MASTERPOST: Can’t Let You Go - Sam/Dean, R

[amypond45]

Title: Can’t Let You Go
Artist: jdl71
Author: amypond45
Word Count: 8.4K
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings/Tags: bottom!Dean
Summary: Dean gets killed on a routine hunt. Sam can’t let that stand.

Link to Art Post: Can’t Let You Go
Link to Fic on A03: AO3

Author Note: Written for the 2022 wincest_reverse with many thanks to jdl71 for the beta as well as the brilliant and inspiring art!

It’s a standard hunt. Business as usual.

Until it isn’t.

The monster has been killing people in the woods behind an old abandoned warehouse, then dragging their bodies into the building to munch on their vitals. Sam thinks it’s a rugaru, and Dean can’t argue with that. The thing leaves a mess, stinks to high heaven, and proves to be almost too easy to kill. It obliges them by standing in the middle of the warehouse floor as it burns, screaming and writhing in its agony and rage.

They’re all cleaned up and getting ready to leave, Sam already gone out to the car ahead of him, when Dean gets jumped from behind.

“Dean Winchester,” the thing hisses into his ear as it holds him down with superhuman strength. “I thought I might find you here.”

“I guess today’s your lucky day.” Dean grunts as the thing shoves something blunt into the small of his back. “You gonna introduce yourself? Or do you want me to guess?”

“Billie was my best friend,” the thing hisses. “You killed her.”

Dean’s mind goes blank for a moment. “You’re a reaper?” he guesses wildly.

“Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a cookie.” The voice is a low purr now, almost a growl.

Dean shifts, tries to dislodge the reaper even a little, but it stays right where it is, not giving an inch. He wonders if Sam will come back to see what’s taking him so long.

“So you’re looking for some kind of reaper revenge?” he guesses, grunting with effort.

The blunt thing presses harder into his back.

“You can call it whatever you want,” the voice growls. “Billie wanted you dead, and I’m here to finish the job.”

Dean’s got only a moment to register the fact that the blunt instrument shoved against his spine suddenly has a sharp point on it. Reaper switchblade. With a quick, thorough thrust, the thing shoves the blade into Dean’s back. It causes a white-hot pain that burns all up Dean’s spine to his brain, destroying his ability to open his mouth and scream. He can’t feel his legs. As he starts to lose consciousness, he’s aware of the thing pulling the knife out of his back and letting him go, but he can’t move.

The last thing he hears is Sam’s horrified shout.

“Dean!”



Dean’s dead. He gets that. He’s even okay with it. Killed on a hunt is a solid way to go.

Sam’s horrified and sad. Of course he is. Dean watches helplessly as Sam leaps across the room, throws himself down next to Dean’s body. He checks for a pulse, muttering, “No, no, no, no” over and over. He checks for a breath, checks the stab wound in Dean’s back that’s obviously severed Dean’s spinal cord.

“I’m dead, Sammy,” Dean says. “Guess it’s really my time.”

“No, no, no, no,” Sam chants. He turns Dean’s body over, wraps his arms around it, and sobs into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean crouches down in front of Sam, hoping his brother’s psychic ability will let him sense that Dean’s spirit is still here, right next to him.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Dean assures him. “It’s meant to be this time. No interference from Heaven or Hell, just killed on a hunt. Died with my boots on. It’s a good death.”

“No, no, no, no,” Sam chants, shaking his head. “It isn’t right. It’s not fair. It’s not supposed to be this way.”

“Dean.”

Dean starts. He’d been so focused on Sam he hadn’t noticed the reaper that’s been standing a few feet away, waiting impatiently.

“It’s time to go,” she says when he looks up at her.

“Jessica,” Dean breathes, surprised to recognize the reaper that Billie had sent to watch over them, years ago.

Jessica rolls her eyes. “Yep, it’s me. Now, come on.”

She puts her hand out, and every instinct in Dean’s spectral body tells him to take her hand and go with her. It’s over. His work here is done.

“That angel,” Sam says, and Dean’s attention snaps back to his brother. “He gave me this look, Dean. After he stabbed you with his angel blade. It was triumph. This was a hit job, man. Not natural at all.”

Sam looks up, gaze going wide as he searches the room.

“You gotta stay with me, man,” he says, obviously speaking to Dean’s spirit. “We gotta figure this out. This isn’t right.”

Dean frowns. The thing’s words come back to him, all that stuff it said about Billie.

Sam’s right. This was a hit job. It was revenge. That thing might have even lured them here in the first place with the rugaru case.

Dean’s not supposed to be dead after all.

“Come on, Dean,” Jessica snaps. “Time to go.”

Dean gets up, shaking his head. “No. My brother’s right. Something’s fishy about this whole thing. I owe it to him to help him figure it out.”

Jessica frowns, clearly irritated. “Dean, you know how this goes. You stay, you become a restless spirit. This is your time. Now let’s go.”

“I said no. Not yet, anyway.”

“You think this is negotiable?” Jessica glares, flabbergasted. “You think you can just call for me when you’re ready to cross over? Because I’ve got news for you, Dean. You’re just another guy. You’re just another job. And if you don’t come with me right now, right here, you know damn well what happens to you.”

“I’ll take that chance,” Dean insists. “My brother needs me.”

Jessica rolls her eyes and throws up her hands.

“Fine. Stay. I don’t give a shit. Enjoy your afterlife in the veil. Oh, and when it’s your brother’s time to go, don’t blame me when you get left behind, separated forever from your precious Sammy. Good luck, moron.”

And with that, she’s gone.



When Dean turns back to Sam, Sam’s already gathering Dean’s body into a fireman’s carry to take him out of the warehouse to the car.

Dean follows, feeling stupid and useless but trusting that at least if he keeps up, he’ll go where Sam goes.

Of course, he can’t touch the door handle of the Impala. His hand goes right through it. But once Sam has his blanket-wrapped body settled on the backseat (“Don’t get blood on the seat, Sammy!”) and gets into the driver’s seat, all Dean has to do is imagine himself sitting next to Sam, and there he is.

“I’m right here, Sam,” he assures his brother as Sam sticks the keys in the ignition with shaking hands. “Not going anywhere.”

Sam nods as if he’s heard. He wipes the tears from his cheeks and starts the car.

“Gotta get you back to the bunker,” Sam says as he pulls the car onto the road. “I need to find a spell to resurrect you and figure out how this happened. And why.”

“Sure, Sammy. Okay.”

After all, what’s one more resurrection? After all the times the Winchesters have died and come back, this time Sam knows what he’s doing. He’s got Rowena’s library of spells at his disposal. He used one of them to bring Eileen back, and now he’ll find another one.

Dean has total confidence in his brother’s abilities in the spell department.

As they head out on the dark road toward home, Dean lets his mind wander back to that night a week ago, when they finally crossed that final line. He realizes now that it had been building between them since they defeated Chuck, since their lives became truly theirs, once and for all. Finally.

They’d watched a movie together in Dean’s man cave after dinner, sharing a bottle of tequila and a six-pack of beer. As they got up to go to bed, Dean stumbled, Sam caught him, shoved him up against the wall, and kissed him.

Of course, Dean kissed back. Dean hadn’t let himself consciously think about how much he wanted this with Sam, but he knew he did. Maybe always had.

Then Sam released him, literally held him at arm’s reach, and wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“What the hell, Sam?”

“Sorry,” Sam mutters, still not looking at him, stepping back so they’re no longer touching. “I didn’t ask first.”

“You didn’t need to ask,” Dean insists.

“You - You’re drunk,” Sam says, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “I took advantage.”

“No, you didn’t!” Dean throws his hands up. “What, you think I didn’t want that? You think I don’t? Hell, Sammy. I’ve been waiting for that pretty much all my adult life.”

“No, you haven’t.” Sam raises eyes full of pain and old hurt. “You never. There’s no way.”

The kid’s not wrong. There’s no way Dean would’ve made a move or ever admitted how he felt if Sam hadn’t kissed him. No way he would’ve let this happen unless Sam initiated it.

But now.

“I never would’ve done something like that unless I knew you wanted it,” Dean insists. “After everything you’ve been through, I just wouldn’t.”

Sam frowns. “No other reason?” he asks.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What other reason could there be?”

“We’re brothers?” Sam scoffs.

Dean blinks. “So?”

Sam shakes his head and huffs out another breath. “You’re not gay?”

“Neither are you,” Dean says. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Sam’s dubious look makes Dean think he’s said something wrong, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what it could be.

“So, you think I’m hot?” Sam says, like he doubts it.

“Of course you’re hot!” Dean snaps. “You’re my brother!”

“And you’d suck my dick,” Sam says, smirking.

Dean stares. He’s not sure if Sam’s making fun of him or flirting.

“Do you want me to suck your dick?” he says finally.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, Dean,” he breathes. “Like, since I was twelve years old.”

Dean starts, puts his hands up. “Whoa. Whoa there, cowboy. I wouldn’t have done it when you were twelve, you better believe that.”

Sam grins, dimples popping. He ducks his head, then looks up at Dean from under his brows, eyes sparkling.

“It’s a little bigger now,” he says, taking a step toward Dean.

Definitely flirting.

Dean takes a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s pressed up against the wall again and Sam’s right there, big hands cradling his head, leaning in for another kiss.

Dean closes his eyes as Sam’s mouth closes over his, hard and demanding and nothing like a girl. Dean’s hard and leaking, shaking as Sam’s hands are suddenly everywhere, as his hot tongue plunges into Dean’s mouth, possessive and claiming and everything Dean never knew he wanted.

Being manhandled by Sam is a revelation. Dean’s never had somebody just move him around so easily. When Sam slides his hands down over Dean’s ass and lifts, Dean opens his legs and wraps them around Sam’s waist without a second thought. Sam sucks Dean’s neck while grinding against him and it doesn’t take much before he’s coming in his jeans, holding on as Sam stiffens and gives a little grunt, obviously releasing his own load.

“Oh god,” Sam moans into his ear.

“Not anymore,” Dean pants as his feet slide to the floor. “Just us now.”



That was a week ago.

Now, as Sam maneuvers the Impala into the garage and kills the engine, Dean glances at his own dead body and sighs without drawing a real breath.

“You know, in the old days, if I died this way, I’d just assume it was in the cards,” he says out loud in the silence. “Other shoe dropping right on cue, just as things started looking good, you know?”

Sam jerks his head as if he can hear.

“I’m gonna fix this, Dean,” Sam says. “Just hang in there.”

Dean smiles, nodding. “I know you will, Sammy. I was just saying, it wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t. If I stayed dead, I mean. Wouldn’t be your fault, so don’t go being all guilty and sorry. It would just be the old Winchester curse, you know? Things going to hell just when they started to get good.”

Sam huffs out an angry breath. He might not be able to hear Dean’s words, but he catches his drift.

“Stop being so fatalistic, Dean,” Sam mutters as he gets out of the car. “There’s nothing ‘natural order’ about this, which is why I’m gonna fix it.”

Maybe not a response to Dean’s actual words, but close enough. Sam’s clearly sensing Dean pretty accurately.

Dean watches as Sam pulls his blanket-wrapped body out of the backseat, heaves it up over his shoulder, and carries it up the stairs into the bunker. Dean doesn’t think about how he’s doing it or where he’s standing while he watches, but as soon as Sam’s out of sight, Dean’s in the corridor ahead of him, watching as Sam carries his body into his bedroom to lay him on his bed.

“Ew, Sam,” Dean protests. “Not where we have sex, dude. Oh man, I’m gonna need a new mattress.”

Sam unrolls the blanket from around Dean’s body, so at least the blanket’s between the body and the bed. The body’s stopped bleeding, so there’s that.

Sam unties Dean’s boots and pulls them off, lining them neatly at the foot of the bed. Then he stands gazing down at the body, eyes dewy with emotion.

“What are we gonna try first, Sam? Huh?” Dean coaxes gently, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice on account of how sad Sam seems.

Sam draws in a quick breath, like he’s forgotten for a moment that Dean’s actually still here.

Dean thinks of all the times Sam’s seen Dean die. He marvels again at how strong Sam is, how resilient. Dean could barely stand to see Sam dead for two seconds before doing something stupid. Dean wouldn’t have been able to handle it right now, if their positions were reversed.

“First things first,” Sam mutters as he turns to leave the room. “Gotta find something to preserve you.”



“Dean?”

The voice startles him because it’s familiar, if long unheard. When he turns he sees them both, mother and daughter, looking just as he remembers from the day they died.

“Ellen? Jo? How are you here?”

Ellen smiles her sad, ironic smile. “Oh honey, we’ve always been here with you two, off and on.”

Dean recalls Ash telling him in Heaven that he didn’t know Ellen and Jo had died. They hadn’t shown up in Heaven. He thinks about the time Jo’s ghost nearly killed him, compelled by an Egyptian God after he lied to Sam about Amy. He recalls that weird psychic dude in Lily Dale, delivering a message from Ellen about trust.

“You’re stuck in the veil?” Dean asks, not sure whether to be relieved or horrified. “All these years?”

“Well, we’ve got each other,” Ellen assures him. “We keep each other sane.”

“But what’s holding you here? What’s tying you to Earth?”

“You,” Jo says. “At least, as well as we can figure.”

“Seems to me you could use our help,” Ellen adds. “Seeing as how you just got yourself killed. Again.”

Sam comes back with a spell bowl and a couple of candles. He shivers a little as he walks past them, but otherwise seems oblivious to the presence of two additional ghosts in the bunker hallway.

Dean watches him set up and light the candles, draw binding sigils on the headboard and footboard of the bed with chalk, then place the spell bowl on the bedside table as he recites a preservation spell.

A purple light glows from the spell bowl, rises into the air over the bed, and forms a translucent dome that seems to shimmer in the candlelight.

“He’s pretty good,” Ellen comments. “I always knew that boy was special.”

Spell completed, Sam steps back, almost into Dean. He shivers, and Dean realizes he can sense the colder air around Dean’s spectral body.

Of course he can.

“That’ll have to do,” Sam says softly. “It’ll hold for at least a couple of days, maybe more. I should be able to come up with something by then.”

“Aw, thanks for keeping my body on ice, Sammy,” Dean croons with a crooked grin. “No need to stink up the place with rotting meat.”

“Ew,” Jo complains. Dean winks at her.

“So, any idea what did this to you?” Ellen asks as Sam heads out to the library to do his research.

Dean shrugs. “Near as I can tell, it was some kind of rogue reaper,” he says. “Sam thinks it was an angel, since it had an angel blade, but it felt more like a switchblade. It told me this was revenge for Billie’s death.”

Ellen and Jo exchange glances.

“Well, if it’s a reaper, Jo and I might be able to do a little digging, figure out who its next victim is.”

Dean frowns. “You think it’s gonna kill again?”

“Reapers don’t usually kill people, Dean, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Ellen says. “So if one of them has gone all homicidal, they may leave a trail. There may be other victims here in the veil. Murdered spirits tend to stick around. Unfinished business and all that.”

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that the rogue reaper might be a serial killer, but now that he thinks about it, it makes sense.

“So maybe it thinks of itself as an avenging angel,” Dean suggests.

“Could be,” Ellen agrees. “Just give us a few hours. We’ll see what we can find out.”

When they disappear, Dean almost jumps. The thought of Jo and Ellen being in the veil for so long is disturbing enough. The thought that they’ve learned how to move around in it at will, doing whatever needed doing, is downright terrifying. Hunting is dangerous enough, but hunting from inside the veil?

Dean’s not sure what to make of that idea.

He follows the corridor to the library, tries to focus on the chair next to Sam to see if he can get it to move.

It doesn’t budge.

While Sam researches, Dean entertains himself by trying to make objects move with the sheer force of his will, but no matter how hard he concentrates, nothing happens.

When Sam literally falls asleep on the table, Dean realizes how much time has passed since he died in the warehouse. Sam must be exhausted. Not only did they clean up after killing the rugaru, Sam then had to deal with his brother’s death, carry his dead body back to the car, drive five hours home to the bunker, and do the spell to preserve his body - all before starting his research.

It must be well after midnight, and Sam hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t even showered.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean growls. “You’re no good to either of us like this.”

He closes his eyes, imagines helping Sam up, tucking under his big shoulder as he guides Sam down the hall to his bedroom. He imagines tucking Sam into bed, pulling the blanket up over him, then curling up next to him on the bed.

When he opens his eyes, Jo’s standing in the doorway.

Dean jerks awake, pulling away from his snoring little brother, and takes a minute to realize he’s in Sam’s bedroom, in Sam’s bed.

He did it.

He glances at Jo with a satisfied grin, but she’s looking away, sad or something.

Dean puts his finger to his lips as he gets up carefully and ushers Jo into the hallway through the open door.

“Did you find something?”

But Jo turns away from him, moving down the hallway so quietly it’s as if she’s floating.

“So this is where you live now?“

Dean chuckles. “It’s been a few years, Jo. Yeah, we live here now.”

When they get to the library, Jo pulls back a chair from the table, grabs a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, and sits down with a sigh.

Showoff.

“Remember that time I tried to kill you?” she asks as she pours two classes, then slides one across the table to Dean.

Dean’s hand goes right through it when he tries to pick it up. He can’t even move a fucking chair to sit down on.

“Water under the bridge, Jo,” he says with as much dignity as a ghost who can’t even drink whiskey could possibly muster. “That was a long time ago.”

Jo sighs, sips her whiskey, then places the glass down easily on the table.

So not fair.

“Well, it’s not how I wanted things left between us,” she confesses.

Dean smiles sadly. “Sometimes life just doesn’t let us have second chances. Or death, in our case, I guess.”

Jo frowns, looks up at him like he’s just said something stupid.

“That whole thing with Osiris was so idiotic,” she complains. “He never should’ve been able to control me like that.”

Dean shrugs. “You weren’t so bad,” he says. “I even told Sam I thought you seemed happy, for a dead girl.”

“Osiris used me because I could control objects,” Jo says. “I could pick up things, move things, hold things.”

She picks up the whiskey glass and takes another sip.

“I’m even better now,” she says with a touch of pride and scorn in her voice. She looks up at him over the edge of the glass. “I could teach you.”

Dean looks away with a little nervous chuckle. He’d almost forgotten how Jo could be flirtatious one minute, annoying little sister the next.

“Nah, that’s okay. I’m not staying this way for long anyway. Hey, where’s your mom, by the way?”

Changing the subject seems like a wise move.

Jo takes a breath, lets it out slowly as she sets the glass on the table, twirling it between her hands.

“She’s investigating your murder,” she says. “Checking with other hunters, looking for other victims who might still be in the veil.”

Dean frowns. “There are other hunters in the veil?”

Jo nods. “If nobody gave them a hunters’ funeral, a lot of them tend to stick around. Sometimes even the ones whose bodies are burned stick around.”

“Why?”

“When you’ve lived and died a hunter, it’s all you know,” Jo says with a shrug. “A lot of guys feel like it’s up to them to keep helping the living as long as they can. Some of them are just afraid of moving on.”

“Afraid to move on?” Dean shakes his head. “Why?”

Jo looks up, meets his eyes with that direct, accusative stare he’s seen many times before.

“If you got your loved ones killed, would you be able to face them again?”

Dean thinks about his dad, who gave his life for Dean. He thinks about his mom, who died because Dean couldn’t keep Jack in check. He thinks about Charlie. Kevin.

Hell, he still feels guilty for what happened to Jo and Ellen.

“But what about your dad?” Dean asks. “Don’t you want to see him again?”

Jo looks away, clenching her jaw. She stops twirling the glass and holds it tight so that her knuckles turn white.

“Sometimes I feel like I let him down,” she says quietly. “I didn’t turn out the way he wanted.”

“That’s not true, Jo,” Dean insists. “He’d be proud of you. I know he would.”

Jo considers this for a moment, then smiles crookedly.

“You’ve changed, Dean,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“You used to be such a jerk.” She shakes her head, pushes the glass she poured for him earlier across the table toward him.

“Drink with me,” she orders. “Just close your eyes and imagine doing it.”

Dean does as she asks, feels the glass in his hand as he lifts it to take a sip. He feels the glass against his lip, feels the whiskey burn as it slips down his throat. He sets the glass down carefully, then opens his eyes.

Jo smiles up at him, sad and rueful, like the last time he saw her, years ago.

“Now, go take care of your brother,” she directs, flickering out of sight.

She knows. She’s probably always known.



Sam’s still sleeping, but it’s already late morning, so Dean closes his eyes and imagines walking into the kitchen to cook breakfast, just like any other morning when Sam’s sleeping late because he was up researching obsessively last night. He starts the coffee, cooks eggs and toast, then walks down the hall to Sam’s room to wake him.

Sam flails and mumbles in his sleep when he feels Dean’s hands ruffling his hair, Dean’s lips on the back of his neck. When he feels Dean’s fingers tickling under his shirt, Sam wakes up with a shout.

“I’m awake! God, Dean!” Sam blinks as he comes fully awake and remembers. “Dean?”

“Time for breakfast, little brother,” Dean says, finally opening his eyes. He’s tired, bone-weary with effort.

As if he can hear, Sam sniffs, raises his eyebrows as he smells the coffee.

Dean follows him down the hall, watches Sam hover in Dean’s bedroom doorway to stare at his corpse, checking on the preservation spell.

Sam’s face clouds with sadness, and Dean can’t help putting a hand out, resting it on Sam’s back.

Sam jerks, so Dean knows he feels it. Where Sam’s concerned, Dean’s abilities to break through the veil are getting better.

“Come on, buddy,” he coaxes gently. “Let’s get some food in you before you get back to work.”



Time moves strangely now that Dean’s dead. He doesn’t sleep, except for the brief periods when he lies down next to Sam while Sam sleeps, and he wouldn’t exactly call that sleep. More like blacking out, probably from sheer boredom or exhaustion after his efforts to move objects in the living world. He doesn’t eat, although if he concentrates he can manage to lift and sip from a glass of whiskey, which gets boring after a while since he can’t get buzzed.

Being able to interact with the living world through watching over and caring for Sam seems to be Dean’s only function. He doesn’t try to leave the bunker, mainly because the thought of leaving Sam gives him a panic attack. Also, he doesn’t want to be too far away from his body should Sam suddenly discover a way to resurrect him.

Jo or Ellen drop by from time to time to update him on the progress of their investigation into rogue reapers and avenging angels. It’s slow going, since the killer angel apparently doesn’t want to be found.

“It may be that the other victims have moved on,” Ellen warns. “You could be the only one that decided to stay Earth-bound, which makes our job that much harder.”

She pats his arm reassuringly. “But don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

“That’s it!”

Sam slaps his hand on the library table, making them all jump.

“What’s what, Sam?” Dean asks.

Sam looks around wildly. “Why can’t I find what I need?” he yells into the silence of the library. His eyes are red-rimmed, his hair a dirty mess, sticking up in places from running his hands through it obsessively. His unshaven face is fast becoming a beard.

The kid definitely needs a shower.

“Okay,” Dean claps his hands, making Sam jump. “Time to get cleaned up, eat something, get out and breathe some fresh air.”

Ellen and Jo disappear discretely, and Dean imagines gathering Sam’s big body up from the table and half-pushing, half-dragging him down the hall to the bathroom.

While Sam showers, Dean checks the kitchen cupboards, finds them emptier than he’s ever seen them, which is what tells him it’s been at least a week since their last supply run.

Which means the Impala has been sitting in the garage for far too long.

When Sam goes into his room after his shower, Dean shoves the car keys across the desk, making them jingle.

“Supply run,” Dean says when Sam jumps and stares at the keys. “You need food.”

Dean sighs with relief when the Impala starts right up. He glances at the screen of Sam’s cell phone, lying on the seat between them, when it lights up with another missed call.

“Also, you need help,” Dean suggests as Sam pulls the car onto the road toward town. “I’d forgotten what a loner you could be when you’re being an obsessive bastard. Did you answer Jody’s calls? No?”

Sam frowns, like he’s thinking about what Dean said.

“I could try summoning Rowena,” he mutters. “She had the spell for reviving Eileen. Maybe she’s got something for this.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He’s never trusted Rowena, even when she proved herself an ally and threw herself into Hell for them. She and Sam were always a little too close for Dean’s comfort.

But Sam trusted her. And now that she’s the queen of Hell, she can probably do anything.

Dean follows Sam into the grocery store, makes sure he gets protein, not just vegetables.

“Tofu doesn’t qualify as protein,” Dean insists. “It’s too squishy.”

Sam rolls his eyes, so Dean knows he heard him, but he passes up the tofu in favor of boneless, skinless chicken breast and a couple of tenderloin steaks.

“How’ve you been, Sam?” the check-out lady smiles at him. She always smiles at Sam. She doesn’t like Dean, for some reason, but she always has a smile for Sam. “Everything okay at home?”

“Yeah,” Sam lies, not quite meeting her eyes. “Everything’s fine.”

She thinks Dean beats him. Every time Sam shows up with a fresh bruise or bandaged knuckles, she fusses over him like a mother-hen.

“You tell that brother of yours to stop drinking so much,” she says, clucking her tongue. “I had a husband who did that. Drank too much. Got real mean when he did that, too.”

Sam nods, clenching his jaw, and Dean can tell he’s trying to hold his emotions in check.

“Dean’s fine, Mabel,” Sam says. “We’re both fine. But thanks for asking.”

As Sam gathers his bags and heads toward the door, Dean gives Mabel a smirk that, of course, she can’t see.

“Busybody,” he mutters under his breath as he follows Sam out the door.

Sam shrugs. “She’s all right.”

“She thinks I beat you!” Dean’s indignant. He wishes he could slam the door as he gets into the car.

“So?” Sam says as he gets into the driver’s seat. “At least she doesn’t know what we really do.”

“I’m not an abusive husband,” Dean grumbles, slouching down in the seat as Sam pulls out into traffic. “At least, not anymore.”

He doesn’t mean, since I’m dead now, but he can tell Sam thinks that because his eyes fill up.

“Naw, Sammy, that’s not what I meant,” Dean rushes to assure Sam. “I meant, I’m not so angry anymore. Since we beat Chuck. Life has been better, not so fucked up all the time. Even Jo thinks I’m different.”

“Jo?” Sam frowns. “Jo’s in the veil with you?”

Dean grins. “Don’t be jealous, Sam. She’s still too young for me.”

Sam’s jaw clenches. “What’s Jo doing in the veil?”

“She and Ellen are trying to figure out what killed me,” Dean says. “They think I’m probably not its only victim. It’s likely a serial killer.”

“Huh.” Sam nods. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Dean says. “But it’s been a couple of weeks and still bupkis, so that’s not working out.”

“A couple of weeks?” Sam repeats. “Dean, you’ve only been dead three days.”

It’s not as big of a shock as it might be, finding out his sense of time is totally wacky. It’s happened before, after all. In Hell, for example.

“Oh,” he says. “No wonder the car started up so good.”

Sam shakes his head, and Dean’s reminded that for Sam, Dean being dead feels terrible, whether it’s three days or three months. Sam’s suffering. He’s terrified he won’t be able to fix things, that he won’t be able to get Dean back. He’s already thinking about how to extend the preservation spell that’s keeping Dean’s body from rotting. He’s wondering how long he can keep that going.

Dean doesn’t need to read Sam’s mind to know that’s what’s going on inside it. Sam’s getting desperate.

Summoning Rowena may be a last resort. Sam would prefer to do this alone, of course.

“Maybe this isn’t the worst possible thing that could happen, Sam,” he suggests, partly to make conversation, partly to reassure himself as well as Sam. “I mean, we’re getting better at communicating. You can hear me, not just sense me. As long as I’m with you, I can leave the bunker. When I’m there, I can do stuff like cook your meals and make sure you sleep. Hell, maybe we can even hunt like this.”

“Oh no,” Sam shakes his head vigorously. “You are not talking me into leaving you like this.”

“I mean, now that Jessica’s leaving me alone, it’s not like I’m in imminent danger here,” Dean goes on. “I can probably stay like this indefinitely.”

Sam raises a hand as if to cut him off. “Not indefinitely,” he says sharply. “I need you back. I need you to be you again.”

“Right. But I’m just saying, if you can’t find a way to make that happen, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Sam slams on the breaks, stopping the car in the middle of the little country road that leads up to the bunker. There’s never another car on this road, but it makes Dean nervous anyway.

“Sammy?”

Sam doesn’t look at him. Of course he doesn’t. He wouldn’t see him if he looked over, can probably only hear him in his head because he’s such a psychic nerd in the first place.

“Damn it, Dean!” Sam slams his hand against the steering wheel. “Stop trying to adapt to whatever situation you’re in! Let me be clear about this. You cannot stay dead. You can’t be a ghost. Not permanently. I won’t let you.”

Dean chuckles nervously. If he had a body, he’d be mightily turned on by the commanding tone in Sam’s voice, not gonna lie.

“Okay, Sam,” he agrees. “It was just a thought. Just trying to take the pressure off you trying to fix this. I’m really okay like this.”

Sam slams the flat of his hand on the dash, making Dean jump.

“Well, I’m not! You got me? I’m not okay with this.”

Dean nods, forgetting for a moment that Sam can’t see him.

“Okay.” Dean puts a reassuring hand on Sam’s thigh.

Sam’s leg jumps under his touch, so he pulls his hand away.

“I’m not getting comfortable with this, Dean,” Sam warns. “Stop trying to make me comfortable with this, damn it!”

Dean feels Sam’s willingness to let Dean tell him what to do. It’s ingrained between them. Dean has a choice: he can push the point, make Sam see how adjusting to this new normal might be best for them.

Or he can trust Sam. He can let Sam steer the boat, let Sam’s superior intelligence, his superior ability with magic and spells, his sometimes less-than-reasonable judgment, take the helm.

“I know you don’t trust Rowena,” Sam says, as if he can read Dean’s mind. “But I think she can help so I’m going to summon her. I don’t even know if she’ll come.”

Oh, she’ll come.

“But I’m going to try,” Sam finishes.

“Okay,” Dean says, mustering up as much encouragement as he can.

He doesn’t have to like it, but Sam deserves his trust, and Dean’s determined to give it to him.



When Rowena appears in Dean’s bedroom, Sam’s relief is palpable. She takes a look around, lifts an exquisitely trimmed eyebrow, and bats her eyes expectantly.

“Samuel?”

“I need your help,” Sam gushes, dimples popping as he smiles his gratitude.

Dean rolls his eyes.

Rowena sighs, glancing at the body on the bed, then back at Sam.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“There must be a resurrection spell that I’m just not finding,” Sam says. “Everything I’ve found involves black magic.”

“Well, yes,” Rowena nods. “There’s a reason for that.”

“But I don’t want Dean to be a zombie,” Sam whines. “I just want him to be himself.”

“Of course you do, dear boy,” Rowena croons. “Your problem here is that you’re not looking at this in the right way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, resurrection spells are all about returning the body to its previous state,” Rowena explains. “Usually they involve summoning the spirit that occupied the body and convincing it to return to its body.”

“Right,” Sam nods.

“Well, you’re already halfway there, aren’t you?” she says, nodding in Dean’s general direction. “And he’s already willing, isn’t he?”

Sam nods stiffly. “He was murdered,” he says. “Definitely an unnatural death.”

“Well, then.” Rowena drops a delicate finger to the spell bowl on the desk. “The spell you’re looking for isn’t a resurrection spell. It’s a reunion spell.”

Sam’s face clears as he gets her meaning. “It’s that simple,” he breathes.

Dean’s little brother is the smartest man in the room, if not the whole universe. Of course he is.

But something goes wrong with the spell. Instead of returning to his body, the room goes dim, then starts to fade. Sam and Rowena aren’t standing right in front of Dean anymore. They’re far away, down a dark corridor. Dean can barely hear their voices.

“There you are.”

Dean turns in the direction of the familiar voice.

Something that vaguely resembles the ghostly reaper he first saw in the hospital years ago in Sioux Falls hovers just a few feet away, eyes glowing as it glares at him.

“You belong in the Empty, Dean Winchester,” the thing says. “You can’t stay here!”

Dean closes his eyes and wills himself away, but when he opens them again the corridor is even darker. The thing is still hovering and glaring at him, maybe even smirking.

“Billie condemned you and your brother to the Empty years ago,” the thing hisses. “You and your angel friend may have sent her there, but I’m here to make sure you make good on Billie’s promise.”

The thing draws closer, reaching out its dripping, claw-like hands, and Dean does the only thing he can think of.

He screams.

“Sam!”

Muffled and far away, as if through a thick wall, Dean hears Sam call out for him.

“Dean!”

Dean closes his eyes and focuses on Sam’s voice, willing himself far away from the reaper-spirit, and when he opens his eyes, Sam’s right there in front of him, staring at him.

“Dean?”

“Sammy, it’s after me!” Dean blurts before everything goes dark again.

“Dean?” In his mind’s eye, Dean imagines Sam staring around desperately because he’s disappeared again. “Dean!”

Dean closes his eyes against the darkness, terrified that he’s already in the Empty, that the thing somehow transported him there. He imagines Sam and Rowena standing over his body, staring at each other in shock.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Rowena says.

She must have seen him, too, Dean decides. He’s floating, or at least it feels that way, close to the ceiling of the room. He keeps his eyes tightly shut because he can’t tell if he’s dreaming, but if he is, he really, really doesn’t want to wake up.

“Something’s after him in the veil,” Sam says.

“Which would explain why my spell didn’t work,” Rowena agrees grimly. “That thing is holding him there.”

“What do we do?”

Every instinct in Dean tells him to help Sam, to go to him, to try to communicate with him. But he has the feeling he’s holding on by a shoestring, tethered to Sam by the thinnest of threads. Making any effort to communicate again might be his final act.

“Have you tried summoning Death?” Rowena asks.

Sam shakes his head. “We’ve never really been on very good terms with Death,” he admits. “What makes you think they would help us now?”

“Well, I should think Death would want to know if one of their reapers has been killing people out of turn. Especially since the person in question is your brother.”

Sam frowns. “Why? What’s special about Dean?”

Rowena shakes her red curls as she gives him a teasing smile.

“Why, dear boy, don’t you know? The new Death is a friend of yours. Just temporarily, of course, while they get things rearranged in Heaven.”

Sam’s frown turns into a look of surprise. “Who do you mean?”

Rowena smiles slyly. “Let’s just say, praying works better than summoning, in this case.”

Sam’s jaw drops. “Cas? But we thought he was-“

“Jack fixed things,” Rowena tells him. “He couldn’t very well leave one of his dads in the Empty, now, could he?”

At that moment, Dean feels suddenly cold. Freezing. Darkness closes over his vision and his hearing fades. As he loses consciousness, it occurs to him that spending eternity in the Empty isn’t the worst thing that could happen to him. At least he won’t be aware of missing his brother. At least he won’t even know Sam’s not with him.

He won’t feel a thing.



“Dean?”

Sam’s voice cuts through the fog in his brain. Dean makes every effort to respond, but he’s too tired. His back hurts. His muscles ache. He’s hungry.

“Dean? Hey, hey, wake up. You can wake up now, Dean.”

He can feel Sam’s fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. He concentrates on opening his eyes and they flutter open for a moment before slamming shut again. In that split second he saw two people: his brother and Castiel, who looks different somehow. Younger.

“There he is,” Sam says with relief. “He’s coming back to us.”

Dean hears moaning, thinks he can hear blood pounding in his head. He hurts so much, he must be alive.

“He’ll be fine,” Castiel’s voice says. “Now, I really must get back. Jack needs me.”

“Cas,” Dean croaks out, struggling to open his eyes again.

The angel gazes at him in that inscrutable way of his, and Dean feels judged, as usual.

“I thought you were dead,” he croaks.

“Jack fixed that,” Castiel says. “Now, I’m Death. Temporarily, at least.”

“The reaper,” Dean croaks. “The one that was chasing me in the veil.”

“Taken care of,” Castiel assures him with a stiff nod.

“Wait.” Dean struggles to sit up, wincing against the aches and pains of being alive in a bruised body again. “Jo and Ellen were there. Stuck in the veil. Can you send them to Heaven? Let them reunite with Bill?”

Castiel squints, considering, and Dean has a sudden memory of the last time he saw the angel, down in the dungeon, just before he sacrificed himself to the Empty.

“I will do what I can,” Castiel assures him. He glances at Sam, who is standing beside and a little behind Dean, ready to help him if he needs it. Then he starts to turn away, barely glancing at Dean.

“Hey,” Dean calls softly, and Cas stops, turns his head, and lifts his eyes to Dean again, waiting. Long-suffering. “Thank you. For everything. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We’ve missed you,” he adds. He swallows thickly, and Dean feels his hand tremble. “You and Jack.”

Cas nods. “We’re both fine,” he says. “But we’re also extremely busy, so we would appreciate it if you don’t need me again. I know it’s not easy for you two, but try not to die. Again.”

“Deal,” Dean agrees, grinning despite himself.

Sam huffs out a relieved chuckle.

“Thanks again, Cas,” he says in his quiet, sincere voice.

Cas gives another quick nod, and Dean gets the distinct impression he’s got more to say, but he won’t. Not with Sam here.

Sam squeezes his shoulder. Sam’s got the same impression.

Cas turns away, shoulders slumped in that defeated way Dean knows so well, and disappears.



Despite Dean’s aches and pains, he lets Sam take care of him with a minimum of grumpy protests. Sam sends him off to shower, and when Dean gets back to his room, the sheets and blankets have been stripped off the bed, along with any sign that a dead body once lay there. Dean grunts and moans as he gets dressed, pulling on a t-shirt, sweatpants, and one of Sam’s hoodies because he’s just that sore.

As he pads barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen, the smell of canned chili heating on the stove makes his stomach rumble.

When he rounds the corner into the kitchen, Sam’s suddenly right there, crushing him into a hug that momentarily takes his breath away.

“Ow,” he complains, and Sam immediately releases him and steps back.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Sam shoots him a hurt look as he takes a seat at the table, carefully and painfully. There are painkillers and a tall glass of water next to his bowl of chili. Dean groans and closes his eyes when he takes a bite of the steaming food, opens them to find Sam watching him, fond and dimpled.

“Thanks for these,” he says as he downs the painkillers and water, then finishes the chili in record time. “I feel like I just went six rounds with a mack truck.”

Sam nods, lowering his eyes to his own food, which sits untouched on the table in front of him.

“I remember,” he says softly.

Dean’s memory floods with images of Sam lying on that cot in Cold Oak, of the relief he felt when he got back from making his deal to find Sam up and moving around again, however painfully.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I guess lying still for three days will do that to a guy.”

Sam nods, soulful eyes big and sad. “I’m glad you’re back.”

The urge to cry makes Dean clear his throat, suddenly desperate to lighten the mood.

“So, Castiel’s the new Death, huh? That’s weird.”

Sam nods. “He says it’s only for a couple of millennia, till things get sorted out in Heaven. A lot of reapers went rogue when Chuck came back. It’s a real mess up there.”

“Huh.” Dean’s gaze drops to Sam’s untouched bowl of chili. “What’s wrong with your food?”

“Nothing,” Sam assures him. “Just not hungry is all.”

Dean can see the circles under Sam’s eyes, can tell his brother hasn’t slept in forever. The urge to take care of Sam right the hell now makes his fingers itch.

Dean reaches across the table for Sam’s bowl. “Do you mind?”

Sam’s face softens. His eyes roll. “Knock yourself out.”

Dean’s really hungry, so he downs Sam’s bowl of food in record time, along with another glass of water.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asks when he’s done. His eyes are still soft, pleading.

“Like I could sleep for a week,” Dean admits.

“Of course.” Sam nods and looks away. “I’ll let you do that.”

He gets up to clear the dishes away and Dean grabs his arm.

“Come with me.”

The look of relief on Sam’s face makes Dean want to cry. He clears his throat as he pulls his hand away, getting up without looking at Sam.

“If you want to, I mean,” he says, a bit too gruffly. He looks up at Sam again, feeling contrite as he recalls all of Sam’s suffering. “I mean, thank you, Sammy. For fixing me. I meant to say that before, but I’m an idiot.”

Sam puts the dishes down and crowds up into Dean’s personal space, eyes locked to Dean’s with an expression Dean can’t describe. Dean thinks he’s never loved Sam more.

“You’re my idiot,” Sam murmurs, taking Dean’s face in his hands, swiping his thumbs across the delicate skin under Dean’s eyes. He gazes into Dean’s eyes for another moment before his eyes drop to Dean’s mouth. Dean’s eyes close and his lips part as Sam leans in to kiss him.

They lie down in the bed in Sam’s room, since Dean’s bed hasn’t been made. Dean’s pretty sure Sam won’t want to sleep there again for a while anyway. They lie facing each other, and Dean lets Sam touch him as much as he needs to. Dean gets it. He remembers the physical need to hold onto Sam, that first time after he was resurrected. Sam alive and in Dean’s arms had been essential, more than it was before he died.

Dean lets Sam touch his face, trace his features with gentle, questing fingers. He lets Sam lay his hand over Dean’s throat, to feel his lifeblood pulsing there. Sam’s eyes fill with tears, and when they fall Dean wipes them away tenderly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hearing his own voice tremble. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Sam says, huffing out a shaky laugh through his tears.

It wasn’t Dean’s fault for getting murdered by a homicidal rogue reaper, but he feels guilty about it anyway. Sam deserves never to suffer like that, ever again. Dean would do anything to take it back, to take these last three or four days so that Sam never had to experience another hour of grief or loss.

But he can’t, so he gives everything he can to Sam in an effort to make it up to his brother. He lets Sam undress him, touch him and kiss him and fuck into him while Dean wraps his arms and legs around Sam and holds him. He comes untouched on Sam’s dick a moment before Sam stiffens and releases his own load, rubs Sam’s back as he rocks through the aftershocks. He lets Sam cry quietly into the crook of his neck afterward, leaving sloppy kisses, whispering “I love you so much.”

When they’re lying side by side again and Sam’s still gazing at him the way he does when he’s just got Dean back after losing him, Sam says, “Don’t do that again.”

And Dean knows he shouldn’t promise not to die again, since they’re hunters and they put themselves in danger every day and the possibility of dying is very real, he nods.

“Promise.”

After all, there’s always a chance they’ll make it to old age together, right? Die together in their sleep someday?

Right now, Dean figures he’ll take that little tiny bit of possibility, just to make Sam happy.

Sam definitely deserves to be happy.

fin