Chapter fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Dean stood silently in a clearing in the woods. Everything was peaceful, nighttime sounds surrounding him this time where last time there had been nothing but silence. He should have been unsettled by standing here again, but his memories of the hellhounds were fuzzy. Whether it was because he had more important things on his mind or because the angel had helped him take the edge off, he didn’t know.
It didn’t matter. Now he had eyes only for Sam.
They had built the pyre together in silence. Dean had wanted to do it alone, the way Sam had done it for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to cut Bobby out. The man was too shattered, and he needed to help Dean, for his own sake.
When the wood was piled high and Sam’s body was placed on the shelf, Bobby had withdrawn with an aching, sorrowful look and a firm pat on the shoulder without Dean even having to ask. Dean had been grateful at the time. Now, standing beside the logs with the unlit torch in his hand, he kind of wished he’d stayed.
It was November second. Burning day.
“Sammy, I’m not sure I can do this,” he admitted. His words soared out into the night, loud in the glade despite the damp press of the cool winter air. He shook his head ruefully, twisting a smile as he carefully studied his boot laces. “Not just this, but - all of it, man. I guess - I guess we took out a lot of ‘em, huh? I don’t think there’s gonna be a whole lot of work left to do.”
He bit his lip and shifted, studying the stars instead. “There’s always gonna be things to hunt, I know that. But …” He gripped the wooden torch roughly, splinters threatening to break off into his calloused skin. “I just … I don’t wanna lose anybody else. I can’t be … responsible for anybody else.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, feeling his body deflate with the motion. Words lodged in his throat and he cleared it, shaking his head like that would set them free.
“So, uh, I guess what I wanted to say was, I’ll do it.” He felt the cold metal of the lighter in his left hand and flipped it open, thumbing the flame to life. “I’ll live, like you asked me to. I … I’ll let you go.” His eyes were locked on the body atop the pyre: his brother, wrapped tightly in strips made hastily from motel sheets, and he struggled to see through the film of moisture rising behind his lids.
Dean knew if he waited one more second he’d never go through with it. His breathing was harsh and jagged, and with almost too much force, he swung the torch to touch the tip of the sparking flame.
The kindling caught and the torch flared to life. Dean edged hesitantly closer, feeling the heat from the flame, wondering again how the hell Sam had been strong enough to do this on his own.
When he spoke, he was sure he was using up the rest of his words forever.
“Goodbye, Sam.”
He tipped the edge of the torch towards the dead, dry wood at the base of the pyre. The chilled air retreated from the flame, and slowly the bundles nearest to the blaze began to heat and smoke, blackening as the fire took hold.
Dean held his breath as he waited, and it seemed as though the forest held its breath, too.
Dean?
A wind so strong he almost lost his grip blew out of the curtain of trees, extinguishing the flame. The icy chill bit into him, and over the rushing sound, he heard a quiet, audible voice.
Dean?
The voice was low and intimate, like the speaker knew him personally, and quite well. It was gentle, calm and soothing as a mountain creek, but it also held power. Currents of thunder and lightning echoed beneath the still, small sound.
“I … I’m … yeah?” He answered eloquently. Oh, brilliant Winchester, now’s a fantastic time to go crazy. He dropped his hand to his side and listened regardless.
Dean, stop.
“Who’s there?” He whispered. The wind died down immediately, and he had the strange sensation that it had been trying to get his attention before. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t mess with me right now.”
Dean, do not harm the child.
“Sammy?” He frowned. The very statement was anathema. Like he’d ever want to hurt Sam. Only, he already had.
Lay not your hand upon the child, nor do anything unto him. For now I see that you have not withheld your brother - your only family - from Me.
Dean dropped the torch and fell to his knees. The wet press of frozen earth soaked through his jeans, and he could see his breath forming a mist in the clear air. His heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears, and he felt his pulse in the tips of his fingers.
He’d read these words before.
“Are you -“ No way, don’t even think it. But hope had already sprung to life, and Dean knew there was no going back.
You have been faithful, asking nothing for yourself, and have sacrificed much, as Abraham did before you. I have decreed, and so shall it be. Your Soul shall be restored to you.
Dean blinked furiously against the painful expansion of relief in his chest, valiantly trying to hold the floodgates back. “You mean …”
Arise, My child. Lift up your eyes, and receive back that which you have lost.
“Wait, I don’t -“believe you, he wanted to say, but how could he? The voice seemed to almost laugh, and it felt like a sigh on the breeze; gentle gusts of wind lightly ruffling his hair.
No strings, Dean. It’s free. Just take it.
With one last soft sigh, the wind and the voice were gone.
It was like all of his muscles unlocked at once. Dean all but lunged at the pyre, pulling his knife and cutting Sam loose with frantic but careful strokes. His numb fingers fumbled at the bindings, and by the time he’d uncovered Sam’s face he was shaking all over, and not from the cold.
Sam’s skin was alabaster pale inside the shroud, his face still serene and so young. He was freezing to Dean’s touch. “Sammy?” Dean blurted hopefully, brushing his fingers across his brother’s cheeks.
“Oh, come on man, this isn’t funny. Just, just open your eyes and I swear, you can tease me about angels and unicorns and whatever the hell else you want for the rest of our unnatural lives, just please, please breathe …” Nerves on fire and flocks of butterflies warring for space in his stomach, Dean pressed two fingers to the hollow of Sam’s throat. For an eternal instant, nothing happened.
But then he felt it.
Thump-thump.
Faint, but growing stronger by the second, Dean was sure of it. His heart dropped back to where it was supposed to be, and common sense kicked in. Adrenaline fueled him, and he tore the grave cloths further, ripping open Sam’s shirt to reveal his chest beneath. A startled yell tore from his throat.
Healed. Sam was healed.
The jagged line where the sword had pierced his brother was gone; only the neat, precise row of sutures remained behind. Dean whooped out loud, cutting off sharply when he saw the sudden rise and fall of Sam’s chest. “Sammy?”
The cold air rattled roughly in Sam’s throat as he took his first breath. He sputtered violently, coughing and gasping as he fought to get things moving again. Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, scanning the empty field. How was no one else around to see this? “Sammy? Sam!” he called, climbing up the pyre and raising himself to look into his brother’s eyes.
Sam’s eyes were screwed shut in concentration, and he was breathing hard through his nose, slowly, like he would have after a long run. The corners of his mouth twitched into a fond smile. “What’s …” he gasped, “what’s a guy … ahg.” Another shuddering breath seemed to fix it. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here?”
Sam’s eyes snapped open, zeroed in on Dean’s.
Dean felt his soul, jagged edges quickly smoothing, settle firmly into place. “You … you, wait, what?” He breathed.
Sam grinned. “You’re letting me go, huh?” Hazel eyes sparkled with an inner light. Sam’s smile could raise the sun early, make flowers grow in a wasteland, end world hunger … and Dean was grinning like an idiot, and he didn’t care if that made him the world’s biggest pansy, Sam was back, Sam was alive.
He cuffed Sam gently on the side of the head, laughing. “Nah, I’d never do that. ‘Sides, you’re my moral compass,” he added. “Need you around to bitch at me. Everybody else is too scared to do your job.”
Sam laughed and promptly went back to gasping. Dean reached out for him, the motion involuntary as they both fell silent, content for the moment to simply stare in wonder, waiting for Sam to catch his breath.
Finally Sam broke the silence. “So, um … you gonna let me up?”
Dean started at that. He’d almost forgotten where they were. “Crap. Hold on.” He cast around for the knife and found it. Carefully he went back to work, cutting down from Sam’s chest, working the linen strips free. He checked on Sam constantly during the process, enjoying the slow return of color to his brother’s face. Sam lay quietly, watching the stars and gathering energy.
“Dean?”
Absorbed in a particularly tight section, man, I really tied these, Dean spared a glace in Sam’s direction. “Yeah?”
“Before I forget … uh,” he hesitated, and mingled in with the reflections of the stars in Sam’s eyes, Dean saw glistening tears.
“What?”
“Uh - Mom and Dad … they, heh. They say hi.” Sam gave a sort of helpless shrug, lifting his head and trying to wriggle his arms loose.
Dean felt his eyebrows make a break for it. “They say ‘hi’?”
Sam winced apologetically and laughed. “Lame, right?” His face softened, and he pulled one arm loose. He reached for Dean, catching his shoulder with his fingertips. “I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t really remember much. Just - “Dean felt his throat burn suddenly at the look in Sam’s eyes. “They were there, and they’re together. They’re ok, Dean. I remember that.”
Dean nodded tightly, sniffling a little. Later he would blame it on the cold. For now, he’d just enjoy it, hold the knowledge to his heart and keep it safe. He’d hoped his dream on the battlefield had been true. Now he knew it was. Maybe it hadn’t even been a dream.
Dean grunted as he pulled the knife through the last piece of binding, setting Sam free. Sam grasped his outstretched hand and pulled himself up slowly, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead in spite of the cold. When he caught Dean’s worried gaze, he grinned.
“Hey - it’s not bad for a guy that’s been mostly dead all day!” He quipped.
“Yeah, well. C’mon, Dread Pirate Roberts. Let’s get you to the ship.”
Sam wrapped a long arm around Dean’s shoulder, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist, and they moved slowly away from the pyre together.
One fractured soul had entered the glade; but two souls - bright, shining, and free from the curse of flames - left, never to return.
~*~
“You look like Hell.”
“I’ve been to Hell, Sam.”
“You need antibiotics.”
“What I need is for you to stop hovering.”
Bobby’s cheeks hurt from so much grinning, and he took a minute to rub out the cramps in his cheeks before finishing his all-important task at hand: making lunch. The sound of Sam and Dean bantering back and forth was better than music; it was like oxygen. He’d never have thought all those years ago, clinging to his wife as her blood stained his hands, that he’d be able to have this. To have family.
Bobby had informed those boys in no uncertain terms that next time, it was his turn to die, they weren’t allowed to do it anymore, ‘cos he couldn’t take it and if he was gonna have a heart attack or somethin’ then he needed them around so he’d have somebody to leave all his crap to. At the conspiratorial look of their exchanged glance, he had added just as firmly that he’d be writing up a DNR form, in Latin, and he was expectin’ them both to sign it or he’d kick their asses.
He lingered in the doorway, tray in his hands, content to just watch them. For all Dean was complaining about Sam’s hovering, he was hovering right back. It was a hoot, actually - the way they couldn’t stop touching each other, not even for a second.
Sam sat on the couch; Dean was there, hip-to-hip with him. Dean was at the computer; Sam was leaning over him, one hand resting on the table and the other propped up carefully on Dean’s shoulder, avoiding the cuts and bruises. It was a wonder they didn’t trip over each other.
But Bobby didn’t tease them, and he made sure to stick them both in the same room at night. He let them have their space, just taking time, measuring each other. Healing.
When Dean winced, skin pulling tight from his injuries, Sam winced too. Every now and then Bobby would catch the kid’s eyes darken, see the skin of his throat working hard to swallow his regret down. He knew the damage was far from healed. Sam’s memories of his time with Lilith were hazy at best, but things came to him in flashes. Usually the flashes were plenty to bring back the nightmares.
Dean was wounded, too, and more than just physically. He’d wept openly when Sam thanked him for keeping his promise. Sam had pulled him close and cried himself, throwing Bobby a somewhat dazed and helpless look over Dean’s shoulder.
Sometimes he’d catch whispered conversations floating down the hallway, and he knew Sam was asking Dean for details, and those times he’d just keep walking, because he didn’t know if he could stomach hearing them himself.
Yesterday, Dean had told Sam about the baby; he knew that much. He knew because Sam had damn near knocked him over in his rush to the bathroom to hurl, and Dean had been shaking in the bedroom, sitting with his head buried in his hands.
Dean had fallen silent, and Sam had looked sick all day. They had kept a careful distance, sitting across from each other at dinner. Bobby had been casting for words when suddenly without preamble Sam had dropped his fork and announced, “Dean, knock it off. It wasn’t your fault.”
Dean had stared back at Sam in shock for only an instant. He recovered quickly, countering with, “I could have stopped her, Sam. I didn’t-“
“Dean.” Sam cut him off firmly. “It’s over. I don’t - everybody did the right thing, alright? Please, man, just let it go.” Hazel eyes gazed across the table, pleading.
Dean had blown out a quiet sigh, relaxing in his chair. “Yeah, Sammy. Ok.”
They’d finished eating with no further comments, and as soon as dinner was over, Sam was right back in Dean’s space where he belonged, and Dean was bitching that Sam was in the way at the sink while they washed the dishes.
Now it looked like Sam was insisting on tending the raw strips on Dean’s back personally. Bobby shouldered his way into the living room, nearly knocking over a stack of books in the process, and set the tray down gently on the coffee table. “You boys hungry?” He asked.
Sam looked up, grinned. “Yeah, thanks. Hey - you got any Cipro? Or Amoxi, maybe?”
Dean rolled his eyes, twisting away from his brother and lowering his shirt to cover the ragged newly forming scars. “Dammit Sam, leave it. I said I’m fine.”
“Sure, Sam, I got some stuff. Check the first aid.” Sam beamed and scampered off to the kitchen. Bobby shook his head as he watched him go, amazed at the years that seemed to have melted away.
When he turned to Dean, there was a far-off wistful look in the young man’s eyes. Huh. Looked like Dean had noticed, too. “He’s right, ya know.” He said flatly.
Startled out of his reverie, Dean looked at Bobby with a shy grin. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll let him take care of me.”
“Well, miracles never cease.”
Dean laughed and sat, taking a sandwich from the tray. “We can’t stay here, you know.”
Bobby crossed his arms over his chest, stared at the ceiling. “I know.”
“Hunters come lookin’ for Sam, this’ll be the first place they come.” Dean added.
“I know.”
Sam came back in with a bottle of water and a vial of pills and plopped heavily down next to Dean on the small couch, even though there were plenty of empty chairs. Bobby suppressed a grin as Dean rolled his eyes and held out his hand, accepting the antibiotics without arguing. Sam seemed satisfied. “I miss anything?”
Dean swallowed down the pills and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah - I was just telling Bobby it’s about time we got out of here.” He watched closely as Sam’s smile faltered, disappointment showing, but only for an instant.
“You find a hunt?” Sam asked casually. Bobby held his breath. No way was that boy ready to hunt yet, neither of them were. But Sam would go if Dean said yes, he’d go anywhere with that boy.
Dean shook his head, though, and Sam’s smile was back before Bobby could blink. “Nah. We saved the world, dude. Let’s take a vacation.”
Sam looked up at Bobby with something like awe in his eyes. “You boys earned it.” Bobby told him. “Besides, your brother’s been draggin’ me over God’s green earth for months. I could use some peace and quiet around here.”
Sam’s smile softened, and Bobby read the thank you clear as day.
He’d miss them when they left, but they’d be alright. He’d watch their backs the best he could, deal with anyone who came lookin’. For now though, for tonight, he had his family close, and he was damn sure gonna enjoy it.
~ end
Epilogue