No Chick Flick Moments, for jojospn
Title: No Chick Flick Moments
Author: annie46
Recipient: jojospn
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3,247
Warnings: Death!fic
Summary: As per prompts:
Prompt 1: brotherly love moments, Dean feeling the need to break the no chick flick rule
Prompt 4: death fic, preferably Sam or Dean, doesn't matter who or how
There’s a time and place for everything.
That’s what his dad had said to him back in the days when they were hunting together, back in the days when Sam was gone and his dad was so focused that nothing mattered but revenge and death. It was one of his dad’s little sayings, homilies that made him sound wise and slightly insane all at once.
Dean got it; he always got it. His dad made sure he got it. When dad was lying bleeding out on a dingy motel coverlet or when dad was staggering towards him half blind, crimson pouring from a wound in his head, Dean would try to offer comfort, say something gentle or kind, say something to take his dad’s mind off the pain. His dad would frown, attempt to shake his hemorrhaging head and tell him, ’No emotional moments, son. Always go with your head, not your heart. Don’t let sentiments get in the way, Dean. You are a soldier, boy - now act like one!’
Dean would nod, turn and wipe away any stupid tears he might have shed, clear his face of any expression, swallow down the worry and concern and do his job. His dad would smile then, hard but fair.
’There’s a time and place for everything’.
****
Sam is sitting on a beach that overlooks a vast expanse of ocean. He shivers a little, the sun beginning to fade, the warmth of the day giving way to the evenings chill. He knows he should move but he is too comfortable, and relaxed; the beer in system making him feel sleepy.
There is somewhere he needs to be but he can’t quite recall where. It doesn’t matter now anyway, because if it was really important Sam would remember.
****
If Dean hated anything with a passion (beyond monsters, demons, ghosts and fucking pixies) it was hospitals. He hated the stink of them, the long corridors that burned your eyes with their pristine whiteness. He hated that once you were in one of those hard, scratchy beds it was hard to get out of them. He hated how they reminded him of his dad, of Bobby, and of death.
“Mr. Winchester?”
There was no need for aliases now. The gates of hell closed, long ago, as was the stairway to heaven. There was little on this earth left to fight, a few wandering spirits, the usual witches and warlocks, stray Leviathans from the age of Dick, but not much else and certainly not enough to bother about.
“That’s me,” Dean swallowed, clicking his tongue in his dry mouth.
“Your brother is ready for you now.”
****
The golden Labrador is beautiful and warm beneath Sam’s hands. It licks him repeatedly and he can’t help but smile as he bends at the knee so he can get his fingers in and give it a good, hard scratch. Riot appears behind him, clawing for attention and Sam laughs out loud then, going down under the weight of fur, wrestling and play fighting, the dogs panting, tails wagging.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam is aware that there is something not quite right with this scenario, that something is missing but he is having such a good time with the dogs that he puts it from his mind.
If it was important, he thinks he would be on the ball enough to remember it.
****
The hated corridor seemed longer and longer with every step. Dean followed the man in the white coat faithfully, he was bursting with questions but he knew what all the answers would be and he didn’t really want to hear them. Not now, not ever.
Dean was good at hiding things. He kept his game face on, played his cards close to his chest. All of his life, he had managed to deal with his problems with a grin or a snarky comment. All of his life, he had followed his dad’s orders, been a brave little soldier and sucked it up.
No chick flick moments.
****
The salad was the tastiest thing Sam had ever eaten, served with warm bread and some sort of dressing, so light that it melted on his tongue. The diner overlooked a huge field of wheat, the ears of corn bright and yellow in the orange glow of the sun. Sam guessed that they probably grew their own wheat to make the bread with, and he sighed with contentment.
He gazed out onto the cornfield and tried to imagine anything better. Something deep inside of him told him again, that this wasn’t quite right but he couldn’t put his finger on it and he was so happy, and so well fed that he didn’t let it bother him.
****
The room was nice really and not as clinical as Dean would have expected it to be. There were curtains that someone had drawn, tactfully, across and Dean just had to bend forward and draw the curtains back so that the room was flooded in light.
There were flowers on the table by the bed and a lonely looking pink balloon, which read It’s a Girl. Dean smirked as he poked the balloon with his fingers making it dance back and forth on its string. The sun caught it for a moment and the white coverlet on the bed turned pink too. Dean grinned at the irony knowing that Sammy would see the funny side.
He sat down on the chair next to the bed and sighed. He felt tired all of a sudden, worn down and out of sorts. There was a lump in his throat that hadn’t been there earlier and he swallowed it down, blinking away the stinging salt in his eyes.
’There’s a time and a place for everything’.
He could hear his dad’s voice in his head, clear and loud. His mind wandered and he thought back over the long years both of hunting and of being dad’s little soldier. He recalled falling while he was training, skinning his knees, and hurting his wrist. He remembered how much it hurt, how much he wanted to cry but he also remembered his dad’s stern expression, those harsh eyes almost daring him to shed tears.
He knew now that his dad hadn’t been that stern strict marine of his childhood, that he had only wanted what was best for his boys. John had loved them, tried to keep them safe. Hell, John had given his life for Dean and it was something Dean would never forget, ever.
That didn’t matter though. Something deep within him made it difficult for him to express himself, made it hard to give into his feelings, for him to let go.
“I love you dad,” he whispered into air, his chest hurting almost as much as his throat did. “Just help me to do this, just get me through this and then. . . .” He reached down and patted the inner pocket of his pants. “Just let me get through this, and I swear - I swear, no more chick flick moments.”
****
Sam is relaxing on a lawn chair in the most massive garden he had ever seen, grass as green as jade and as luxurious as any Persian rug, flowers of all shapes, sizes and colors, trees just dripping in fruit; apples, pears, plums all ripe and ready to pick, the scent of them rich on the warm summer breeze.
Sam can’t decide which fruit to pick. They all looked delicious and he knew their taste would be exquisite. His mouth was watering at the thought and he stretched, the effort of getting out of the chair almost making him change his mind.
He plucked down an apple, red, and rosy, shining in the sun. He was about to bite into it when he paused for a moment, frowning. He swore someone was talking to him, a definite whisper on the breeze, his name spoken soft and gentle.
“Sammy. ”
****
“Sammy.” Dean bent over and rested his elbows on his knees. “Sammy, I’m really sorry, man, but you’ve lingered here long enough, and the doctors want me to let you go.” He patted his pocket again. “But don’t you worry, Sammy, I’m not going to be far behind you.”
On the bed, as he had been for the past six months, Sam lay silent. The machines that had been keeping his brother breathing hissed and bleeped and Dean stared at them for a long time before gazing back down at Sam again, his stomach clenching hard and tight.
Sam looked - well - like Sam. He had lost weight sure, but his body was still stupidly tall, feet almost hanging off the bed, bare toes occasionally poking out of the sheets. His hair was longer than ever grey streaking through it now. There were lines around his eyes, crow’s feet from the last few years when laughter came more easily to him. His wide mouth closed the soft indent of dimples still visible in his cheeks. He looked like he was sleeping but in all reality Sam was dead, had been dead since that rogue car had hit the Impala side on. Had been dead since the passenger window had been smashed, glass embedded in Sam’s forehead, blood in his hair. The doctor’s had never been hopeful but while there was life there was always hope, right? Dean had thought that at first but now he knew the kindest thing to do was to turn off the machines and let Sam go.
He didn’t want his brother to be like Charlie’s mom; lying here for sixteen long years, getting older and stiffer, and having to be turned on the hour, to prevent sores.
They had had twenty good years since they had closed the gates. Dean had seen birthdays he never even thought he would make and they had lived comfortably together, with the occasional girlfriend passing through, since giving up hunting they both had made different drinking buddies and had even joined several sports clubs.
After all those years of hunting and living on the edge, it seemed unfair that Sammy would die like this. He had saved the world, they both had, and more than once. They should have gone out as heroes or passed away peacefully in their beds with a few more years between them. Sam was still only young and Dean had gotten complacent, they had both lived to see their 50th birthdays and Dean had hoped.
But it wasn’t to be and Dean was now going to end Sammy’s life. Just a simple flick of a switch, the buzzing of the machines finally quieted a slow goodbye as Sammy just slipped away. Dean swallowed hard and bent down to brush a kiss across his brother’s forehead.
“I’m sorry Sammy,” he whispered as his hand reached out for the switch.
****
Sam was running along a beach towards the voice that was now almost constantly calling his name. The sudden realization felt painful and he ached all over, his lungs laboring, his heart thundering hard and fast. All this time he had believed something had been missing, all this time he had enjoyed paradise without the one thing that really made him complete.
Dean.
Now he could hear his brother, hear his desperation and his agony. He didn’t know where Dean was or if he could actually find him but Cas had once told them they were soul-mates, and that they would share their heaven. He wasn’t sure if that was still the case though. They had closed heaven’s gates at the same time as they had closed hells. Maybe the first trio of trials had failed but the second attempt had been nothing but successful and Sam reckoned they wouldn’t be very popular at either end of the celestial scale.
He couldn’t quite comprehend what had been happening but he was now fairly certain he was dead, but how and for how long still eluded him. He wondered where his brother was and if he was okay. Sam kept running, his mind whirling around the question he had an answer for however painful.
If he were dead, it was a sure thing that Dean wasn’t okay.
****
The machine’s beeps faded into silence and Dean put his head in his hands and wept. There might be a time and place for everything, but he didn’t care. He cried messily, snot and tears smearing his face, his fingertips, sticking his hair to his cheeks. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard the soft voice of the nurse in his ear. Usually Dean would try to stop crying, to put on his game face, make a cocky remark but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, and it was as if all the no chick flick moments in the world had built up to this one massive break down. Sammy was dead, gone and this time. There was no coming back.
****
Sam stopped running and bent over his hands on his thighs. His breath was sharp in his throat and he drew it in hard and fast.
Dean had stopped calling and Sam was alone on this endless beach, alone and afraid despite the brightness of the day, the blueness of the sky, the warmth of the ocean.
Sam wanted his brother, he wanted Dean right now, wanted to see him, touch him, and reassure himself that they were both okay and that they would see out eternity together. He felt weird, disconnected and his head was hurting. Odd he didn’t think he should feel this sort of pain in heaven, but he did and it was almost beyond his understanding.
Above him the sky was darkening, large drops of cold rain falling hard soaking his hair and plastering his clothes to his body. There was nowhere to shelter, nowhere to go and he wrapped his arms around himself, listening to the sudden thunder and watching the bright silver flare of lightening. He gasped and swallowed, his chest aching as if he couldn’t draw another breath.
He looked up to the sky and screamed out his brother’s name praying to anyone who might be listening, praying that someone would hear him and deliver his big brother to him in one piece.
****
It seems like an eternity ago, but when Sam was infected by the Croatoan virus, Dean was ready to send Sam on his way and eat his own gun. Now, sitting on the hospital john, he is ready to go but he figures it is unkind to whoever cleans this place to splatter the white walls with blood. He smiles, weakly, and takes the vial of poison out of his pocket. It is good stuff and the hunter who sold it to him, had assured him it was quick and painless. Dean’s only concern was that he wouldn’t go to where Sam was, that maybe he would end up in Purgatory again. The thought didn’t scare him as much as it might have, because if he ended up anywhere without his brother it would be hell to him anyway.
He leaned his head back against the plaster and closed his eyes.
“Sammy,” he whispers as he swallows down the vial of poison and just waits.
****
The storm stops suddenly and, for a brief moment, Sam feels as if suspended in time and space. He feels different, everything seems lighter, brighter, and there doesn’t seem to be anything missing anymore.
He is standing in the middle of a room he doesn’t really recognize. It is small but clean; a couch in the corner, a warm looking rug on the floor. He swallows and sits on the couch with a huff, his eyes fixed on the walls.
There are pictures of himself and Dean as children. Dean holding him in his arms. There’s one of his dad, in a marine uniform. His mom in her wedding dress, and relations he had never met.
“We’re home Sammy.”
Dean was beside him as sudden as blinking, grinning in that snarky way of his, green eyes bright and clear. He wore the battered leather jacket that had once been their dads, tatty jeans and his black desert boots. He looked like he did when he came and dragged Sam away from Stanford and Jess, and Sam had never been more pleased to see someone in his whole life.
“I don’t understand,” was all he could say, the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to hug Dean, to hold him close and breath in that special scent of whiskey, old spice and old leather but he couldn’t, held back by a lifetime of sparse affection, hugs when one of them died or returned from the dead.
“We’re in heaven, Sam.” Dean looked happy and relieved all at once. “Soul-mates, remember?”
“But I’ve been here for - for a long time, haven’t I?” Sam’s stomach dipped, confused, worried now that this was just some sort of hallucination, that somewhere a greater power was playing him, playing on his vulnerability.
“You were hurt,” Dean’s tone was gentle and he reached out a hand so that he could draw Sam closer, pull him in. “In a car crash - some idiot side swiped us and you were in a coma. They used machines to keep you going, but then they asked me to turn them off.”
“I’m . . . ,” Sam swallowed and allowed himself to be drawn ever closer to his brother. “I’m dead, now?”
“Yeah. I guess you must have been here then, just sort of waiting.”
“I - everything was wonderful - perfect weather, delicious food, and the best hotels.” Sam blinked. “But something was missing.”
“Yeah.” Dean grinned and Sam’s heart leapt when he realized that his brother was wearing his amulet again. “And I bet you can guess what that was, little brother.”
“If I’m dead then you . . . .” Sam shook his head. “If you turned the machines off then . . . Dean, what did you do?”
“Didn’t want you to be here without your soul-mate.” Dean winked at him, suddenly there were strong arms around him, and he’s enveloped in a hug so big and so warm he wanted to weep with it.
“Dean . . . ,” he began, knowing that he was already thinking about taking Dean to the orchard, to the ocean, and to the restaurant where he was sure the pies were awesome. “Dean, did you die for me?”
Dean shook his head and freed one of his arms so that he could put a callused finger against Sam’s lips. Sam huffed a laugh and buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, love, and affection warming him through.
Eventually he pulled back, trying to extricate himself from his brother’s grasp. Perhaps later he would let himself be angry that Dean had obviously done something to himself to end up here, but now, he was so happy, so elated and he didn’t want to spoil the moment.
“Where’re you going, Sammy?” Dean tightened his grip and Sam laughed again, real this time.
“I - you know -no chick flick moments, remember?”
“Sam!” He swore he could see the shine of tears in those familiar green eyes. “There’s a time and a place for everything.”
With that, Sam let himself relax back into the sanctuary of his brother’s arms and held on.
End
Author: annie46
Recipient: jojospn
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3,247
Warnings: Death!fic
Summary: As per prompts:
Prompt 1: brotherly love moments, Dean feeling the need to break the no chick flick rule
Prompt 4: death fic, preferably Sam or Dean, doesn't matter who or how
There’s a time and place for everything.
That’s what his dad had said to him back in the days when they were hunting together, back in the days when Sam was gone and his dad was so focused that nothing mattered but revenge and death. It was one of his dad’s little sayings, homilies that made him sound wise and slightly insane all at once.
Dean got it; he always got it. His dad made sure he got it. When dad was lying bleeding out on a dingy motel coverlet or when dad was staggering towards him half blind, crimson pouring from a wound in his head, Dean would try to offer comfort, say something gentle or kind, say something to take his dad’s mind off the pain. His dad would frown, attempt to shake his hemorrhaging head and tell him, ’No emotional moments, son. Always go with your head, not your heart. Don’t let sentiments get in the way, Dean. You are a soldier, boy - now act like one!’
Dean would nod, turn and wipe away any stupid tears he might have shed, clear his face of any expression, swallow down the worry and concern and do his job. His dad would smile then, hard but fair.
’There’s a time and place for everything’.
****
Sam is sitting on a beach that overlooks a vast expanse of ocean. He shivers a little, the sun beginning to fade, the warmth of the day giving way to the evenings chill. He knows he should move but he is too comfortable, and relaxed; the beer in system making him feel sleepy.
There is somewhere he needs to be but he can’t quite recall where. It doesn’t matter now anyway, because if it was really important Sam would remember.
****
If Dean hated anything with a passion (beyond monsters, demons, ghosts and fucking pixies) it was hospitals. He hated the stink of them, the long corridors that burned your eyes with their pristine whiteness. He hated that once you were in one of those hard, scratchy beds it was hard to get out of them. He hated how they reminded him of his dad, of Bobby, and of death.
“Mr. Winchester?”
There was no need for aliases now. The gates of hell closed, long ago, as was the stairway to heaven. There was little on this earth left to fight, a few wandering spirits, the usual witches and warlocks, stray Leviathans from the age of Dick, but not much else and certainly not enough to bother about.
“That’s me,” Dean swallowed, clicking his tongue in his dry mouth.
“Your brother is ready for you now.”
****
The golden Labrador is beautiful and warm beneath Sam’s hands. It licks him repeatedly and he can’t help but smile as he bends at the knee so he can get his fingers in and give it a good, hard scratch. Riot appears behind him, clawing for attention and Sam laughs out loud then, going down under the weight of fur, wrestling and play fighting, the dogs panting, tails wagging.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam is aware that there is something not quite right with this scenario, that something is missing but he is having such a good time with the dogs that he puts it from his mind.
If it was important, he thinks he would be on the ball enough to remember it.
****
The hated corridor seemed longer and longer with every step. Dean followed the man in the white coat faithfully, he was bursting with questions but he knew what all the answers would be and he didn’t really want to hear them. Not now, not ever.
Dean was good at hiding things. He kept his game face on, played his cards close to his chest. All of his life, he had managed to deal with his problems with a grin or a snarky comment. All of his life, he had followed his dad’s orders, been a brave little soldier and sucked it up.
No chick flick moments.
****
The salad was the tastiest thing Sam had ever eaten, served with warm bread and some sort of dressing, so light that it melted on his tongue. The diner overlooked a huge field of wheat, the ears of corn bright and yellow in the orange glow of the sun. Sam guessed that they probably grew their own wheat to make the bread with, and he sighed with contentment.
He gazed out onto the cornfield and tried to imagine anything better. Something deep inside of him told him again, that this wasn’t quite right but he couldn’t put his finger on it and he was so happy, and so well fed that he didn’t let it bother him.
****
The room was nice really and not as clinical as Dean would have expected it to be. There were curtains that someone had drawn, tactfully, across and Dean just had to bend forward and draw the curtains back so that the room was flooded in light.
There were flowers on the table by the bed and a lonely looking pink balloon, which read It’s a Girl. Dean smirked as he poked the balloon with his fingers making it dance back and forth on its string. The sun caught it for a moment and the white coverlet on the bed turned pink too. Dean grinned at the irony knowing that Sammy would see the funny side.
He sat down on the chair next to the bed and sighed. He felt tired all of a sudden, worn down and out of sorts. There was a lump in his throat that hadn’t been there earlier and he swallowed it down, blinking away the stinging salt in his eyes.
’There’s a time and a place for everything’.
He could hear his dad’s voice in his head, clear and loud. His mind wandered and he thought back over the long years both of hunting and of being dad’s little soldier. He recalled falling while he was training, skinning his knees, and hurting his wrist. He remembered how much it hurt, how much he wanted to cry but he also remembered his dad’s stern expression, those harsh eyes almost daring him to shed tears.
He knew now that his dad hadn’t been that stern strict marine of his childhood, that he had only wanted what was best for his boys. John had loved them, tried to keep them safe. Hell, John had given his life for Dean and it was something Dean would never forget, ever.
That didn’t matter though. Something deep within him made it difficult for him to express himself, made it hard to give into his feelings, for him to let go.
“I love you dad,” he whispered into air, his chest hurting almost as much as his throat did. “Just help me to do this, just get me through this and then. . . .” He reached down and patted the inner pocket of his pants. “Just let me get through this, and I swear - I swear, no more chick flick moments.”
****
Sam is relaxing on a lawn chair in the most massive garden he had ever seen, grass as green as jade and as luxurious as any Persian rug, flowers of all shapes, sizes and colors, trees just dripping in fruit; apples, pears, plums all ripe and ready to pick, the scent of them rich on the warm summer breeze.
Sam can’t decide which fruit to pick. They all looked delicious and he knew their taste would be exquisite. His mouth was watering at the thought and he stretched, the effort of getting out of the chair almost making him change his mind.
He plucked down an apple, red, and rosy, shining in the sun. He was about to bite into it when he paused for a moment, frowning. He swore someone was talking to him, a definite whisper on the breeze, his name spoken soft and gentle.
“Sammy. ”
****
“Sammy.” Dean bent over and rested his elbows on his knees. “Sammy, I’m really sorry, man, but you’ve lingered here long enough, and the doctors want me to let you go.” He patted his pocket again. “But don’t you worry, Sammy, I’m not going to be far behind you.”
On the bed, as he had been for the past six months, Sam lay silent. The machines that had been keeping his brother breathing hissed and bleeped and Dean stared at them for a long time before gazing back down at Sam again, his stomach clenching hard and tight.
Sam looked - well - like Sam. He had lost weight sure, but his body was still stupidly tall, feet almost hanging off the bed, bare toes occasionally poking out of the sheets. His hair was longer than ever grey streaking through it now. There were lines around his eyes, crow’s feet from the last few years when laughter came more easily to him. His wide mouth closed the soft indent of dimples still visible in his cheeks. He looked like he was sleeping but in all reality Sam was dead, had been dead since that rogue car had hit the Impala side on. Had been dead since the passenger window had been smashed, glass embedded in Sam’s forehead, blood in his hair. The doctor’s had never been hopeful but while there was life there was always hope, right? Dean had thought that at first but now he knew the kindest thing to do was to turn off the machines and let Sam go.
He didn’t want his brother to be like Charlie’s mom; lying here for sixteen long years, getting older and stiffer, and having to be turned on the hour, to prevent sores.
They had had twenty good years since they had closed the gates. Dean had seen birthdays he never even thought he would make and they had lived comfortably together, with the occasional girlfriend passing through, since giving up hunting they both had made different drinking buddies and had even joined several sports clubs.
After all those years of hunting and living on the edge, it seemed unfair that Sammy would die like this. He had saved the world, they both had, and more than once. They should have gone out as heroes or passed away peacefully in their beds with a few more years between them. Sam was still only young and Dean had gotten complacent, they had both lived to see their 50th birthdays and Dean had hoped.
But it wasn’t to be and Dean was now going to end Sammy’s life. Just a simple flick of a switch, the buzzing of the machines finally quieted a slow goodbye as Sammy just slipped away. Dean swallowed hard and bent down to brush a kiss across his brother’s forehead.
“I’m sorry Sammy,” he whispered as his hand reached out for the switch.
****
Sam was running along a beach towards the voice that was now almost constantly calling his name. The sudden realization felt painful and he ached all over, his lungs laboring, his heart thundering hard and fast. All this time he had believed something had been missing, all this time he had enjoyed paradise without the one thing that really made him complete.
Dean.
Now he could hear his brother, hear his desperation and his agony. He didn’t know where Dean was or if he could actually find him but Cas had once told them they were soul-mates, and that they would share their heaven. He wasn’t sure if that was still the case though. They had closed heaven’s gates at the same time as they had closed hells. Maybe the first trio of trials had failed but the second attempt had been nothing but successful and Sam reckoned they wouldn’t be very popular at either end of the celestial scale.
He couldn’t quite comprehend what had been happening but he was now fairly certain he was dead, but how and for how long still eluded him. He wondered where his brother was and if he was okay. Sam kept running, his mind whirling around the question he had an answer for however painful.
If he were dead, it was a sure thing that Dean wasn’t okay.
****
The machine’s beeps faded into silence and Dean put his head in his hands and wept. There might be a time and place for everything, but he didn’t care. He cried messily, snot and tears smearing his face, his fingertips, sticking his hair to his cheeks. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard the soft voice of the nurse in his ear. Usually Dean would try to stop crying, to put on his game face, make a cocky remark but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, and it was as if all the no chick flick moments in the world had built up to this one massive break down. Sammy was dead, gone and this time. There was no coming back.
****
Sam stopped running and bent over his hands on his thighs. His breath was sharp in his throat and he drew it in hard and fast.
Dean had stopped calling and Sam was alone on this endless beach, alone and afraid despite the brightness of the day, the blueness of the sky, the warmth of the ocean.
Sam wanted his brother, he wanted Dean right now, wanted to see him, touch him, and reassure himself that they were both okay and that they would see out eternity together. He felt weird, disconnected and his head was hurting. Odd he didn’t think he should feel this sort of pain in heaven, but he did and it was almost beyond his understanding.
Above him the sky was darkening, large drops of cold rain falling hard soaking his hair and plastering his clothes to his body. There was nowhere to shelter, nowhere to go and he wrapped his arms around himself, listening to the sudden thunder and watching the bright silver flare of lightening. He gasped and swallowed, his chest aching as if he couldn’t draw another breath.
He looked up to the sky and screamed out his brother’s name praying to anyone who might be listening, praying that someone would hear him and deliver his big brother to him in one piece.
****
It seems like an eternity ago, but when Sam was infected by the Croatoan virus, Dean was ready to send Sam on his way and eat his own gun. Now, sitting on the hospital john, he is ready to go but he figures it is unkind to whoever cleans this place to splatter the white walls with blood. He smiles, weakly, and takes the vial of poison out of his pocket. It is good stuff and the hunter who sold it to him, had assured him it was quick and painless. Dean’s only concern was that he wouldn’t go to where Sam was, that maybe he would end up in Purgatory again. The thought didn’t scare him as much as it might have, because if he ended up anywhere without his brother it would be hell to him anyway.
He leaned his head back against the plaster and closed his eyes.
“Sammy,” he whispers as he swallows down the vial of poison and just waits.
****
The storm stops suddenly and, for a brief moment, Sam feels as if suspended in time and space. He feels different, everything seems lighter, brighter, and there doesn’t seem to be anything missing anymore.
He is standing in the middle of a room he doesn’t really recognize. It is small but clean; a couch in the corner, a warm looking rug on the floor. He swallows and sits on the couch with a huff, his eyes fixed on the walls.
There are pictures of himself and Dean as children. Dean holding him in his arms. There’s one of his dad, in a marine uniform. His mom in her wedding dress, and relations he had never met.
“We’re home Sammy.”
Dean was beside him as sudden as blinking, grinning in that snarky way of his, green eyes bright and clear. He wore the battered leather jacket that had once been their dads, tatty jeans and his black desert boots. He looked like he did when he came and dragged Sam away from Stanford and Jess, and Sam had never been more pleased to see someone in his whole life.
“I don’t understand,” was all he could say, the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to hug Dean, to hold him close and breath in that special scent of whiskey, old spice and old leather but he couldn’t, held back by a lifetime of sparse affection, hugs when one of them died or returned from the dead.
“We’re in heaven, Sam.” Dean looked happy and relieved all at once. “Soul-mates, remember?”
“But I’ve been here for - for a long time, haven’t I?” Sam’s stomach dipped, confused, worried now that this was just some sort of hallucination, that somewhere a greater power was playing him, playing on his vulnerability.
“You were hurt,” Dean’s tone was gentle and he reached out a hand so that he could draw Sam closer, pull him in. “In a car crash - some idiot side swiped us and you were in a coma. They used machines to keep you going, but then they asked me to turn them off.”
“I’m . . . ,” Sam swallowed and allowed himself to be drawn ever closer to his brother. “I’m dead, now?”
“Yeah. I guess you must have been here then, just sort of waiting.”
“I - everything was wonderful - perfect weather, delicious food, and the best hotels.” Sam blinked. “But something was missing.”
“Yeah.” Dean grinned and Sam’s heart leapt when he realized that his brother was wearing his amulet again. “And I bet you can guess what that was, little brother.”
“If I’m dead then you . . . .” Sam shook his head. “If you turned the machines off then . . . Dean, what did you do?”
“Didn’t want you to be here without your soul-mate.” Dean winked at him, suddenly there were strong arms around him, and he’s enveloped in a hug so big and so warm he wanted to weep with it.
“Dean . . . ,” he began, knowing that he was already thinking about taking Dean to the orchard, to the ocean, and to the restaurant where he was sure the pies were awesome. “Dean, did you die for me?”
Dean shook his head and freed one of his arms so that he could put a callused finger against Sam’s lips. Sam huffed a laugh and buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, love, and affection warming him through.
Eventually he pulled back, trying to extricate himself from his brother’s grasp. Perhaps later he would let himself be angry that Dean had obviously done something to himself to end up here, but now, he was so happy, so elated and he didn’t want to spoil the moment.
“Where’re you going, Sammy?” Dean tightened his grip and Sam laughed again, real this time.
“I - you know -no chick flick moments, remember?”
“Sam!” He swore he could see the shine of tears in those familiar green eyes. “There’s a time and a place for everything.”
With that, Sam let himself relax back into the sanctuary of his brother’s arms and held on.
End