A/N: To make up for the last, really short chapter and the fact that this is late, this chapter is exceptionally longer. :-)
Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.
AU after episode 7x04
Dean had never hated the world as much as he did in that moment. And he really did. He hated it. After everything they had done, everything he had done, this is what he got? He got to watch his brother die over and over and over again. And this time, there was no Cas or God or destiny to bring him back. There was nothing and no one.
Dean turned all his focus to where his hand was holding onto Sam's shirt, bunching and unbunching in the shredded fabric. It was his last point of contact and he wouldn't let go, as if his holding on would make Sam do the same. But he could feel it. He could feel the coldness that was overtaking Sam's body, he could feel the frozen stillness that only surrounded those that were gone.
He felt something wet hit his hand and it wasn't until then that he realized there were tears streaming down his face, realized that he was babbling his brother's name over and over again. He didn't stop it though because that would take conscious thought and his conscious thoughts were tied up in "Please" and "Don't do this" and "Give him back!"
Was Sam even aware enough to know Dean was there? That he had been there or was Sam's last memory of himself lying alone and dying behind a dumpster in an abandoned alleyway? And that thought did nothing but make the situation worse. Sam called and asked for help. He called for Dean because he was hurt and alone and Dean was the one he always called, was the one he was supposed to call. But then, Sam was never supposed to be alone in the first place. Dean was supposed to be there. Always. But Dean wasn't. Dean had taken too long to find him, hadn't been fast enough. And now Sam was dead.
"Dean—" Bobby began but Dean didn't want to hear it. Bobby knew him, knew them, so Dean wasn't even sure why he was bothering. And yes, Bobby was hurting too. Dean knew that. But this was Samand Sam was gone and Dean couldn't deal with anyone else, wouldn't be able to ever.
"Don't," he whispered, cutting him off. "Just… don't…" He was going to die. He was going to lie down next to his brother and die. Right there. And that was the best idea he could come up with. The fact that it actually sounded appealing wasn't at all worrisome, just expected. He wondered where Sam was, hoping more than anything that he was in the heaven they shared so that Dean wouldn't be lying down and condemning himself to an eternity alone again.
And then Sam's body jolted, seizing, gasping, living, and Dean's thoughts fled him. He watched as Sam's eyes flew open, pulling air into starved lungs. The world froze and all Dean could think was "Thank you." He wasn't even sure who he was thanking, God or luck or just the strange, absolutely, positively, newly wonderful universe. But to whomever it may concern, the thought was out there. He knew he had just been bought time, time to get the ambulance there and get Sam help. But it was time which was more than they had moments before.
"Thank god, Sam," Dean whispered, resting his hand gently on Sam's chest, rubbing circles onto his sternum. It was a reflex, even after all these years. He used to do that for a terrified mini-Sam, the one that crawled into his bed at night when the nightmares got to be too much. It would always calm him down, force him to breathe. And yeah, it was sappy and chick-flicky that he was doing it now when Sam hadn't needed him to for almost twenty years but this had been too close. Way too close. It had been past close and into beyond. And he felt he deserved the chick-flickiness.
"Where's the ambulance?" he muttered mostly to himself. Just because Sam was alive didn't mean that anything had changed. It didn't mean that the wounds were gone. It just meant they were going to be able to fix him. That was what it meant...
Sam turned confused eyes up to him, chest heaving in air. "Dean?" he asked, head tipping to the side as he tried to work out what Dean was doing there. Dean could understand his disorientation. Hell, who knew how much Sam remembered. He had been dead. That was bound to do things to your short-term memory. But his eyes were lucid which Dean took as a good sign. He was a little confused as to why and how his eyes were so lucid when he'd been catatonic moments before but he wasn't going to question it.
"Shhh... Help's coming, Sammy. You're gonna be fine." He glanced over to the road and found it empty, completely still. And there were no sirens cutting through the air. "Damn it! Where's the ambulance!?" First chance he got, he was having a talk with whomever was in charge of said-ambulance about their emergency response time. Because it really sucked.
Dean turned back to find Sam's eyes narrowed, glancing around the area. "What're you talking about? Who needs an ambulance?" He paused for a moment before pushing up onto his elbows, ignoring Dean's protests. And there were a lot of them. Sam shouldn't have been talking or moving or doing anything other than trying not to bleed out and die. "Why are you even here?"
But Dean didn't even hear the question. He was just staring at Sam who was moving and talking and acting perfectly fine, like he hadn't had all the skin peeled off his bones, like his stomach wasn't sliced open, like he had working lungs. Lurching forward, Dean peeled open Sam's blood-soaked shirt, ignoring his brother's incredulous complaints. Staring, forehead wrinkling, he reached out, pawing at Sam's skin. Sam's skin. As in Sam's skin on Sam's body.
"Dude!" Sam exclaimed, swatting at his hands. "Stop feeling me up!" But Dean just ignored him, pretty sure his jaw was hanging on the ground.
"What the—" Bobby was at his shoulder, staring at Sam's chest as well while Sam was looking increasingly freaked out. Though Dean couldn't really blame him. If a bunch of people started staring at his chest with rapt attention he'd be a little weirded out too. Especially if he didn't remember his insides being on his outside.
It was just… gone. The raw flesh, the slashes across Sam's stomach, everything. He was completely and totally healed, no sign there that he'd ever been hurt to that extent. And Dean's brain wasn't processing this at all. It was blank, thoughts stuttering and dying before they had even begun.
"What the hell!?" Sam demanded, swatting at Dean again. Finally getting his mouth to catch up with his brain which was still trying to catch up, Dean was about to ask the same thing when sirens rang through the air.
They were going to have to cut the reunion short.
Sam lay back on the motel room bed, hand covering his eyes. He wasn't feeling well but he didn't say anything, mostly because Dean had been on edge the entire way back, fingers twitching, gaze darting around. Hell, Sam wasn't even sure he should have been driving. He was far too stung out for that to be safe or at all smart.
He had been filled in pretty quickly as to what had happened by Dean and Bobby, though Dean's side of the story was much less cohesive than Bobby's. It was chock full of expletives and wild hand gestures. A one-eyed horse with hearing issues could have figured out Dean was upset. But what Sam couldn't do was figure out why. From everything Sam had witnessed the last several days, his brother shouldn't have been this upset. But Dean kept staring at him like he was going to disappear, kept staring at him like he didn't want him to disappear. And that didn't make sense, didn't agree with everything Sam had been thinking. This Dean seemed really different than the Dean he had seen a few days before in the motel parking lot. This Dean kept watching him, wouldn't let him out of his sight for any longer than the time it took him to go to the bathroom. And if Sam didn't know any better, hadn't heard him that night outside of the motel, he would have thought Dean was worried about him. But that couldn't be right... could it?
His Deans weren't matching up and it was giving him a headache. Regardless though, Sam had to get out of there. He had to. The instant Dean stopped watching him he'd make his escape because he wasn't supposed to be there. And his calling Dean had just screwed everything up.
That sentiment strengthened when he remembered what happened. As Dean and Bobby had talked – or rather, Bobby had talked and Dean had yelled – pieces of the event had started flooding back. So he remembered everything. And he really wished he didn't. Really wished he didn't. Because he knew why he was in one piece instead of pieces.
Dean was currently on his cell phone, talking to Kathleen, the crazy psychic lady. Sam had gotten some of that story too. He knew that Kathleen had wanted to see him but he wasn't sure hewanted to see her. He was pretty sure she knew. And if she knew, she'd tell Dean. And that wouldn't be good. At all. The last thing they needed right now was for Dean to know. No. It was best for both of them if Dean was kept in the dark.
He listened closely to the one-sided conversation. Whatever she was saying was not putting his brother in any better of a mood. Though Sam hadn't really expected differently. He just wished it was different. Dean hadn't smiled in… who knows how long. And Sam hated that he had a part in that. Multiple parts. And that was never supposed to happen. That was never his intention. But it had happened anyway and now his brother walked around with a haunted look on his face that hardly ever faded.
"What are we even talking about!?" Dean shouted, pulling Sam out of his thoughts. "You keep saying 'You must understand, you must understand' but what the hell am I supposed to be understanding!?"
Dean scoffed at something the woman said and Sam rolled over, facing the motel room wall. "Yeah, well, that's bullshit," Dean snapped and Sam traced patterns into the wallpaper with his eyes. He wasn't able to learn anything from what Dean was saying and it was incredibly annoying. He wanted to know what the woman wanted so he knew just how hard he should fight to go alone. Because if she knew and that was what she wanted to talk about, then Dean couldn't be there. Because it was supposed to be gone. And Dean wasn't supposed to know because then Dean would look at him that way again and he couldn't handle that. Especially not when he knew what Dean really thought. Knowing would only make it harder on Dean. And Sam's newly instated goal was to make it easier.
Sam glanced away from the wall just in time to see his brother's face twist into a snarl. "You know what, lady? I'm not driving all the way over there! It's not happening. Go find yourself some other suckers to—"
Sam turned fully, paying more attention to Dean's body language now that he had stopped talking. Whatever she said had made Dean instantly sober, made his skin pale as he glanced over at Sam. Sam wasn't sure whether it was a conscious or subconscious glance but it was there nonetheless and said more than all of Dean's ranting and raving had.
"'kay," Dean breathed, all the fight gone from his voice. "We'll be there tonight." Sam sat up on his elbows, wanting to know what she said because Dean looked trapped, cornered. How much had she told him? She wouldn't tell him over the phone... Would she...? "Yeah," Dean sighed, running his hand through his hair. He ended the call and met Sam's eyes. And though Sam didn't like the look on his brother's face, he knew that Dean didn't know. If he did, he'd be freaking out and yelling and possibly dragging Sam off to the nearest panic room.
"Guess we're going to the crazy lady's," Dean tried to laugh, moving to pack up his stuff. His forced smile wasn't at all pulled off as his movements were sluggish and tired, like it was a chore to just exist. This was part of why Sam had left. This was what he did to his brother.
"Um... why? What does she want?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice as even andun-argumentative as possible.
Dean sighed, shoving clothes inside his duffle bag. "Uh… She needs to talk to you. I'm uh… she wouldn't tell me why exactly but we have to go."
Sam scoffed because Dean saying they had to do something because a crazy psychic told them to was ridiculous. Dean didn't listen to anyone he didn't trust, didn't deem reliable. Pain shot through him at that thought but he did his best to ignore it. "But why, Dean? When have we ever gone anywhere we didn't want to? What does she want to say that can't be said over the phone? What—"
"We just have to go, okay!?" Dean interrupted, stopping and narrowing his eyes at him. Sam felt himself subconsciously recoil and Dean flinched, opening his mouth to say something. Sam didn't want that though. If Dean said something, he'd start yelling again and then they'd have another fight like the one outside the motel in Maine. It's so much easier to live his life if he pretended that Dean really did give a shit about him. Even if his Deans didn't match up, even if this Dean seemed to care more about him than the other one, Dean wasn't going to do a full one-eighty. There was a catch there somewhere. Sam knew there had to be so he was going to try and stay as far away from it from as long as he could. Because again, it was so much easier for him to live with this Dean than the one he had talked to in the parking lot.
"Look, Dean," Sam said quickly, sitting up, "you stay here, take over that case I was gonna work. I'll head over to the crazy lady's and see what she wants."
Dean was staring at him, jaw hanging, and if he wasn't mistaken, Sam was pretty sure he had seen a flash of hurt in his older brother's eyes. Damn. Sam was really bad at predicting his brother anymore. He kept second guessing everything he did. His instinct had told him to shut up, told him that Dean would see right through him, told him that Dean wouldn't like that he was trying to get rid of him. His brain had told him that he was giving Dean an out. His brain told him that Dean would be relieved. And he wasn't sure he trusted his instincts anymore, not after all the trouble they had gotten him into. But Dean clearly wasn't happy and Sam was confused.
"So, what? You're just gonna take off again?" Dean asked quietly, looking down into his bag. "Leave me to work the case? You really think I was gonna go for that, Sam?" And yeah, honestly he did. It logically made sense. Dean should have gone for it. He should get out. It was better for both of them if he'd just get out.
Sam stood, not willing to give in so easily. He could take care of himself with Kathleen. That wasn't the issue. The issue was Dean finding out and that meant that he and Dean couldn't be together for lengthy periods of time because he wouldn't be able to hide it. Which meant Dean couldn't go. "Yeah, why not? It's me she needs to talk to. Not you. You don't have to go, Dean."
Dean's eyes narrowed at him and Sam sat ready, waiting for the backlash that was sure to come. But it didn't come. And this just confused Sam even more. Dean should have been yelling at him, telling him what a terrible person he was. That was what the Dean he had left in the parking lot would have done. "Don't be stupid, Sam. Of course I have to go," he said, turning back to his packing. Sam wasn't sure how he felt about that response, whether better or worse for it. In the end, he decided not to analyze it. He just sighed, standing and slinging his pack over his shoulder.
"You don't, Dean. I have a car still. I'll just meet up with you when she's done." He heard Dean's exasperated breath accompany the sound of him slamming whatever he was about to pack back onto the bed. Sam was standing behind him, unable to see his face and he figured that was for the best. It was quiet for several moments and Sam knew Dean was fighting to keep from going off on him.
"No, Sam. We're going together." Sam thought he heard an unspoken "You'll listen to me because I'm your big brother," in Dean's tone of voice but he couldn't be sure. There was a thin line between that and the one he had heard so often recently, the "You'll listen to me because I know what I'm doing and you clearly don't." He liked the first one better but it was probably just wishful thinking that he had heard it.
Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he said, walking out the door. Silently, he was freaking out. Dean was gonna know. Dean was gonna know. Dean was gonna find out and if Dean found out, then Dean was going to look at him like that, and things were going to become even worse than they already were. He was going to be even more of a burden than he already was and he didn't want that.
He sunk down into the shotgun seat after throwing his bag in the back and froze. Sitting in the Impala was uncomfortable. He never thought he'd say that but it was true. It wasn't uncomfortable in the physical sense since the Impala might as well have been custom made to fit him. No. It was uncomfortable because he knew he shouldn't be sitting there. Because Dean didn't trust him. And he knew that was part of "the problem."
Standing inside Kathleen's house, Sam shifted on his feet. He was tired but he didn't want to go to sleep. Sleep was bad, so very, very bad.
Just being there made him antsy and he half-wondered if she was going to make him stay in the hallway again. He hoped not. He had a hard enough time sleeping as it was. Being made to sleep in the hallway wasn't going to make that any better.
The car ride was uncomfortable for multiple reasons. They had pulled up to Kathleen's house and Sam had thought that Dean knew because Sam wasn't good at hiding things. And also because Dean had asked him if everything was okay. But in the end, Dean just shrugged it off, telling him to "Hurry his ass up." Sam supposed it was proof of what he had been saying all along. Dean had always known when something was wrong before, half the time without even having to be anywhere near him. And if he did know, then he didn't care.
"Okay, okay," Kathleen muttered, pacing in a circle in her hallway. "Rooms. Yes, I'll show you to your room…" She hurried away through the furthest door on the left wall. Sam would have to remember that. The multitude of doors kind of made him dizzy.
Sam glanced at Dean who shrugged. "Better follow her or we'll never get out of Wonderland." Sam silently agreed because again, who knew how many more doors there were in this place. If they didn't follow right after her, she would get too many doors ahead of them and they'd be lost. But instead of saying anything, he just moved after her.
Through that door was a long hallway, hardly enough room for one person to walk through comfortably. He'd hate to see what would happen if people were coming at each other in opposite directions. You couldn't turn around so you'd have to back out of the hallway like a car. At the end of it was another door which is where Sam guessed Kathleen disappeared through. At least he hoped so. Who knew how many secret doors she had on top of everything else.
Once reaching the room, he sighed, glad it was just a bedroom. No more doors. It was probably sad how relieved he was about that. Honestly though, he didn't think his nerves could take anymore. And besides, he was going to have a hard enough time remembering which door to go through in the main hallway. The room was nice for the most part. There were two queen size beds against the one wall with an end table in between them. There was a dresser on the opposite wall and a bathroom in the back of the room, the door next to Sam's bed.
"All right. I'll leave you two to get settled. Don't need to—Um…" She glanced at Sam warily, biting her lip. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I hope…" she added as an afterthought, leaving the room. Sam's eyes narrowed, decidedly not liking the sound of that. It sounded ominous and was probably not the best way to convince houseguests that you weren't going to murder them in their sleep.
"She hopes?" Sam demanded, staring after her. Well… he hoped so too. Dean shrugged, turning around and claiming the bed closest to the door. He seemed to be lost in thought, mind elsewhere. Sam wasn't sure that he'd be able to pull him out of whatever dark hole he'd fallen into no matter what he did. So Sam just grumbled under his breath about Kathleen and dumped his duffle onto the floor, not even thinking about the possibility of having to unpack. He hoped to god they wouldn't be there that long. He did make sure to stick a knife under his pillow though. Just in case.
Sam flopped back onto the bed, trying to ignore the pink flowered sheets. It was a nicer room than they got at most of the motels they stayed at so he wasn't going to complain. At least it was clean, no strange substances covering the pillow cases.
"I'll be right back," Dean interrupted, forgoing the unpacking as well. "I have to go talk to… yeah…" His words drifted off and Sam heard the sound of the door closing. Sighing in both relief and disappointment, Sam allowed himself to relax, sinking further into the mattress. It was nice and soft and comfortable and he wondered if he'd be able to actually sleep. He doubted it but hey, at least he'd be comfortable when he laid awake all night. Sam turned over on his stomach, curling up and hugging the pillow into his chest. He was tiredthough. Dying and coming back took a lot out of you. Add that to the fact he hadn't allowed himself to sleep in days and he was completely exhausted. Maybe he would be able to fall asleep for once...
Before he drifted off, the door opened and Dean's heavy footsteps echoed through the room.
"Are you gonna tell me why it was so important we get here?" Dean asked, standing in the doorway of Kathleen's living room. The door had been open and from the looks of things, she had been expecting his arrival. She should have been. She had to have known he wasn't going to go to sleep with no idea what was going on. Especially not when what had brought them here was a threat on Sam's life. That was never going to fly.
She was sitting on the couch, biting her lip and staring at the coffee table. "I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" Dean scoffed. Yes, she most definitely should. He took threats on his little brother's life very seriously. And though it didn't seem to be her that was doing said-threatening of said-little brother's life, he would kind of like to know what was. Her exact words were "Get him here now or he'll be dead again before the morning." And yes, Dean took such comments very seriously, whether he trusted the person making them or not.
"Yeah, I think you probably should," he grumbled, moving to sit across from her in an armchair. He ran his hand over the chair's arm, absently wondering just how strong it was. He really needed to hit something. All of his pent up stress was going to release itself one way or another and he would rather it be on an inanimate object than someone's face. Unless that person deserved it.
"Your brother…" She stopped, glancing around the room. A strange look came over her face and she sat up, ramrod straight. "Something's wrong." Dean felt his blood run cold as she glanced towards the door, gaze darting over there as well. It was Sam. He knew it, could feel it deep in his chest.
When they had first arrived, he had felt the same thing. Sam had spaced out, getting this funny look on his face and Dean had known there was something going on. He didn't press though because if there was something really wrong, Sam would have told him... right...? That argument seemed to increasingly weaken as he stood, knowing instinctively that something was off, the same way he always knew when something was off with his brother.
"Sammy!?" he called, storming out the door, towards the room they had been given. Kathleen was hot on his heels, muttering incoherently about how she should have talked to him sooner. And Dean had to agree with her. She really should have. If whatever was wrong could get to Sam in the two seconds they had been apart, then firstly, they shouldn't have been apart, and secondly, Kathleen should have told them. "Sam!?"
As he approached the door to their room, he heard voices on the other side. Two of them. Both of which he recognized.
"You're worthless—I wastedmy life on you! Taking care of you, watching out for you… And look, you turned out to be a frickin' monster! You know how many people would still be alive if you hadn't been born? Hell, Mom would still be alive if you hadn't been born—"
Dean burst through the door and froze.
A/N 2: I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! And also, because of the impending holiday, next week's chapter may be posted a little early, prior to the insanity.
Again, thank you to all readers!