Our ghosts are never gone

"I don't feel the need to explain my actions to her. I don't clarify, I don't doubt, I don't worry. I don't tell her everything, not anymore, but I tell her more than anyone else, by far. I tell her as much as I can."
―Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

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JULY 12TH, 2010

LaGrange, Georgia. Hill House.

03:12 AM

"SAM! SAMMY! DON'T YOU DARE CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Dean yelled with all the might he had left.

Both brothers were trapped inside the room guarded by the now blocked red door. Sam was dying and Dean was desperate. If his brother didn't make it- If all Sam heard from him was those angry last words he would never-

Sam's body was lying on the dirty floor, and there was blood and white foam coming out of his mouth. His hazel eyes were unfocused and blood was still running freely from his broken nose. A bottle of rat poison was lying next to him, empty.

Dean ran back to the door and kicked it one more time. It wouldn't budge, no matter how hard he tried.

"LET ME OUT, DAMMIT! LET HIM LIVE AND TAKE ME, BUT DON'T KILL MY BROTHER! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM US, BUT IF YOU LET ME TAKE HIM TO THE HOSPITAL, I SWEAR I'LL TAKE HIS DAMN PLACE INSTEAD. I SWEAR IT!"

Dean waited for what felt like years for a response. The house was almost quiet, as if it was thinking Dean's proposal. Dean should have listened to Sam when he warned about not splitting up. He had left Sam alone with the damn house, and now he'd die. The elder brother may not trust his younger brother's decisions yet, but he knew better than leaving Sammy unprotected against evil beings. Demon blood has changed Sam, but hell had changed Dean as well.

Both men had been corrupted so they could play their part as Michael and Lucifer's vessels. Both had been toyed with, but now none of that mattered. Dean could finally see crystal clear that keeping Sam alive was the biggest challenge he had had to face, and he would not give him up. Not now, not ever.

Sam's wheezy breaths were the only sign that he was alive. How much poison had he taken? It surely looked like enough to kill more than one person, and that didn't help Dean focus. He needed to get his brother outside the damn room and drive away from the house. If Sam made it, he'd apologize to him. They'd be brothers again. Dean would make sure Sam understood he hadn't meant what he said. He'd-

After landing the red door another vicious kick, he heard it.

"No…. NO SAMMY, DAMMIT!"

Dean kneeled next to Sam's still body. His wheezy breaths could no longer be heard, and his lower stomach (When had Sam stopped eating to look so freaking thin?) was not struggling to move upwards anymore.

The elder Winchester cleaned the blood and white foam issuing from Sam's mouth and began doing CPR. Dean's desperation grew when he realized Sam was not responding to it. He was pale and very still. For several minutes Dean performed chest compressions to his brother's chest and breathed for him. He could taste the poison each time their lips met.

Sam would have never done that on his own. Sure, he was depressed and tired of fighting with his older brother, but Dean refused to think Sam had planned to do this. No matter how distanced the brothers were, they were still family. They were all they had left.

Growing up, he had taken care of Sam as if he was his own baby, and then the Apocalypse happened. Sam was suddenly an adult who thought knew better than following Dean's advice, and the entire worlds was now paying the price of their mistake.

For the past few months Dean kept quiet while driving, not even filling up the empty space the unsaid words left with music. Sam was always curled up, looking out the window, or reading a book when they were not hunting. Dean would come back to the motel room drunk, and in the morning, he'd be in bed with a cup of hot coffee sitting on his night table. He knew his brother was trying to prove him he could help him, but Dean couldn't let his guard down. If he did- If he allowed Sam to let him down one more time, he didn't think he could bare it. His younger brother meant the world to him, and now he didn't know what was real and what was a lie.

Dean forced his mind back to the present. His own heart skipped a beat when he stopped performing CPR. Sam's skin was turning gray and his lips were blue. Had it been more than five minutes since Sam's heart stopped beating? He didn't even have his wristwatch to check that.

Tears started sliding down his face, but he did not try to hide them. Not this time. Dean was tired and scared. This could not be happening to them. If one of them should be dying, it should be him, not Sammy.

"Sammy, please. Don't- I swear I'll be a good brother to you, I promise. I love you, little brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do to save you. Please" Dean begged to his brother, hoping the house heard his broken prayers.

Another minute passed, and Sam didn't stir or draw a breath. He was gone. Sammy, his baby brother, was gone. There was no poison left to take, so Dean would live until his body gave up from lack of food and water. Exhaustion would hopefully make him close his eyes, and he would die without seeing what became of his brother's body.

Dean laid down on the ground next to Sam, held his cold hand and closed his eyes.

Sam was dead. Dean was wishing for the house to end the part of him that was still alive, for his will to live died along with his baby brother.

Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry I disappeared for so long, but I was busy finding myself. I was watching the Hunting of Hill House and I couldn't stop thinking about Sam and Dean in that very same situation. Some details will change, but I hope you enjoy the story nevertheless. If you want me to continue this story, please leave a review :)

See you soon!

I DO NOT own the characters. If I did I did, I'd probably keep them for myself. Lol