Spn Fic: When You Died
Title: When You Died
Rating: PG-13 (For language)
Pairings/characters: Gen. Dean, wee!Sammy (sort of)
Partial Summary: Missing scene from AHBL Part 2 (end of season two). Full summary after the cut.
Spoilers: All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2
Word Count: 1150
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network. No profit is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: How Dean makes the decision to go to the crossroads in AHBL Part 2. This story is the third of my “One Job” companion stories. The others (wee!chester fics) “I Wish” and “One Job” are meant to be read first, but this story can be read as a standalone.
Warnings: Canon character death
Author’s Note: Thanks a bunch to my betas nativestar and lucky_sometimes.
If my ribcage had been ripped out of my chest I’d feel better than I do now. I think back to when we were kids and my chest hurts even more.
“We sure had a rough night last night.” I’m not sure why I’m talking, but it feels good.
“You are one heavy fucker, that’s for sure. We had to drag your ass in here.” A laugh builds up in my throat, but I swallow it down because I’m afraid it won’t come out as a laugh.
Sam’s face is grey.
“Don’t you worry about that bastard who did this to you, because I’m gonna kill him.”
I’m pacing around the room now and the only sound other than me is the birds chirping outside. God, birds are chirping outside the fucking window. My brother is dead. I want to shoot every last bird for sounding so damned normal.
I pull out the drawing from my bag, a drawing Sam never knew I carried. Sam probably wouldn’t have even remembered drawing it, he’d only been five or six at the time. It’s a picture of both of us. The stick-figure version of me is about ten times bigger than Sammy’s version of himself. The picture gets blurry and I wipe my eyes.
“Sam. I’m so sorry.”
I can still remember the day Sam drew this picture. I can smell the snow and see Sam’s wide eyes as he grinned up at me.
“Look what I made for you.” He’d said.
“Sam.” I clear my throat. “I should have showed you this picture. You would have gotten a kick out of it, after you stopped laughing at me for keeping it, that is.”
“Do you like it, Dean? Do you like the picture I drew for you?” The little Sammy from my memory had red cheeks from the cold.
“You looked up to me.” My voice cracks. “You looked up to me and I let you down.”
It’s not just that. If it were only that it wouldn’t be so bad. Dad literally died for me, went to Hell for me. He needed me to take care of my kid brother and I failed. Failed.
It’s not the first time I’ve failed either.
“How did social services find you?” The dad in my memory looks young, like he did when we were kids. “It was because you took Sammy out in that neighborhood at 10 o’clock at night, in his pajamas no less. Why? Because you didn’t plan ahead and buy food earlier, that’s why. What, were you so busy playing that you forgot your brother? First you screw up my hunt and now this?”
The sun is getting low in the sky and Sam’s face is glowing with the red of the sunset streaming through the window.
“Sam, Dad should have known then that he couldn’t trust me with you.”
The night with the Striga was even worse. I’ll never forget the look Dad gave me.
Sam’s picture is yellow now and pretty battered from years in my clothes bag.
“We were supposed to throw out all our school papers. Dad said we can’t bring our school papers everywhere we go.” Even the little Sam in my head is as whiney as the real thing.
“I know that, Sam.” My voice is barely above a whisper but it still echoes around the dead room.
“So if you know Dad will be mad, why are you bringing that picture? Besides, I drew it ages ago.” I can still see 6-year-old Sam standing there with his hands on his hips, as if it were happening now rather than 20 years ago.
“I’m keeping your picture to remind me why I take care of my geeky kid brother.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“You don’t even know what it means.”
“Do to!”
“Do not.” I say that part out loud as if little Sam was really there.
Hours later I’m still sitting in the chair next to Sam. I’m thankful that it’s night and the birds are no longer chirping. It’s odd to be sitting here staring at Sam’s ashen face.
“You know when we were little, and you couldn’t have been more than five, you just started asking questions. How come we didn’t have a Mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where did Dad go? He’d take off for days at a time.
“Remember I begged you, quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don’t want to know. I just wanted you to be a kid. Just for a little while longer. I was trying to protect you. Keep you safe. Dad didn’t even have to tell me, it was just always my responsibility.
“It’s like I had one job. I had one job and I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that I’m sorry.” I wipe the tears off my cheeks. “I guess that’s what I do. I let down the people I love.
“You know I let Dad down. And now, I guess I’m just supposed to let you down too. How can I? How am I supposed to live with that?”
Why can’t he just wake up and talk to me? Why couldn’t I have just taken care of him like I should have?
“What am I supposed to do? Sammy. What am I supposed to do?” He’s not going to wake up. Sam is gone. Gone. I explode and jump up and kick the leg of the bed, “What am I supposed to do!?”
For a few minutes I can’t think, there’s a roaring in my ears, my vision is cloudy and then I find I’m standing at the table again, out of breath. I feel numb all over but at the same time everything hurts.
Sammy’s yellowed picture is laying there. The smiling-stick-figure Sam and Dean are staring up at me. I kick over a chair and grab the picture, ripping it with all my strength. It rips easily and I lose my balance.
I sit there on the dusty floor breathing hard and feel blood rushing in my ears. I only ever had one job, one purpose. How can I live with myself now? Clutched in my right fist is the wrinkled up stick-figure Sam.
“Do you like it, Dean? Do you like the picture I drew for you?” That kid with the runny nose, the one who was so proud to grow taller than his big brother, the one who is laying there dead in the next room--keeping that kid safe is everything. I grab the keys to the Impala and run out the door.
I know what I’m supposed to do.