Heavenly Day
Title: Heavenly Day
Rating:PG-13 for language
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: Spoilers for seasons 1, 2, and 3.
Disclaimer: I wish I created them. No such luck.
Summary: It’s his last day on earth. Dean suspects Sam is planning something to break the contract and is determined not to let Sam follow through.
Note: At this juncture, it's been Kripke'd so hard it's AU. halfshellvenus used her awesome beta saber to whittle down my ramblings into an actual story. So, if there are any mistakes, it's all mine, mine, mine!
The familiar roar of the Impala drew Bobby to the front door and no further. He was as vigilant as he'd been the year before when Sam had come by while possessed by a demon. No need to usher trouble in with an invitation - instead, he raised his hand in greeting, stepping aside and waiting with his usual gruff friendliness for the boys to cross the threshold on their own.
To Sam and Dean, Bobby looked the same as he always did. As hard as the last year had been on the two of them, it was a shock to be reminded that the rest of the world had remained largely untouched. And both found some comfort in the familiarity.
The two of them quickly entered the messy living space, with Sam cautiously looking over his shoulder into the fading dusk. They dodged the stacked books and other memorabilia littering the floor as they followed Bobby into his study. Bobby had been expecting them: he'd offered them his house as their last sanctuary before Dean's time came to pay for his bargain.
“Hey Bobby,” Dean said, dragging his hand through the hair framing his face.
Bobby gave a small nod and somehow managed to muster up enough self-control not to let his jaw dangle around his ankles. Dean had let his hair grow out and it made him look like some surf-chasing hippie. However, it was Sam’s drastic changes that shocked Bobby the most.
The younger Winchester sported a thick scar raking across his entire forehead. That in and of itself wouldn't earn a second glance from the seasoned hunter- scars were an occupational hazard that came with the territory. What took Bobby completely by surprise was the fact that Sam had cut his hair brutally short, as if he had just left Parris Island. It made Sam appear years older, especially when coupled with his hulking physique. Bobby noted with silent satisfaction that Sam finally looked like an adult. That conclusion died a swift death when Bobby noticed his eyes.
Sam was clearly terrified. It was as if he'd been a little boy playing war and had gone to bed only to wake up in a man’s body, fighting a real battle with deadly and permanent consequences. Bobby quelled the urge to comfort him, though. He sensed the stress running between the two brothers and knew any emotional outburst from him would upset the tenuous truce forged between them.
“I was about to go out and get something to eat,” Bobby finally said, trying to make small talk before the tension between the brothers bled through and tainted him. “Nothing much in the fridge. Not even beer.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said. He could see the pain and regret in his friend’s eyes and needed to get out of the house before he fell apart. “I’ll pick up something at the store. Do you need anything?”
Bobby shook his head. Dean glanced at Sam, who remained focused on his boots - ignoring him the same way he'd done for the entire day's drive. Dean gave a small sigh and left, rattling the car keys in his hand.
Sam's head lifted up the moment the door closed, and he dropped his lethargy like a mask as soon as the Impala's engine started up. He'd spent the entire drive to Bobby's place frantically thinking of ways to get time apart from Dean. This was his chance-Dean was out of the house, and Sam hadn't even had to do anything to make it happen.
“Bobby, can I look at that book?” he asked, pointing at a dusty tome jammed into the highest shelf.
Bobby took down the crumbling book. When he read the title he frowned. It was an in-depth study of Emperor Constantine, written by a British professor whose sense of humor had obviously died a painful death long before he'd published his lifework.
“Sure, but there isn’t anything in there that’s actually useful.”
Sam gave a non-committal shrug and snatched the book from Bobby’s hands. He placed his laptop on the desk and typed in a series of passwords, becoming increasingly frustrated as precious seconds dribbled away. As Sam flipped through the book he could feel Bobby’s trepidation grow alongside his. He finally spotted a familiar series of sketches, and with dread and elation Sam compared them to the drawings on the screen.
He felt the barest measure of victory at the match, permitting a small, grim smile to form on his face.
“Something I should know about?” Bobby asked brusquely.
Sam’s smile tightened until it became a grimace. His eyes slowly drifted to Bobby’s face. “I need your help.”
“I thought as much.”
“I found a way to save Dean.”
Something in Sam’s voice told Bobby there wasn’t any reason to celebrate despite that apparent success.
“How?” Bobby asked softly.
“Constantine’s Box,” Sam said and pointed at a drawing. “He was one of the few leaders who had firm footing both in the world of Christianity and in Paganism. It was rumored that he had access to powerful magic.”
“Magic?” Bobby echoed. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. “Sam, that shit can backfire real bad.”
Sam’s stare turned steely. He didn’t care, not with what was at stake. “I know, but I can do this, Bobby. I can keep the Demon from taking Dean’s soul."
“How can you be so sure?” Bobby asked.
Sam’s grip on the book tightened. “I can turn this house into Constantine’s Box - a type of trap for the Demon. It won’t hold the Demon off forever, and it won’t send it back to hell. What it does, though, is strip the Demon of its powers- just for a little while. I’m guessing ten minutes at most, maybe even less. But it should be enough.”
“All its powers?” Bobby thought for a moment, “Wouldn’t a Devil’s Trap work better?”
Sam shook his head. He almost wanted to yell at Bobby for wasting time, but Sam knew he needed the hunter’s complete allegiance if he wanted to succeed. “No. I wish I could use a Devil’s Trap, but it’ll be watching for that. It’s also more useful if we stay in an enclosed space, like a house. The main thing is that the Demon can't summon the Hellhounds while it’s trapped in the Box. Besides, you know there are ways to get out of the Devil's Trap.”
“But how does that stop the Demon from getting Dean’s soul? All it has to do is wait. And if you kill the host it’ll just find a new body and come on back.”
“It can’t take possession of Dean’s soul if the soul is already free.”
Bobby felt all the blood rush from his head to his heart. He hissed, “What kind of shit are you talking now, Sam? Just because the Demon is trapped doesn’t mean Dean’s soul doesn’t belong to it! And-”
Sam interrupted Bobby's tirade, in the hope of keeping the man's anger from escalating. “Everything I've read points to the idea that the Demon has to claim his soul. That’s why it sent those Hellhounds in Greenwood. If Dean dies while the Demon’s earthbound and helpless, his soul is free to travel where it’s supposed to go. Maybe I’m naive but I don’t think Hell is where he’ll be heading.”
“Jesus Christ, Sam! You’re talking about murdering your own brother! And if the Demon finds out you cheated, your life is forfeit. You know that, right? You’ll be going to your death with Dean’s blood on your hands!”
“I know, Bobby,” Sam sighed.
“Why is it you Winchesters only know how to die? Why the hell don’t you people ever try to live?”
Sam felt his friend’s pain and confusion, but steeled himself to continue. He met Bobby’s gaze with terrible determination. “He’s my brother, Bobby. He took care of me long before he should've had to. Dean...” Sam paused and took a deep breath. “Dean gave me choice. From the day Dad put me in his arms, Dean made sure I had a choice. Something he never had, Bobby, and it cost him everything. The truth is, I owed him my life long before Jake took it.”
“But you’re going to kill him!” Bobby yelled, not bothering to hide the revulsion in his voice. He couldn’t believe this was Sam’s solution. “Don’t you think Dean deserves a say in this?”
“When it comes to me, Dean can’t think straight. He never could or would, if it came down to it,” Sam answered, his voice heavy with guilt. “That’s exactly why he’s in this mess to begin with.”
“You’re determined to go through with this, aren't you?”
“Yes,” Sam answered, trying to focus on the material in front of him and not on his friend. He was terrified that if he saw the look on Bobby’s face he’d lose the last bit of courage he had left. “I’ll have to sedate Dean first and have the Demon come looking for him. It won't send the Hellhounds. It’ll come for him personally.”
“Once it’s trapped…” Bobby was unable to finish the sentence.
“I’ll do the rest. It’ll be quick, and painless. I just need you to guard the Demon while I take care of Dean.”
“I’m not going to help you with the part that involves Dean," Bobby said hoarsely, his eyes accusing. "Are we clear?”
Sam nodded wearily and gathered his laptop into his bag. “I have to start now. It won’t take long, but I have to finish before Dean gets back.”
Sam managed to leave the room on steady legs, but as soon as he reached the second floor he locked himself in the bathroom and sat down shakily on the floor. He was far past throwing things around in fits of anger. Resignation had also come and gone, and now all that remained was the aching knowledge that in a few hours everything that defined him would be destroyed by his own hands. But Sam would go through with it. Dean deserved that much from him.
Sam washed his face and hands, and began preparing himself for the ancient ritual.
Dean returned with bags of food, including three steaks, a case of Pabst and to Bobby’s surprise, a bag of mixed salad.
Bobby raised his brows in wonder and wordlessly pointed at the salad mix.
Dean spotted the incredulous look and grinned tiredly. “Gotta help Sammy keep his girlish figure.”
In spite of his overwhelming sadness, Bobby snorted in amusement. Dean always had that effect on him, the ability to make him enjoy the moment no matter how fucked-up the moment actually was.
“Dean, a package came for you a week ago,” Bobby said, pointing at the hallway closet.
Dean’s face lit up with genuine pleasure. He fetched the box and eagerly opened it.
“What is it?” Bobby asked.
“Coffee,” Dean answered.
“Excuse me?”
“Coffee,” Dean repeated, holding a small, sealed gold bag in his hand.
Bobby took a closer look. “That’s coffee?”
“From Brazil,” Dean said as he unfolded a piece of paper from the box. He gave it a glance and handed it over to his friend.
Bobby read the first line and his jaw dropped. “Two hundred dollars? For that?!”
“You better believe it. They don’t sell this stuff by the bag, usually. I had to pull some heavy strings to get even this much.”
“What the hell are you going to do with it?”
“Make coffee, what else?” Dean answered with a puzzled look. “I bought a grinder just for this. I thought we could share a cup tonight.”
“I gotta taste this,” Bobby said, taking another glance at the receipt.
“Did you know one of the most expensive kinds of coffee comes from cat shit?” Dean said gleefully. “Not screwing with you.”
“Kopi Luwak,” Sam said from the doorway. “They’re not cats, actually.”
Dean didn’t look at all surprised that Sam was talking to him, unlike Bobby, who warily studied the younger Winchester.
“My roommate during sophomore year knew all about coffee. His father was an epicure. Knew all about wine and ate at the best restaurants around the world.”
“Sounds like someone primed for heart attack,” Dean noted dryly. His brother wasn’t only a geek; he was a geek magnet.
Sam shrugged. “He liked good food, but he wasn’t a glutton about it. So, what’s for dinner?”
If the switch in topic threw Dean off, he didn’t show it. Instead, he hauled the bags into the kitchen and enlisted Bobby's help. Sam rounded up three chairs from various rooms and began setting the table while Dean worked on the steaks and the rest of the dinner.
In spite of the work ahead of him, Bobby found himself actually hungry as Dean set the food on the table. It all tasted good, no doubt about it. Then Bobby remembered that Dean had done most of the cooking growing up in the Winchester household, with John always working or hunting. The thought made his throat raw and Bobby ended up pushing his plate away and draining his beer.
After Sam and Bobby cleared the table, Dean gave each of them a mug of his precious coffee. Bobby watched in surprise as Sam took a hearty gulp. A note of real enjoyment washed over the weary face and Sam’s tense posture unwound a little.
Bobby took a cautious sip, the tale of cat shit still echoing in his head. “This is good,” he said, his voice reflecting his surprise.
“Isn’t it?” Dean said. “And I didn’t add anything to it, either. No milk, no sugar, nothing. It’s perfect the way it is.”
Sam finished his cup first and sat back. He gave a small yawn and then a cough. A bigger yawn followed. Bobby hid his confusion with another swallow. He couldn’t understand how Sam could feel tired. Even with the huge meal the anxiety Bobby felt was just as strong as before, if not stronger now that Dean’s time was coming to an end.
It was when Sam started nodding off that Bobby realized something was seriously wrong.
Dean gently took the mug from Sam’s grasp and kept a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder as his brother quickly fell asleep right in front of them. He picked Sam up from the chair and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry without a word of explanation. Bobby sighed and rubbed his face. Of course, why should he be surprised Dean had gotten the drop on them both? Dean might not have gone to Stanford, but the Devil himself would have a hard time fooling the oldest Winchester boy.
Bobby looked at his mug, half wondering if he was going to follow Sam into dreamland. “What’s in it?” he asked when Dean reappeared.
“Something to help Sam sleep. Nothing in yours,” Dean answered, sitting down again. He smiled a little, amused that Bobby would think he was devious enough to con him.
“Should I be flattered or scared?”
“I know Sam’s up to something; something dangerous and probably twenty kinds of wrong. And I’m not letting that happen, you understand?” Dean said fiercely, ignoring Bobby’s attempt at making small talk.
Bobby rubbed his face. John’s boys were wearing him down faster than all his years of hunting. For a moment he contemplated throwing the mug at Dean’s head, but relented and gave a nod of agreement instead. He could hear the open fear in Dean’s voice and couldn’t bear to disappoint him.
Bobby was startled when Dean suddenly squeezed his hand. “I want you to burn my body, Bobby," Dean said. "I don’t want anything left for Sam to mess with.”
Bobby felt his heart stutter, suddenly overwhelmed with the image of a broken and desperate Sam performing some dark ritual over Dean’s remains. It took Bobby awhile to find his voice. “Yeah, I’ll do it." He swallowed roughly. "Do you want anything special done with your ashes?"
“Nope,” Dean replied honestly. “It doesn’t matter to me.” And he was telling the truth. What concerned him were the few hours he had left. If he were to be honest, that was one of the reasons he'd drugged Sam. Dean didn’t want his brother witnessing him having a total breakdown before the Demon came for him. Dean wanted Sam to remember him as a brave man - Winchester to the last - just like their father.
“Are you going to leave any explanation for Sam? ‘Cause the boy’s going to be a mess when he wakes up.”
Dean shook his head sadly, feeling guilty that he was leaving Sam behind to pay such a heavy price. “No, he knows me well enough.”
Bobby knew how true that was. And it broke his heart that Sam would never meet another person who would know him as well as Dean. Sam had been through enough hell. It would probably take all of Bobby's will and cunning to keep Sam from following his brother to the grave once the dust cleared.
“People wonder why I do what I do for Sam,” Dean said, startling Bobby out of his thoughts. “But the answer’s simple. It’s because I can. It’s because I want to. Not because I have to or because Dad told me to. Sam doesn’t have many people to watch over him, Bobby. I look at Sam and I don’t just see him the way he is now. I see him when he was a baby … when I had to hold his hand and walk him to school. I see everything about him, and all of it’s good. In spite of the whole yellow-eyed demon thing, he’s a good person inside. Look at what happened to Jake, and to Ava. But not Sam."
Dean paused and took a sip of his coffee. “I know we’ve bothered you enough, but I promise this is the last time I’ll be biting your heels. Could you go with me? Don’t worry about Sam - he'll be out for at least twelve hours. I slipped him enough dope to knock out a rhino." Dean looked at Bobby, searching for understanding. "I don’t want him to see it happen, Bobby. It’ll be easier for him to move on afterwards if he doesn't.”
“You're dreaming there, son,” Bobby said hoarsely. “But I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, thanks for everything. I know we never told you, but you and Ellen… you made the last two years a lot better. I don’t think we could’ve come half as far without you two.”
“You realize what this is going to do to him?” Bobby asked, thinking about the long, agonizing years ahead.
Dean nodded, his face cloudy with remorse. “But he’ll survive. He did it before. He knows those fucking demons that escaped are going to try their best to bring about the Apocalypse, and when that happens the world's going to need someone powerful, someone like Sam, on its side. I figure he’s going to get righteous on their flaming asses and send them all back to hell. Just the thought of it makes me happy, even now. Geekoid Sammy going all Rambo. Who would’ve thought?”
“What about you? Don’t you think…”
"I’m tired of thinking, Bobby, and I don’t have much faith left, but I’ve got just enough in Sam. Enough to make me keep my appointment tonight, but that’s about it,” Dean said. "And I'm lucky to have even that much."
Bobby couldn’t argue with Dean about that, and he had no stomach for more conversation anyway. Soon enough, it was time to go.
Dean guided him to the meeting place he had in mind, and it hurt all the more that the spot he'd chosen suited Dean perfectly. It was a crossroads with an abandoned church, facing an old billboard still proudly announcing the newest line of toilets available at McKinney’s Department Store.
Bobby parked his truck by the side of the road, his eyes stinging as he watched Dean walk to the center. The boy wanted to go the rest of the way alone and Bobby was glad to let him. He didn’t have the strength to get out of his car now, much less walk. So he waited, scanning the area while watching Dean. It took less than three minutes before the Demon showed up out of a clump of trees to Dean's right, but for Bobby it seemed like an hour had passed.
The figure approached Dean, becoming clearer as it got closer. The demon's current incarnation was stunning, a raven-haired woman in an expensive black evening gown right out of a high-end fashion magazine. Their voices floated toward Bobby in the still night air.
“I like the new look,” Dean deadpanned. “Gotta tell you, your last one kind of looked like a rich man’s version of Elvira.”
“Touchy, aren’t we?” the demon answered with a lovely smile. “If I didn’t know any better I would think you were nervous, Dean.”
“It’s a job hazard.” Dean felt his anxiety escalating to unbearable levels. He knew the demon-bitch was aware of it, but he had no intention of revealing how vulnerable he really was.
“You know, Sam’s plan wasn’t half bad. And there was a slim chance he would have survived if he'd continued reading that book.” The demon’s smile grew more genuine and more calculating at the same time.
Dean stiffened. “Yeah? And what would’ve been the price for that? His soul?”
The demon’s gaze sharpened only for a moment but Dean saw it. Sometimes demons told the truth, but that didn’t make them friendly. Truth was like a weapon: it depended on the wielder to determine whether it harmed or healed.
Dean voice turned harsh. “That’s what I thought. This isn’t just about me, is it? It’s about Sam too. Make Sam compromise a little here, compromise a little there, all for my sake. No fucking way am I letting you steal him piece by piece. This ends here and now.”
“Well, at least I’ll have one Winchester.”
“Yeah, one - must've stung when Dad got away.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on a repeat performance of that little incident. We never make the same mistake twice.”
“Care to bet on that?”
The demon's smile grew more predatory as she lovingly stroked Dean’s hair. “You always did have to have the last word.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I’m known to share with my friends but I’m planning to keep you all to myself.”
“Don’t I feel flattered.”
The Demon pursed her lips and looked at him thoughtfully before placing her surprisingly large hands on Dean’s chest. “Well, enough of the small talk. Let’s dance.”
Dean closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, hoping he wouldn’t scream like a little girl. He wanted Bobby to be able tell Sammy that it was quick and seemed painless.
Seconds passed, but nothing happened. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Dean opened his eyes. The demon's face was flooded with confusion.
“I don’t understand,” the demon hissed. She stared at her hands and then pressed them harder into Dean’s chest.
Dean’s uncertainty rooted him to the spot. He knew he wasn’t a certified genius like Sammy but he was pretty sure he wasn’t in Hell. Yet.
The demon stepped back in shock and looked at him with wide eyes. “What did you do?”
Dean shook his head. No way was he going to allow it to back out of their bargain and take Sam’s life. “Nothing! I kept my side of the deal!”
“I don’t understand!” She cried out and lunged towards Dean. Her fingers were like claws as they latched onto Dean’s throat, choking him while the manicured nails pierced his skin.
Dean broke the frantic hold with a swing of his shoulders. “That hurt, you bitch!”
The demon stumbled back, then looked around the empty field with terror and wild desperation.
“You have no right!” she shrieked. “This one’s mine! He summoned me! He made the deal! He made it!”
Dean cautiously stepped backwards, away from the hysterical figure. He didn’t dare breathe too loud for fear of attracting the demon’s attention. He quickly realized there was no real threat of that happening as the demon’s frenzy escalated.
“You have no right!” she repeated into the night, “Who do you-”
Dean never had the chance to ask ‘who’ exactly she meant, and the demon never had the chance to finish her tirade. A blinding flash of light ripped through her and black smoke poured out of her body, forming a crude shadow before the smoke disintegrated into gray vapor. The wisps floated in the air for a moment before a strong breeze dissipated them into the cool night air.
Dean’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was sure the demon had been destroyed. Not just sent back to Hell, but burned out of existence altogether.
“Holy shit…”
Dean whirled around to find Bobby standing few feet behind him, his gaze equally filled with disbelief.
“Did you see that?” Dean whispered in awe.
Bobby nodded slowly. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! I just stood here and it … it got zapped.”
A low moan made both men look down at the human host rolling in the dirt. Dean scrambled to the woman’s side, gathering the stranger into his arms.
“Where am I?” the woman asked in a heavy accent Dean couldn’t quite place.
“Treveston,” Dean answered weakly.
“Treveston?” she echoed. “Where is Treveston?”
“Not where you’re from I suspect,” Bobby answered. “Where are you from anyway?”
“Aberdeen...”
“Washington?” Bobby supplied hopefully.
“Washington? No! Aberdeen, Scotland! Oh my God, what happened to me?! My wedding is tomorrow!”
“Miss, it looks like you have some sort of head injury,” Bobby scrambled to placate the woman. “Why don’t we take you to the hospital. I’m sure you can make all the calls you need after the doctors examine you.”
Dean didn’t wait for an answer, and instead hustled the befuddled stranger into the truck. Bobby drove at breakneck speed to the local community hospital where, mercifully, the ER stood nearly empty. A sympathetic nurse immediately took the now-bawling woman into triage. Bobby opted to follow but Dean stayed behind, making weak excuses.
Bobby didn’t want to leave Dean, but he knew the young man needed some time to gather his thoughts. He had his suspicions about how Dean had managed to escape, but he knew better than to try to discuss them so soon. Best to let the kid rebuild his defenses and come up with a plausible story (or a lie), which would result in Bobby forcing the truth out of Dean or researching behind his back with Sam’s help. In other words, business as usual with the oldest Winchester boy.
Bobby couldn’t say he minded though, given the circumstances. No, not at all.
Dean sat quietly in a plastic chair, not noticing that his back was seizing up. When he tried to stand and felt his muscles twist in pain, only then did he check his watch. Forty minutes had already passed. Feeling suddenly restless, Dean looked around the room and located the hospital map. The chapel was located on the first floor right behind the ER. He made his way swiftly to the darkened room, grateful that it stood empty.
He didn’t sit down. Instead, he walked to the front of the room, where a column of lit candles gave off a weak but comforting light. One of the candles had gone out; he lit it, and then took a shaky step back.
“I don’t know what really happened out there, or why you did what you did.” Dean whispered as he studied the flickering light. “But I remember mom used to tell me angels were watching over us, and she believed it with all her heart. After she died, I stopped believing because it was easier to suppose you didn’t care than to think she deserved to die like that. After a while it got so that I started hating you for not caring, but hate takes a lot of energy so I decided to ignore you like you seemed to ignore my family and me.
“But you weren’t, were you? I mean here I am, alive and whole, and I've got you to thank…”
Dean stopped speaking. He wanted nothing more than turn around and leave this place as fast as possible. For too long he had believed no one would care for him out of their own volition, except for Sam and Bobby. Now that he'd been proven wrong Dean felt lost and humbled. Nevertheless, he stayed put. John Winchester didn’t raise a coward, and Dean knew that admitting he was wrong didn’t make him any less of a man.
“I could say thank you and leave it at that but words never went far with me, and I’m thinking you’re more of an action guy too. So, I guess I’ll do what I can to show you I’m grateful: take care of Sam, and do what I’m born to do - hunt. I hope it’s enough for you to never regret running interference for me.”
Dean's entire body trembled with wonder and sorrow, and it took him some time to regain control. He took a deep, shuddering breath and raised his left index finger until it touched the flame. The pain was unfamiliar but not overwhelming, and he made himself endure it longer than he wanted to. Then he withdrew his finger and studied the reddened skin. The burn would heal and turn into another scar, one of many. But this one would be special because he'd chosen it. It would remind him in the dark days ahead that no matter what, he wasn’t alone or abandoned.
Dean returned to the ER and waited for another thirty minutes before Bobby reappeared.
“They had to sedate her, poor thing,” Bobby said.
“I’m guessing she’s going to miss her wedding.” Dean really did feel bad for the woman, but not so bad that he was going to skip having a drink or two to celebrate his freedom.
Bobby nodded. “She already did. It was today.”
“Well, that sucks a hairy one.”
“You should’ve heard the phone call. She’s got a lot of answering to do when she goes back.”
Dean smiled, and for a moment Bobby was struck by how happy the boy looked. Every time Bobby had seen him, Dean was in full hunter mode, sporting no patience for bullshit and even less for any sign of weakness in others. That attitude would have earned Dean undying hatred in the normal world, but in the messed-up society that they lived in it actually won him respect
Dean slapped Bobby on the shoulder. “Feel like having a beer?”
Bobby’s response was an open smile. “Just one. I promised the poor bride I’d come back soon, and I don’t know about you, but I’m almost done-in.”
“I know what you mean.”
The two ambled outside, ready to enjoy the night and to anticipate all the days that finally lay ahead of them.
Sam woke up to find himself alone, the twin bed across from his pristine and empty. Squinting, he slowly rolled away to face the opposite direction. It was when he felt a slight, unfamiliar weight on the hollow of his throat that that he remembered. His fingers trembled as he reached for it. He didn’t need a mirror to know what it was: Dean’s amulet.
He closed his eyes and willed the tears away, knowing all too well what day it was now. With a shaky breath, he sat up; his head mercifully clear. Obviously whatever sedative Dean had used, it had been good. Sam wondered briefly if Dean had stolen the drug from a pharmacy or bought it off the street.
Sam sat still afterwards, aching and lost, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Dean was gone, and Sam's best reason for living had gone with him. Hunting hadn’t been Sam's first choice of livelihood or even a distant second, but the last three years had taught him he couldn’t run from what Fate had planned for him. And with Dean beside him, Sam had come to realize that he wasn’t a just passable hunter but a damn fine one. The lives they'd saved, the tragedies they'd managed to avert, and the evil they'd destroyed had all made Sam feel that much more alive. At times his fears had managed to drive him to the edge of sanity, but still, every time he'd looked in the rearview mirror and seen another family they'd left safe and secure behind them - he'd felt something inside of him slowly heal.
But that had been when Dean was with him, in the yesterdays that would never be repeated. Now all he felt was emptiness. Sam wondered if he'd been this shell-shocked when Jess had died. He doubted it. He'd loved Jess, but Dean was as constant in his life as the very sky. Had been, up until now. Now he was Sam minus Dean, and that equation made no sense to him. Even when he'd been at Stanford, he'd never believed he would be permanently separated from his brother. In fact, Sam had promised himself fervently that he would somehow win Dean back. After he got his law degree and earned that fat paycheck, he'd planned to buy a home where Dean could crash, or recuperate from injuries. His desire for a normal life had never meant the absence of Dean. In spite of what his father had believed, Sam had never been so selfish or brave that he'd thought in such extremes.
How stupid and trivial those plans seemed now that Dean was gone forever. Sam felt acid burn a path up his throat and he staggered to his feet, stumbling blindly into the kitchen as tears blurred his vision. He took big gulps of air, trying to breathe through it, but that only made the burning worse. He finally located the sink and drank the iron-tangy water from his cupped hands.
A loud clanking noise followed by a colorful stream of profanity made Sam’s head snap up. He stood frozen in his bent position over the sink, unable to believe what he’d just heard. It was only when another litany of curses peppered the air that Sam bolted out of the house. He whirled around, looking for the owner of that voice, struggling to believe what his mind told him was true.
He spotted the Impala and wove unsteadily towards it. It was only when he saw the familiar pair of boots sticking out from underneath the car that he broke into a full run. He stopped right beside the legs, unable to say anything.
As if sensing he was no longer alone, Dean slowly navigated out from under the car. He looked up at his brother, then calmly stood up, dusting his jeans. He greeted his brother’s disbelief with a smug smile.
"This time I remembered to carry a paperclip.”
Sam stared at Dean with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Paperclip?” he managed to wheeze out as he wiped tears from his face.
“Yeah, you know, for picking locks and stuff.” Dean was about to hand Sam his rag but stopped himself. From the look of anger on his brother’s face, Dean was afraid that Sam would break both his hands.
“Are you making a joke?” Sam’s voice grew thunderous. “After all we’ve been through to find a way out for you … you’re making a joke?!”
“What do you want me to say, Sam?” Dean’s jovial demeanor crumbled under Sam’s anger.
“How did you get out of it?”
“You’re not going to believe me,” Dean said warily. He knew Sam had faith, but what had happened last night would test the Pope.
“Try me,” Sam said flatly.
“God,” Dean answered then steeled himself for the inevitable fallout.
Sam didn’t blink but his gaze narrowed as he echoed, “God?”
“Yeah, the Almighty, The Big Cheese - you know, God. The Big Man you pray to every day.”
Sam looked away, his lips thinned to a grim line. Dean studied his brother’s countenance and gently asked, “When did you stop praying?”
Sam took a deep breath and hoarsely answered, “When I realized there wasn’t a way to break the deal. That the only way to save you was to kill you and stop the demon from collecting your soul.”
“Kill me? Holy shit, you were actually going to kill me?”
Sam shook his head and said shakily, “Couldn’t find another way, Dean. I looked everywhere but there was nothing, and I couldn’t let you go to hell. I couldn’t.”
Dean jammed his hands in his jean pockets and looked thoughtful. Sam stared at his brother, expecting some kind of emotional outburst so when nothing materialized Sam began to feel anxious.
“Dean?” he said weakly. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I heard you,” Dean said absently. “And if you think I’m going to start throwing punches, you’re going to be disappointed.”
Dean looked up at Sam with a soft, wondrous look on his face. “You knew if you killed me, the deal would’ve fallen through. You’d be dead, with the added bonus of my blood on your hands. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out where you would end up, but you would’ve done it to save my soul.
“So, sorry to disappoint you but all you’re going to get is a thank-you from me. And a bottle of Cuervo tonight.”
Sam wanted to argue with what Dean had just said, but he was too drained. He put his hands on his brother’s steady shoulders and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “I’m so tired, Dean,” Sam whispered tearfully.
He felt Dean’s warm hands wrap around the back of his neck. “Me too, little brother, me too. Why don’t we make some breakfast, finish off the goddamn coffee I bought, and just kick back for today? Even the Winchesters are allowed a day off here and there.”
Sam’s crooked smile was small but genuine. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”
Dean threw a companionable arm around Sam’s shoulders and gently steered him to Bobby’s house.
Sam leaned into his brother’s solid embrace, feeling restored as Dean’s warm solid lines matched up to his torn, jagged edges, making him whole and safe once more.
The End
Author's Note: The title is stolen wholesale from Patty Griffin. I highly recommend both the song and the singer. Constantine's Box is my creation though so if you found it dodgy you are welcome to lay the blame at my doorstep.