sat by her daughter's bed, he stood in the corner, water dripping from his clothes forming tiny puddles around his boots looking as if something was leaking out of him.
The doctors came to explain the test results but Dean already knew what they would say; not so long along they had delivered the same news to him. They told them Layla had suffered a massive heart attack, one they couldn't explain. They said she didn't have much time, that her heart had sustained irreparable damage, and that it was running at less than 50%.
Dean wondered guiltily whether their tests showed the other 50% was in his chest. Just then Mrs. Rourke's eyes cut to him. He could only look away.
He remained firmly rooted to that spot, refusing to leave the room or get any closer, choosing to contemplate his sin from a safe distance. This was all his doing even though he had laid down his life for Layla, even though he had offered her his spot. It wasn't enough. He hadn't loved her enough. Not as much as she loved him. And that was the crux of the matter; his love had never been enough, not for Sam, not for dad, and not for mom. He wasn't enough for anyone.
He leaned back against the wall listening to the muted sobs of a mother about to lose her child, each sound paper thin and razor-sharp, carving out tiny pieces of his heart. He only hoped there'd be nothing left of him when this was over.
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Three days.
Three days was all it took.
Three days for the thing he never wished for or wanted, for the thing he fought to stave off but failed miserably at. No matter that he couldn't stand to witness this, he stayed. He could never abandon her, his conscience wouldn't let him, and his heart wouldn't allow it. Most of all, he couldn't imagine being away from her while he could still breathe her air because that's what she was to him. She was what had breathed life into him.
Three days he waited for her to open her eyes, to tell her it wasn't supposed to be like this, to fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Everything else would be a waste of breath. But when she did wake, he couldn't speak, she already knew. She knew because they were still somehow attached. It was why he could feel her heartbeat even from a distance. It was why each minute added to his life was being subtracted from hers.
If he could, he would reverse this flow. But there was no one who could intercede now that the preacher was dead. He never wished either Le Grange or Layla any harm, but this was what his wishes amounted to. This was what happened when he allowed his needs and wants to take over. And God help him, he wanted her. It was the reason he opened his heart when she asked, accepting her sanctuary like he was always meant to be there. Loving her was easy. It would have been more plausible for him to swallow the ocean than to not love her. He just hadn't counted on her love being more immense than his. For her love to save him.
It was Layla that came after him as he sank into the darkness. She was the one that pulled him up from the depths. She took him in, bringing him higher, rising towards the preacher waiting to receive them. Le Grange opened his arms, gathering them in as a blinding light poured from his eyes. Suddenly they were being drawn together. The searing heat from her fire wrapped itself around him so that even the sun paled next to her. His want blinded him, allowing her to fill him. She rushed inside him, all the way to his extremities, stretching him out to the furthest reaches of the universe. She got into his seams, filling his cracks. Every cell in his body, every atom in the universe was vibrating to the rhythm of her love. He could taste her, breathe her, feel her, and hear her, all inside his body, they were bonded beyond the five senses. . His heart became liberated from its constraints and it flew, soared to the highest points in the atmosphere. For once, just this once, he allowed himself to be held, to be loved in a way he had always longed for. He left his body, becoming light, their souls blending as they swam into each other, joining into one. He had never known a greater joy.
That moment seemed to last forever.
Then she pulled away, taking something from him and it was over so quickly. All that ecstasy taken away by human arms, and he woke to Sam's worried face.
Now, he stood helpless, staring into pale, blue eyes. He didn't deserve her pity or forgiveness but it wasn't what she was feeling. She blinked slowly, mouthing something, the words inaudible, but the message clear to him. Mrs. Rourke turned, a questioning look on her face, wanting to know what her daughter had said.
Dean's gaze dropped away, his mouth tight, his throat working to hold back his anguish while his eyes betrayed him. Paying it forward, she had whispered. It was what she had told him on that first day. It was what she wanted all along.
With that she was ready. She closed her eyes and for the next hour he watched her struggling to breathe. The oxygen mask misting almost imperceptibly as the distance between each breath lengthened and the chasm between her and this world grew.
Mrs. Rourke held her hand, swallowing her own pain to ease Layla's. She whispered soft words, telling her she was loved, telling her it was going to be okay, telling her not to be afraid. This went on until Layla took a gasping breath. Mrs. Rourke stopped talking, her eyes welling, her hand tightening around her daughter's as if this alone could keep her here. "Layla," she choked out.
Dean stopped breathing. He moved off the wall, taking a step towards the bed.
Layla gasped once more. Dean took a breath right along with her.
"Layla," Mrs. Rourke cried, unable to let her go.
Layla gasped again, her body sinking deeper into the bed, somehow heavier yet lighter.
Dean breathed in with her then held it, his throat swallowing down the seconds. Waiting. Waiting for the thing that would never come.
"Baby," Mrs. Rourke sobbed brokenly as she clutched Layla's hand and kissed her forehead. She laid her head on her daughter's chest, crying uncontrollably. It was visceral, heartbreaking and the saddest thing Dean had ever heard.
The nurses came in, looked at the monitors as if this was what they needed to confirm Layla was gone. Dean didn't need machines to tell him. He was anchored to this spot, watching the room illuminate as the light left her body and she was finally released. He felt something detach from his chest and then something essential vanished.
A savage loneliness filled him where she should have been. Without her he could hardly breathe. Without her he didn't know who to be. Without her there was no future, no growing older, there was only forever without her.
The medical staff comforted Mrs. Rourke then escorted her out. Sam peered through the door's window, staring at scene before him. Guilt filled his eyes and he prepared to intervene if required.
The door closed quietly and Dean was alone. He neared the bed, taking Layla in. She was glorious, luminous and the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. His hands clutched the metal railing but it was he that felt empty and cold. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers, taking a breath as he did. It was as empty and cold as he was and suddenly he couldn't breathe.
He rested his forehead against hers, his tears sliding onto her face, seemingly like she was the one crying. Dean heard sobbing then realized it was him. Strong arms gripped him tight and pulled him back, taking him away. There was no reason to stay here.
He let his brother guide him out, let Sam take his weight because he was carrying a great burden. This life that had been given to him didn't feel like a gift. It wasn't his and it felt like he had taken someone else's future, like he had stolen something that didn't belong to him.
TBC…