Even Better Than the Real Thing - PART TWO
Later, thinking back on that conversation with Charlie, Sam’s overwhelmed by grief. It’s too much. The thought of losing Dean - again - just won’t go away. It’s irrational, in the past, but talking to Charlie has brought it all to the forefront of Sam’s mind again.
That night, he dreams about Dean dying in his arms. It’s the same nightmare from the first night after he hit his head, but more vivid. He can smell the blood, feel Dean’s body in his arms as the life slips out of him.
Over the next few days, Sam has more nightmares.
He sees himself and Dean fighting vampires in a barn. He sees Dean getting stabbed in the back, standing up against a post. He sees himself burning Dean’s body, grieving afterward in the bunker.
Then flashes of memory begin to hit Sam during his waking hours, like his old hallucinations, back in the days before Lucifer and the Cage.
The nightmares are easy to forget, but not the hallucinations. They’re too vivid. Too obviously memories, like he had long ago in that crazy Zachariah illusion where he was an information technology worker and Dean was a manager.
One day, it hits him. The hallucinations aren’t just waking nightmares. Sam’s got lots of experience with hallucinations, and these are different. They’re glimpses of reality. His reality. He ought to know. Of all people, Sam knows the difference between fiction and reality. He’s had to learn the hard way.
Once he faces the very real possibility that he’s living in an alternative reality, Sam does what he needs to do, what he’s always done. He works the problem.
Outwardly, he lives his life. Dean doesn’t need to know until Sam’s sure, so he keeps doing what they do. Sam goes to the library every day, completes his shift. Dean works full-time, so by the natural division of labor, Sam does the grocery shopping, makes lunch for both of them, preps their dinner. They trade off fixing breakfast, always early, always after Sam gets back from his morning run. Sam does laundry because he’s home more.
In his free time, Sam researches the case they were on in Ohio. The one featuring the monsters that Dean called “Vamp-Mimes.” He finds online newspaper reports of kidnappings, all kids between the ages of 5 and 10. Parents either drained of blood or with their tongues cut out, back in 1986. Then he finds the police report on the case near Akron just two years ago. Two boys kidnapped, their father killed and drained of blood, mother with her tongue cut out.
The next night, a barn full of beheaded bodies. Kidnapped boys dropped off anonymously at the local police station.
That morning, Agent Robert Singer checked into the local hospital with a serious leg injury. Sam finds a record of the insurance claim for surgeries, rehabilitation, physical therapy, all two years ago, just like Dean said.
Then Sam has a flash memory/waking vision of answering Dean’s other other cell, talking to a sheriff down in Austin, Texas who asked for Agent Bon Jovi. In that memory, Sam’s grief-stricken, sure that Dean’s dead. He remembers closing down the bunker, packing his duffel for the last time, packing himself and Miracle into the Impala for the drive to Austin.
He calls Donna Hanscom, who has no memory of recommending Dean’s help to a sheriff in Austin.
But of course, she wouldn’t, would she? In this reality, none of that happened.
And as Sam sits back, looking down at the phone in his hand, it hits him.
None of this idyllic domestic life is real. Dean didn’t retire, he’s dead.
Sam remembers now.
//**//**//
Now that he’s sure, Sam doesn’t waste time letting Dean know. When Dean gets home from work that day, Sam’s waiting for him in the bedroom, heading him off before he goes into the bathroom for his nightly shower to wash off all the grease and sweat from work.
“We need to talk.”
“I can’t stay here.” Sam says the words like the thought of leaving isn’t killing him, even though it is.
Dean frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“This isn’t real,” Sam says, shaking his head. “It can’t be real.”
Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know where you’re coming from on this, man,” he says. “Is this - are you having hallucinations again?”
“No, no, no.” Sam takes a breath, tries again. “This is more like - you remember that time you got caught by a djinn? You ended up in a world where Mom never died?”
Dean blinks. “Yeah, of course I remember.”
“And you could tell it wasn’t real, right?”
“Yeah.” Dean nods. “You and I weren’t even close there. It wasn’t a place I wanted to stay because I needed you. The real you.”
“Right.” Sam smiles ruefully. “This is like that, for me. Only it’s worse.”
“How is it worse?” Dean demands. “How could anything be worse than us not - us?”
Sam says nothing, but Dean reads the look on his face and understands anyway.
“Wait. You’re not saying - Are you saying I’m dead in your ‘real’ world?” He air-quotes the word, since he still doesn’t believe it.
“On a hunt, with your boots on, standing up against a post,” Sam confirms. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “You made me promise to keep fighting. Keep living.”
“Of course I did!”
He paces away from Sam, swiping a hand over his face, obviously angry and confused.
“If anything ever happened to me, I would want you to get a normal life, get married and have kids, grow old,” Dean says.
Sam nods. “I know. But this world.” Sam waves a hand. “This is what I would’ve wished for if you hadn’t died. This is the life I would’ve chosen. That’s how I know it can’t be real.”
“Because you think I’d never retire,” Dean concludes. “You think I’d rather die with my boots on.”
Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you?”
Dean huffs out a breath. “Not necessarily!”
“How can you say that?” Sam insists. “You’re a hunter, through and through. It’s so much a part of your identity, it’s practically ingrained since birth.”
Dean stops pacing, gestures broadly. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Yeah.” Sam nods. “How did that happen again?”
Dean frowns, clearly frustrated that Sam doesn’t remember this part.
“I got pretty banged up on a vampire hunt in Ohio,” he says. “Spent several weeks in the hospital. Afterwards, it was obvious I’d be useless at hunting. A liability. My gimp leg wouldn’t let me run. When you suggested this,” he gestures around them, “I agreed. Seemed like the best plan.”
“And us?” Sam says softly, gesturing between them. “How did that start?”
Dean smiles fondly, staring off into the distance as he retrieves the memory.
“A few weeks after we moved here, you kissed me,” he says. “Said you’d always wanted to do it.”
“I had.” Sam takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “But I never told you. You died not knowing how I felt.”
Dean sits down on the edge of the bed, and Sam can see the moment he starts to believe what Sam’s telling him.
“So you got hit by a djinn on a hunt,” he notes grimly. “Do you remember anything about it?”
Sam shakes his head. “I don’t even remember the hunt,” he says. “I got a phone call from a sheriff down in Austin with what sounded like a werewolf thing - hearts ripped out - so I left the bunker for the last time, headed to Austin. I don’t even remember getting there. Obviously, it wasn’t a werewolf. Or maybe I took care of the werewolf, then got jumped by a djinn. I just don’t remember.”
Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s how it was for me. When I started to put it together, that’s when I remembered.”
Sam takes another shaky breath. “So I guess we should drive to Austin,” he suggests unhappily.
He feels Dean’s eyes on him, speculating.
“Or we could stay here,” Dean says when Sam finally looks up. He’s got his best big-brother face on, the one Sam needs right now. “Wait it out. You know what happens at the end.”
Sam’s eyes smart. “I know,” he says, blinking. “The djinn drains me and I die.”
“And we end up in Heaven together,” Dean reminds him. “You know Jack would make sure of that, even if we weren’t soulmates, or whatever.”
Sam frowns, fighting back tears. He shakes his head and looks away for a moment, before turning his gaze back to Dean.
“I can’t stay with you,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “You’re not real. Staying with you would be cheating. It’d be letting Dean down. My Dean.”
Dean frowns. His eyes flash as he smirks.
“Your brother sounds like a dick,” he observes.
“No, no, he’s just protective,” Sam insists. “Overprotective, maybe. He wants what’s best for me. He thinks I should live a long, normal life without him. He thinks I’m strong enough to carry on without him. Always keep fighting, do it for him.”
Dean shakes his head. “Still sounds like a dick,” he says. “He should think more about how you feel.”
“What do you mean?”
Dean shrugs, gets to his feet to pace again. “He left you, didn’t he? Died and left you behind to fend for yourself?”
“He just wants me to have a normal life,” Sam protests, defensive on his brother’s behalf now that this other Dean is challenging his motives. “He’s always wanted that for me. He didn’t deliberately get himself killed. He died doing what he did best. We went into that last hunt knowing the risks, just like always.”
“And if you had been killed instead?” Dean presses. “Do you think he could’ve gone on without you? Don’t you think he would’ve tried to bring you back, despite his promise to you? Because I know I would. If you died, Sam, I would do anything to get you back. Or die trying. If you were dead, I wouldn’t be far behind, whether it was driving recklessly or hunting without backup or just drinking myself to death in the back of a pool hall somewhere. I would do everything in my power to get back to you.”
Sam sighs. They’re going in circles. It occurs to him that he might’ve gone into the hunt for the djinn with a death wish or, if not, he probably wasn’t in the best of shape. Grieving and desperate, not sleeping or eating. Reckless, as Dean says. Easy pickings.
Dean would be so disappointed.
“We’re only human, Sammy,” Dean reminds him gently. “We love each other too much, maybe, but that’s just the way we’re made. Neither of us deserves to suffer alone, especially after everything we’ve been through.”
“I can’t stay with you,” Sam says again, morbidly determined, despite every instinct in his body, against every fiber of his being. He puts his hands on his waist to keep from reaching out for Dean.
Dean gazes at him for a long moment, then nods.
“Okay,” he says. “Then I’m coming with you. At least let me help you find that djinn, if that’s what you’re set on doing. Let me have your back so you don’t get hurt. Worse than you already are, that is.”
Sam brushes the back of his hand over his eyes, sudden grief washing over him now that he’s made his decision.
In the real world, Dean’s dead, and now this Dean is going to help Sam get back to that world.
If he thinks about it too much, Sam knows he’ll give up, just stay here where he has the love of this Dean in every way he’s always wanted.
“Okay,” Sam says, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Thanks. We should get going.”
Before Sam changes his mind. Before he gives in to the temptation to just live out his life here, with this Dean.
Before he lets his brother down and ruins everything.
//**//**//
As they pack for the trip, one thing leads to another, and they end up in bed. Sam cries as Dean kisses him, undresses him, and spreads him out on the bed. Their bed.
Dean fucks him slow and sweet, kissing him the whole time, gazing into his eyes with so much love Sam can barely stand it.
Afterward, they lie side by side on the bed, fingers tangled together, staring at each other in the evening gloom. Sam wants to memorize every line and freckle, wants to remember how it felt to be touched the way this Dean touches him, the way Sam’s always wanted.
“And what about you?” he asks finally, even though he knows the answer. “Where will you go, if I get back home?”
“You said it yourself, Sam,” Dean says. “I’m not real, remember? I’m just a figment of your imagination. Not even one of Chuck’s alternate versions of your brother. I don’t exist, outside of your mind.”
Sam reaches across the bed, brushes his knuckles over Dean’s cheekbone, lets his thumb slide over Dean’s plush lips.
“That’s why you’re so sensitive,” he muses. “So self-aware. If I had to dream up a version of my brother who would love me the way I wanted to be loved, it would be you. It is you.”
Dean pulls away, scoffing lightly, cheeks and chest reddening with embarrassment.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he says as he starts to climb out of the bed.
Sam reaches out, grabs his bicep, suddenly desperate to draw out the moment, to not let it end.
“Stay,” he pleads as Dean stares at Sam’s hand on his arm for a moment before raising wide green eyes to Sam’s face. “Please stay with me. Just a little longer.”
“Sure, Sammy. Whatever you need.”
//**//**//
As they pull up to the darkened warehouse, the scene triggers Sam’s memories, just as he had suspected it would. When he was here the last time, he was alone, and now he’s grateful for Dean’s company, even if he’s not real.
Sam never should’ve been here alone in the first place. Going after a djinn alone is stupid. Reckless. After the werewolf hunt in Austin, Sam should’ve left hunting once and for all.
That’d been the plan, at the time.
He planned to drive North, toward Sioux Falls, checking real estate listings along the way, looking for a place to settle down. Searching for the home he and Dean might have retired to, if Dean hadn’t died.
Blue Earth would’ve been the perfect place to settle down and live out his life. Maybe he’d meet someone, eventually. Maybe they’d get married, have a kid. Maybe Sam would end up a grandfather, one day.
He’d never stop grieving, never stop missing Dean. But it would get easier, eventually. And he would have the knowledge that someday he’d see Dean again. That knowledge, that faith, would be enough to sustain him through his final forty years in the desert.
The djinn isn’t there. There’s nothing to indicate it ever was. As Sam pulls out the silver blade dipped in lamb’s blood he means to stab himself with, Dean reaches for it on instinct.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, voice choked. “Sammy, please don’t.”
“It’s the only way, remember? This is how you woke yourself up.”
“But I’m not there,” Dean reminds him. “I’m dead. I’m not there to cut you down, help you survive, like you did for me. You’ll die anyway.”
Sam’s jaw clenches. “Well, then at least I’ll die knowing it’s real,” he growls stubbornly.
“No, Sammy, please don’t,” Dean chokes out. Tears fill his big green eyes. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Sam grits out. “You have to understand, Dean. This is what I need to do to make this right. You of all people should understand that.”
“I do,” Dean agrees. “But it’s different. When this happened to me, I was just trying to get back to you. The real you. But there’s no real me back there, Sam. The only me is right here, and I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself, damn it. It just ain’t in me!”
Sam shakes his head. “If I don’t do this, I’d be letting you down. The real you would understand that.”
“I do.” Dean nods. “I do, Sammy. I do understand. I just love you so damn much.”
Tears flow freely down his freckled cheeks, and Sam has to look away.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know you do.”
He does it fast, knowing it’s the only way. Dean barely has time to react, shock and horror and deep, miserable grief stark on his handsome face.
It’s painful, just like the real thing. The pain blinds him, makes everything go dark. For a moment, Sam swears he’s hanging by his wrists, a needle in his neck, sucking his life force away. He’s dying. There’s wetness in his boxers because he’s peed himself. His body is giving up.
It’s very dark. He feels himself gasping for breath but he can’t wake up. Djinn-Dean was right. He’s not here to help, so Sam’s just sinking back into his own imagination, the dream world he created in his own mind, based on a wish that Dean was alive and well and in love with him, that they were retired from hunting and living out their lives together.
It’s cold. He can’t feel his fingers and toes. It’ll be over soon. Sam’s life is ending right here, right now. He can feel it.
Dean will be so disappointed.
Then, unbelievably, he hears Dean’s voice.
“Sammy? Sam! Wake up!”
Dimly, as if from far away, Sam feels something tugging on the ropes binding his wrists. Then he feels Dean’s familiar hands cupping his face, shaking him as he mutters in a distressed voice Sam knows too well.
“Yeah, okay, I got you. You’re gonna be fine, little brother, just fine.”
Dean’s hands are everywhere, on his chest, his neck, pulling the needle free, reaching up to tug on and slice through the ropes with a knife, and Sam feels the moment they give way. He stumbles into Dean’s arms, weak as a kitten, numb with blood loss and whatever poison the djinn injected into his veins, sore everywhere.
Through blurred vision, Sam sees the body of the djinn on the floor, knows instinctively that Dean dispatched the creature before rescuing Sam.
Sam’s rescued. He’s not dead.
But Dean.
“Dean?” Through cracked lips, Sam’s voice sounds hoarse, whisper-weak, broken.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean says, relief in his tone. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“But you’re.” Sam can’t say the word. Doesn’t want to.
Dean’s so clearly alive, his strong, warm arms holding Sam up as he takes the ropes off his wrists and checks his vitals.
“Yeah, I’m alive,” Dean says. “Couldn’t let you kill yourself now, could I? You’re supposed to be living your life, Sammy, not dying a week after me on some djinn hunt.”
“I burned your body,” Sam croaks. He’s crying, warm, wet tears that don’t stop now that they’ve started.
“Yeah, well, Jack can do anything, can’t he? Put me back in my body? No problem. Let me go back to Earth to save you? That’s a no-brainer, for both of us.”
Sam reaches up, his fingers still so numb he can’t even feel it when he touches Dean’s face.
“Will you stay?” he pleads. “Will Jack let you stay with me?”
“I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?” Dean frowns. “Can’t let you hunt alone, now, can I? You obviously need backup.”
He hauls Sam to his feet, pulling one of Sam’s arms across his shoulders, and half-carries him out of the warehouse. The Impala is right where Sam left it, sitting in the dark ally in the rain, waiting for them.
Dean folds Sam into the passenger seat, hands him a bottle of water.
Dean glances into the back seat. “I guess you left Miracle at Doggy Daycare.”
Sam shakes his head. “Died of a broken heart, second night on the road. Found him on the floor of the bathroom at the motel. Vet says that happens sometimes. He missed you too much. And he was old.”
Dean says nothing, just clenches his jaw and nods. When he gets into the driver’s seat next to Sam, he rests his hands on the wheel, clutching reflexively.
“I’m not hunting anymore,” Sam mutters. “Not after this. I’m done. Out. Time for other hunters to take over.”
Dean still says nothing. He slides the keys into the ignition. The Impala roars to life as if she hadn’t been sitting for too long without being driven.
Sam half-turns to Dean, almost reaches for him before he remembers. This isn’t that Dean. He can’t just touch him whenever he wants to.
“I mean it, Dean. We’re done. Say it.”
Dean lets out a scoffing laugh. “Sam, you’re delusional. Let’s get you cleaned up, feed you, take a fuckin’ shower, for god’s sake.”
Sam shakes his head sharply. “I’m not delusional. I’ve had enough. I won’t watch you die again. Dean, I burned your body.”
Dean keeps his eyes on the windshield, jaw clenched. “Yeah. You said.”
“Do you have any idea what that was like?”
Dean sucks in a breath, backs the car up with his arm across the seat behind Sam, not touching. “Yeah, Sam. I got some idea. I’ve watched you die a few times, remember?”
“Then let’s just put it down,” Sam says. “Let’s call it a day. We don’t need to put ourselves at risk anymore.”
Dean scoffs. “We put ourselves at risk just crossing the street.”
“You know what I mean.” He’d forgotten how frustrating real-Dean could be.
Feeling dirty, dejected, and forlorn, Sam watches the road, dark and wet, as it disappears under the Impala’s front tires. He stares at the windshield as the wipers flap rhythmically, wonders where Dean’s taking them. Home to the bunker? Does he not know that Sam doesn’t live there anymore?
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Stop sulking, Sam,” Dean admonishes.
“I’m not sulking,” Sam insists. “I’m thinking.”
“Oh, that’s never good,” Dean teases. “Hey. You wanna tell me what happened in there? What your ‘wish’ was?”
Sam shudders, keeping his eyes on the road. “No.”
Dean shrugs. “Suit yourself. But if you ever need to get anything off your chest, I’m all ears.”
“You said it yourself when it happened to you: it was just a wish,” Sam reminds him. “You never died, you and me retired to a little town near Blue Earth, took jobs there, lived normal. Just a wish.”
“We went civilian, huh?” Dean smirks. “That big brain of yours must’ve sniffed out the lie pretty quick.”
Sam stiffens. “It took a few weeks, actually. Almost a month.” He takes a deep breath. “It was nice.”
He feels Dean glancing at him, speculating, but Sam doesn’t look back. The dream world is all too fresh, Dean’s death too painful. Sam needs a shower and a little privacy stat.
“Sorry to take you out of your little fantasy world,” Dean grumbles, and now Sam does look at him.
“Are you jealous?” Wonders never cease.
“Of what? Of you playing house with dream-me? Why would I be jealous? Anyway, dream-me was probably a jackass.”
“No, he wasn’t, actually,” Sam says. “He had me completely fooled at first.”
“Oh, because you could easily believe that I would retire, just like that.”
Dean’s sarcasm hangs between them, an obvious challenge.
“You were injured on a hunt,” Sam says. “Same one you died on, actually. Instead of getting impaled by rebar, you got leg-mangled by that vampire before I killed him. Permanent injury.”
“Huh.” Dean’s quiet for the next few moments as the lights of a filling station and truck stop come into view. The Impala slows down as they approach. A motel appears just beyond the filling station. There’s a diner next to it.
Dean pulls into the parking lot of the motel, turns off the engine.
“Wait here.”
Sam sips his water as Dean goes into the motel office to get a room. He wonders vaguely how Dean managed to have a wallet on him, much less a set of keys to the Impala, but then waves that thought away because Dean’s just back from Heaven. Anything is possible.
Dean returns, room key in hand, and opens the passenger-side door, reaching in to help Sam get up and into the room.
Sam bats his hands away, struggles to unfold himself from the seat, admits defeat and lets Dean help him. He’s trembling from exhaustion and shock, stiff and achy all over. He can barely feel his feet as he stumbles toward the motel door, leaning heavily against Dean the entire way.
Inside, Sam collapses on the bed furthest from the door, lets Dean pull his boots off, sits up when Dean pulls him up, lets Dean undress him from the waist up so he can check him over for injuries. Sam half-expects him to find a gaping wound from the knife dipped in lamb’s blood, the one he killed himself with in the djinn dream.
Dean’s horrified, grief-stricken face flashes in front of Sam. Guilt slams into him llike a wall.
Dean’s hands are warm and calloused and so familiar Sam starts crying again, silent and pathetic, dehydrated, sick with relief that Dean’s alive.
When Dean starts working on his belt, pushes him down on his back so he can pull his jeans off, Sam bats his hands away and does it himself, wincing as his soiled boxers pull uncomfortably on his pubes.
Dean’s efficient and practical, doesn’t even glance at Sam’s crotch as he inspects his bare legs for breaks or injuries. When he pulls Sam to his feet again, Sam comes willingly, lets Dean lead him into the bathroom, sits patiently on the toilet seat as Dean runs a warm shower for him, getting the water just right before leaving him to it.
“You good?”
Sam nods sharply, pulling himself up with the help of the sink counter, keeping his eyes down until Dean leaves the room.
Alone at last, Sam pushes his boxers down, steps naked and shaking into the shower, grabs the bar of soap on the shower shelf, and begins to scrub away the past few days. Grime, piss, blood, sweat, tears, snot, and dirt wash away down the drain at his feet. The rinse water turns almost black as he washes his hair. He stays in the shower until the water at his feet flows clear, until every last speck of dirt has washed away, every physical reminder of his time in that beloved dream world.
Despite his joy at having Dean back, Sam’s got no illusions about his ability to convince Dean to retire. Hunting is Dean’s life. He might be talked into semi-retirement if he were seriously injured, but Sam always doubted even that possibility. That skepticism was what led Sam to figure out the truth in the dream world. As long as there’s one evil thing left on Earth, Dean will never retire. The best that Sam can hope for is that the next time one of them dies, the other one goes, too.
When he steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, the room is empty. The note on Dean’s bed says, “Gone to get food.”
Sam flips on the TV as he pulls a t-shirt, sweatpants, and clean boxers out of his duffel, grateful to Dean for bringing it in from the trunk.
The TV tells him it’s been over three days since he walked into the abandoned warehouse where he got djinned.
His dirty clothes are missing. Dean must have bagged them up to trash or burn. There’s no way Sam would ever wear them again.
Dean brings him a smoothie.
“It’s been at least three days since you ate, Sam,” he says. “Better start slow.”
Dean sets down a bag containing his signature bacon cheeseburger and fries on the room’s little kitchenette table, sits down to dig in.
Sam tries not to stare at Dean as he sucks carefully on his straw. The smoothie has too much sugar, of course, and it makes Sam’s stomach cramp, but he’s grateful.
“Spit it out, Sam,” Dean orders as he finishes his food, wipes his mouth and hands.
Sam jumps, struggles to keep his face neutral.
“Spit what out?”
“Don’t give me that,” Dean says. “Something happened in there, in that fantasy world, that’s got you questioning everything about your real life, and I wanna know what it is.”
Sam ducks his head, takes a sip of his smoothie.
“No, you don’t,” he protests feebly.
“Yeah, Sam, I do. Is it the retirement thing? ‘Cause you gotta understand, Sammy, it’s not some macho trip for me. It’s not just who I am and what I do.”
Sam nods. “I know.”
“So what, then?” Dean presses. “What’s got you so worked up, huh? Hell, anybody’d think you’re unhappy to see me.”
“No!” Sam insists. “That’s not it. I’m grateful Jack let you come back. I am. Obviously. You being not-dead was my greatest wish.”
“Sam, I can tell when you’re sad,” Dean says. “You’re acting like somebody whose dog just died, but I know you’re not grieving for Miracle, since he was my dog.”
“Dean, about that.” Sam’s relieved to change the subject. “The vet said Miracle was just old. It was a peaceful death, he said.”
Dean stares at him, a little frown deepening the crease between his eyes, and Sam can see he won’t let this go until he figures it out.
Then Dean gives his head a little shake and looks away. “Whatever.”
Sam finishes his smoothie while Dean cleans up, clearly frustrated that Sam’s not talking, but unwilling to push it.
Sam feigns exhaustion, crawling under the covers without brushing his teeth, just to show Dean how tired he is, and Dean relents because it’s in his DNA to take care of his suffering little brother.
He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
He wakes up in the dark, confused for a moment until he feels the ache in his belly. He’s hungry.
“Sammy?”
For a moment, Sam wonders what Dean’s doing in the other bed. Why isn’t he sleeping right here beside him?
Then he remembers.
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’m awake. Hungry.”
“You want me to get you something?”
He sounds so solicitous, Sam almost wonders again if he hasn’t somehow slipped back into the dream world, the one where Dean was like this. Caring. Loving. Honest about his feelings.
“Nah, I can wait for breakfast,” Sam answers.
Dean’s not done, Sam can tell. In the dark, he’s been thinking. He’s got something to say.
“I can’t lose you, Sam.” Dean says it so quietly, Sam almost doesn’t hear him.
“You won’t lose me,” Sam assures him. “Ever.”
Sam hears the sheets on Dean’s bed rustle as he turns over, onto his back.
“If I stop hunting, you might leave,” Dean says.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam assures him. “You should know that by now.”
Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He’s really trying.
“It’s about not letting you down,” Dean says finally. His voice sounds strained. Sleep-hoarse.
“Me?” Sam squeaks. “You’re worried about letting me down if you retire? How could that possibly let me down?”
“You said it yourself. You always looked up to me. I’m supposed to take care of you. Protect you. How can I do that if I’m not hunting?”
Sam’s flummoxed. In the dark, after some hours of serious thinking, Dean’s being completely honest and open with him. Vulnerable.
Sam takes a breath. “Dean, I will always look up to you, but you don’t need to take care of me anymore. I’m not a child. And after everything we’ve been through, I don’t need you to protect me, either. I just need you to be my brother. My partner. My best friend.”
Dean’s silent for a moment, and Sam imagines him staring at the ceiling, frowning.
“I don’t know how to do that without hunting,” he admits.
“Yes, you do,” Sam promises. “You’ve always wanted a normal life, and you deserve that. You deserve a chance to settle down, to not live in fear, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You deserve a home. A family who loves you.”
“I got you for that,” Dean reminds him. “You’re my home. You’re my family.”
“Right,” Sam nods. “And I always will be. But you don’t have to prove anything to me, Dean. I’ll love you just as much if you’re working in a garage, or a salvage yard. You don’t always have to be the big hero.”
Sam waits with bated breath as his words sink in.
“You’ll always be my hero,” Sam finishes.
Lame, he thinks, but he doesn’t care. It’s true.
“What about you?” Dean asks. “Don’t you want a normal life? A wife? Kids? I sorta figured, with me out of the picture, you could have those things, finally.”
Sam shakes his head, although in the dark Dean can’t see him.
“None of those things matter, if I don’t have you,” Sam says, willing Dean to believe him.
Sam lies still in the dark, waiting, but Dean doesn’t answer right away, so Sam closes his eyes, starts to drift off again.
“Not going anywhere,” Dean promises softly. “Not leaving you.”
Sam sighs. This won’t be easy, but he thinks he might have made some headway.
He may never get Dean to retire. He may never have the kind of relationship that he had with Dean in his dream. But having him here, safe and alive again, is enough.
In fact, it’s so good it makes Sam suspicious.
What if this is just another version of his djinn-induced fantasy? What if, sensing that the first fantasy was too good to be true, the djinn altered it, just a little, to make it less perfect, more fucked-up, so as to be more believable.
Sam decides he doesn’t care. Either way, he’s got his brother back. If he’s still dying in that warehouse, it won’t be long now till he reunites with Dean in Heaven. And if it’s true, and this really is Dean returned from Heaven, well.
Sam will accept this Dean, with all his flaws and his inability to love Sam the way Sam wants, and he’ll be grateful.
As sleep takes him under again, Sam sends out a prayer.
“Thanks, Jack.”
fin
That night, he dreams about Dean dying in his arms. It’s the same nightmare from the first night after he hit his head, but more vivid. He can smell the blood, feel Dean’s body in his arms as the life slips out of him.
Over the next few days, Sam has more nightmares.
He sees himself and Dean fighting vampires in a barn. He sees Dean getting stabbed in the back, standing up against a post. He sees himself burning Dean’s body, grieving afterward in the bunker.
Then flashes of memory begin to hit Sam during his waking hours, like his old hallucinations, back in the days before Lucifer and the Cage.
The nightmares are easy to forget, but not the hallucinations. They’re too vivid. Too obviously memories, like he had long ago in that crazy Zachariah illusion where he was an information technology worker and Dean was a manager.
One day, it hits him. The hallucinations aren’t just waking nightmares. Sam’s got lots of experience with hallucinations, and these are different. They’re glimpses of reality. His reality. He ought to know. Of all people, Sam knows the difference between fiction and reality. He’s had to learn the hard way.
Once he faces the very real possibility that he’s living in an alternative reality, Sam does what he needs to do, what he’s always done. He works the problem.
Outwardly, he lives his life. Dean doesn’t need to know until Sam’s sure, so he keeps doing what they do. Sam goes to the library every day, completes his shift. Dean works full-time, so by the natural division of labor, Sam does the grocery shopping, makes lunch for both of them, preps their dinner. They trade off fixing breakfast, always early, always after Sam gets back from his morning run. Sam does laundry because he’s home more.
In his free time, Sam researches the case they were on in Ohio. The one featuring the monsters that Dean called “Vamp-Mimes.” He finds online newspaper reports of kidnappings, all kids between the ages of 5 and 10. Parents either drained of blood or with their tongues cut out, back in 1986. Then he finds the police report on the case near Akron just two years ago. Two boys kidnapped, their father killed and drained of blood, mother with her tongue cut out.
The next night, a barn full of beheaded bodies. Kidnapped boys dropped off anonymously at the local police station.
That morning, Agent Robert Singer checked into the local hospital with a serious leg injury. Sam finds a record of the insurance claim for surgeries, rehabilitation, physical therapy, all two years ago, just like Dean said.
Then Sam has a flash memory/waking vision of answering Dean’s other other cell, talking to a sheriff down in Austin, Texas who asked for Agent Bon Jovi. In that memory, Sam’s grief-stricken, sure that Dean’s dead. He remembers closing down the bunker, packing his duffel for the last time, packing himself and Miracle into the Impala for the drive to Austin.
He calls Donna Hanscom, who has no memory of recommending Dean’s help to a sheriff in Austin.
But of course, she wouldn’t, would she? In this reality, none of that happened.
And as Sam sits back, looking down at the phone in his hand, it hits him.
None of this idyllic domestic life is real. Dean didn’t retire, he’s dead.
Sam remembers now.
//**//**//
Now that he’s sure, Sam doesn’t waste time letting Dean know. When Dean gets home from work that day, Sam’s waiting for him in the bedroom, heading him off before he goes into the bathroom for his nightly shower to wash off all the grease and sweat from work.
“We need to talk.”
“I can’t stay here.” Sam says the words like the thought of leaving isn’t killing him, even though it is.
Dean frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“This isn’t real,” Sam says, shaking his head. “It can’t be real.”
Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know where you’re coming from on this, man,” he says. “Is this - are you having hallucinations again?”
“No, no, no.” Sam takes a breath, tries again. “This is more like - you remember that time you got caught by a djinn? You ended up in a world where Mom never died?”
Dean blinks. “Yeah, of course I remember.”
“And you could tell it wasn’t real, right?”
“Yeah.” Dean nods. “You and I weren’t even close there. It wasn’t a place I wanted to stay because I needed you. The real you.”
“Right.” Sam smiles ruefully. “This is like that, for me. Only it’s worse.”
“How is it worse?” Dean demands. “How could anything be worse than us not - us?”
Sam says nothing, but Dean reads the look on his face and understands anyway.
“Wait. You’re not saying - Are you saying I’m dead in your ‘real’ world?” He air-quotes the word, since he still doesn’t believe it.
“On a hunt, with your boots on, standing up against a post,” Sam confirms. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “You made me promise to keep fighting. Keep living.”
“Of course I did!”
He paces away from Sam, swiping a hand over his face, obviously angry and confused.
“If anything ever happened to me, I would want you to get a normal life, get married and have kids, grow old,” Dean says.
Sam nods. “I know. But this world.” Sam waves a hand. “This is what I would’ve wished for if you hadn’t died. This is the life I would’ve chosen. That’s how I know it can’t be real.”
“Because you think I’d never retire,” Dean concludes. “You think I’d rather die with my boots on.”
Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you?”
Dean huffs out a breath. “Not necessarily!”
“How can you say that?” Sam insists. “You’re a hunter, through and through. It’s so much a part of your identity, it’s practically ingrained since birth.”
Dean stops pacing, gestures broadly. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Yeah.” Sam nods. “How did that happen again?”
Dean frowns, clearly frustrated that Sam doesn’t remember this part.
“I got pretty banged up on a vampire hunt in Ohio,” he says. “Spent several weeks in the hospital. Afterwards, it was obvious I’d be useless at hunting. A liability. My gimp leg wouldn’t let me run. When you suggested this,” he gestures around them, “I agreed. Seemed like the best plan.”
“And us?” Sam says softly, gesturing between them. “How did that start?”
Dean smiles fondly, staring off into the distance as he retrieves the memory.
“A few weeks after we moved here, you kissed me,” he says. “Said you’d always wanted to do it.”
“I had.” Sam takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “But I never told you. You died not knowing how I felt.”
Dean sits down on the edge of the bed, and Sam can see the moment he starts to believe what Sam’s telling him.
“So you got hit by a djinn on a hunt,” he notes grimly. “Do you remember anything about it?”
Sam shakes his head. “I don’t even remember the hunt,” he says. “I got a phone call from a sheriff down in Austin with what sounded like a werewolf thing - hearts ripped out - so I left the bunker for the last time, headed to Austin. I don’t even remember getting there. Obviously, it wasn’t a werewolf. Or maybe I took care of the werewolf, then got jumped by a djinn. I just don’t remember.”
Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s how it was for me. When I started to put it together, that’s when I remembered.”
Sam takes another shaky breath. “So I guess we should drive to Austin,” he suggests unhappily.
He feels Dean’s eyes on him, speculating.
“Or we could stay here,” Dean says when Sam finally looks up. He’s got his best big-brother face on, the one Sam needs right now. “Wait it out. You know what happens at the end.”
Sam’s eyes smart. “I know,” he says, blinking. “The djinn drains me and I die.”
“And we end up in Heaven together,” Dean reminds him. “You know Jack would make sure of that, even if we weren’t soulmates, or whatever.”
Sam frowns, fighting back tears. He shakes his head and looks away for a moment, before turning his gaze back to Dean.
“I can’t stay with you,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “You’re not real. Staying with you would be cheating. It’d be letting Dean down. My Dean.”
Dean frowns. His eyes flash as he smirks.
“Your brother sounds like a dick,” he observes.
“No, no, he’s just protective,” Sam insists. “Overprotective, maybe. He wants what’s best for me. He thinks I should live a long, normal life without him. He thinks I’m strong enough to carry on without him. Always keep fighting, do it for him.”
Dean shakes his head. “Still sounds like a dick,” he says. “He should think more about how you feel.”
“What do you mean?”
Dean shrugs, gets to his feet to pace again. “He left you, didn’t he? Died and left you behind to fend for yourself?”
“He just wants me to have a normal life,” Sam protests, defensive on his brother’s behalf now that this other Dean is challenging his motives. “He’s always wanted that for me. He didn’t deliberately get himself killed. He died doing what he did best. We went into that last hunt knowing the risks, just like always.”
“And if you had been killed instead?” Dean presses. “Do you think he could’ve gone on without you? Don’t you think he would’ve tried to bring you back, despite his promise to you? Because I know I would. If you died, Sam, I would do anything to get you back. Or die trying. If you were dead, I wouldn’t be far behind, whether it was driving recklessly or hunting without backup or just drinking myself to death in the back of a pool hall somewhere. I would do everything in my power to get back to you.”
Sam sighs. They’re going in circles. It occurs to him that he might’ve gone into the hunt for the djinn with a death wish or, if not, he probably wasn’t in the best of shape. Grieving and desperate, not sleeping or eating. Reckless, as Dean says. Easy pickings.
Dean would be so disappointed.
“We’re only human, Sammy,” Dean reminds him gently. “We love each other too much, maybe, but that’s just the way we’re made. Neither of us deserves to suffer alone, especially after everything we’ve been through.”
“I can’t stay with you,” Sam says again, morbidly determined, despite every instinct in his body, against every fiber of his being. He puts his hands on his waist to keep from reaching out for Dean.
Dean gazes at him for a long moment, then nods.
“Okay,” he says. “Then I’m coming with you. At least let me help you find that djinn, if that’s what you’re set on doing. Let me have your back so you don’t get hurt. Worse than you already are, that is.”
Sam brushes the back of his hand over his eyes, sudden grief washing over him now that he’s made his decision.
In the real world, Dean’s dead, and now this Dean is going to help Sam get back to that world.
If he thinks about it too much, Sam knows he’ll give up, just stay here where he has the love of this Dean in every way he’s always wanted.
“Okay,” Sam says, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Thanks. We should get going.”
Before Sam changes his mind. Before he gives in to the temptation to just live out his life here, with this Dean.
Before he lets his brother down and ruins everything.
//**//**//
As they pack for the trip, one thing leads to another, and they end up in bed. Sam cries as Dean kisses him, undresses him, and spreads him out on the bed. Their bed.
Dean fucks him slow and sweet, kissing him the whole time, gazing into his eyes with so much love Sam can barely stand it.
Afterward, they lie side by side on the bed, fingers tangled together, staring at each other in the evening gloom. Sam wants to memorize every line and freckle, wants to remember how it felt to be touched the way this Dean touches him, the way Sam’s always wanted.
“And what about you?” he asks finally, even though he knows the answer. “Where will you go, if I get back home?”
“You said it yourself, Sam,” Dean says. “I’m not real, remember? I’m just a figment of your imagination. Not even one of Chuck’s alternate versions of your brother. I don’t exist, outside of your mind.”
Sam reaches across the bed, brushes his knuckles over Dean’s cheekbone, lets his thumb slide over Dean’s plush lips.
“That’s why you’re so sensitive,” he muses. “So self-aware. If I had to dream up a version of my brother who would love me the way I wanted to be loved, it would be you. It is you.”
Dean pulls away, scoffing lightly, cheeks and chest reddening with embarrassment.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he says as he starts to climb out of the bed.
Sam reaches out, grabs his bicep, suddenly desperate to draw out the moment, to not let it end.
“Stay,” he pleads as Dean stares at Sam’s hand on his arm for a moment before raising wide green eyes to Sam’s face. “Please stay with me. Just a little longer.”
“Sure, Sammy. Whatever you need.”
//**//**//
As they pull up to the darkened warehouse, the scene triggers Sam’s memories, just as he had suspected it would. When he was here the last time, he was alone, and now he’s grateful for Dean’s company, even if he’s not real.
Sam never should’ve been here alone in the first place. Going after a djinn alone is stupid. Reckless. After the werewolf hunt in Austin, Sam should’ve left hunting once and for all.
That’d been the plan, at the time.
He planned to drive North, toward Sioux Falls, checking real estate listings along the way, looking for a place to settle down. Searching for the home he and Dean might have retired to, if Dean hadn’t died.
Blue Earth would’ve been the perfect place to settle down and live out his life. Maybe he’d meet someone, eventually. Maybe they’d get married, have a kid. Maybe Sam would end up a grandfather, one day.
He’d never stop grieving, never stop missing Dean. But it would get easier, eventually. And he would have the knowledge that someday he’d see Dean again. That knowledge, that faith, would be enough to sustain him through his final forty years in the desert.
The djinn isn’t there. There’s nothing to indicate it ever was. As Sam pulls out the silver blade dipped in lamb’s blood he means to stab himself with, Dean reaches for it on instinct.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, voice choked. “Sammy, please don’t.”
“It’s the only way, remember? This is how you woke yourself up.”
“But I’m not there,” Dean reminds him. “I’m dead. I’m not there to cut you down, help you survive, like you did for me. You’ll die anyway.”
Sam’s jaw clenches. “Well, then at least I’ll die knowing it’s real,” he growls stubbornly.
“No, Sammy, please don’t,” Dean chokes out. Tears fill his big green eyes. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Sam grits out. “You have to understand, Dean. This is what I need to do to make this right. You of all people should understand that.”
“I do,” Dean agrees. “But it’s different. When this happened to me, I was just trying to get back to you. The real you. But there’s no real me back there, Sam. The only me is right here, and I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself, damn it. It just ain’t in me!”
Sam shakes his head. “If I don’t do this, I’d be letting you down. The real you would understand that.”
“I do.” Dean nods. “I do, Sammy. I do understand. I just love you so damn much.”
Tears flow freely down his freckled cheeks, and Sam has to look away.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know you do.”
He does it fast, knowing it’s the only way. Dean barely has time to react, shock and horror and deep, miserable grief stark on his handsome face.
It’s painful, just like the real thing. The pain blinds him, makes everything go dark. For a moment, Sam swears he’s hanging by his wrists, a needle in his neck, sucking his life force away. He’s dying. There’s wetness in his boxers because he’s peed himself. His body is giving up.
It’s very dark. He feels himself gasping for breath but he can’t wake up. Djinn-Dean was right. He’s not here to help, so Sam’s just sinking back into his own imagination, the dream world he created in his own mind, based on a wish that Dean was alive and well and in love with him, that they were retired from hunting and living out their lives together.
It’s cold. He can’t feel his fingers and toes. It’ll be over soon. Sam’s life is ending right here, right now. He can feel it.
Dean will be so disappointed.
Then, unbelievably, he hears Dean’s voice.
“Sammy? Sam! Wake up!”
Dimly, as if from far away, Sam feels something tugging on the ropes binding his wrists. Then he feels Dean’s familiar hands cupping his face, shaking him as he mutters in a distressed voice Sam knows too well.
“Yeah, okay, I got you. You’re gonna be fine, little brother, just fine.”
Dean’s hands are everywhere, on his chest, his neck, pulling the needle free, reaching up to tug on and slice through the ropes with a knife, and Sam feels the moment they give way. He stumbles into Dean’s arms, weak as a kitten, numb with blood loss and whatever poison the djinn injected into his veins, sore everywhere.
Through blurred vision, Sam sees the body of the djinn on the floor, knows instinctively that Dean dispatched the creature before rescuing Sam.
Sam’s rescued. He’s not dead.
But Dean.
“Dean?” Through cracked lips, Sam’s voice sounds hoarse, whisper-weak, broken.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean says, relief in his tone. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“But you’re.” Sam can’t say the word. Doesn’t want to.
Dean’s so clearly alive, his strong, warm arms holding Sam up as he takes the ropes off his wrists and checks his vitals.
“Yeah, I’m alive,” Dean says. “Couldn’t let you kill yourself now, could I? You’re supposed to be living your life, Sammy, not dying a week after me on some djinn hunt.”
“I burned your body,” Sam croaks. He’s crying, warm, wet tears that don’t stop now that they’ve started.
“Yeah, well, Jack can do anything, can’t he? Put me back in my body? No problem. Let me go back to Earth to save you? That’s a no-brainer, for both of us.”
Sam reaches up, his fingers still so numb he can’t even feel it when he touches Dean’s face.
“Will you stay?” he pleads. “Will Jack let you stay with me?”
“I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?” Dean frowns. “Can’t let you hunt alone, now, can I? You obviously need backup.”
He hauls Sam to his feet, pulling one of Sam’s arms across his shoulders, and half-carries him out of the warehouse. The Impala is right where Sam left it, sitting in the dark ally in the rain, waiting for them.
Dean folds Sam into the passenger seat, hands him a bottle of water.
Dean glances into the back seat. “I guess you left Miracle at Doggy Daycare.”
Sam shakes his head. “Died of a broken heart, second night on the road. Found him on the floor of the bathroom at the motel. Vet says that happens sometimes. He missed you too much. And he was old.”
Dean says nothing, just clenches his jaw and nods. When he gets into the driver’s seat next to Sam, he rests his hands on the wheel, clutching reflexively.
“I’m not hunting anymore,” Sam mutters. “Not after this. I’m done. Out. Time for other hunters to take over.”
Dean still says nothing. He slides the keys into the ignition. The Impala roars to life as if she hadn’t been sitting for too long without being driven.
Sam half-turns to Dean, almost reaches for him before he remembers. This isn’t that Dean. He can’t just touch him whenever he wants to.
“I mean it, Dean. We’re done. Say it.”
Dean lets out a scoffing laugh. “Sam, you’re delusional. Let’s get you cleaned up, feed you, take a fuckin’ shower, for god’s sake.”
Sam shakes his head sharply. “I’m not delusional. I’ve had enough. I won’t watch you die again. Dean, I burned your body.”
Dean keeps his eyes on the windshield, jaw clenched. “Yeah. You said.”
“Do you have any idea what that was like?”
Dean sucks in a breath, backs the car up with his arm across the seat behind Sam, not touching. “Yeah, Sam. I got some idea. I’ve watched you die a few times, remember?”
“Then let’s just put it down,” Sam says. “Let’s call it a day. We don’t need to put ourselves at risk anymore.”
Dean scoffs. “We put ourselves at risk just crossing the street.”
“You know what I mean.” He’d forgotten how frustrating real-Dean could be.
Feeling dirty, dejected, and forlorn, Sam watches the road, dark and wet, as it disappears under the Impala’s front tires. He stares at the windshield as the wipers flap rhythmically, wonders where Dean’s taking them. Home to the bunker? Does he not know that Sam doesn’t live there anymore?
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Stop sulking, Sam,” Dean admonishes.
“I’m not sulking,” Sam insists. “I’m thinking.”
“Oh, that’s never good,” Dean teases. “Hey. You wanna tell me what happened in there? What your ‘wish’ was?”
Sam shudders, keeping his eyes on the road. “No.”
Dean shrugs. “Suit yourself. But if you ever need to get anything off your chest, I’m all ears.”
“You said it yourself when it happened to you: it was just a wish,” Sam reminds him. “You never died, you and me retired to a little town near Blue Earth, took jobs there, lived normal. Just a wish.”
“We went civilian, huh?” Dean smirks. “That big brain of yours must’ve sniffed out the lie pretty quick.”
Sam stiffens. “It took a few weeks, actually. Almost a month.” He takes a deep breath. “It was nice.”
He feels Dean glancing at him, speculating, but Sam doesn’t look back. The dream world is all too fresh, Dean’s death too painful. Sam needs a shower and a little privacy stat.
“Sorry to take you out of your little fantasy world,” Dean grumbles, and now Sam does look at him.
“Are you jealous?” Wonders never cease.
“Of what? Of you playing house with dream-me? Why would I be jealous? Anyway, dream-me was probably a jackass.”
“No, he wasn’t, actually,” Sam says. “He had me completely fooled at first.”
“Oh, because you could easily believe that I would retire, just like that.”
Dean’s sarcasm hangs between them, an obvious challenge.
“You were injured on a hunt,” Sam says. “Same one you died on, actually. Instead of getting impaled by rebar, you got leg-mangled by that vampire before I killed him. Permanent injury.”
“Huh.” Dean’s quiet for the next few moments as the lights of a filling station and truck stop come into view. The Impala slows down as they approach. A motel appears just beyond the filling station. There’s a diner next to it.
Dean pulls into the parking lot of the motel, turns off the engine.
“Wait here.”
Sam sips his water as Dean goes into the motel office to get a room. He wonders vaguely how Dean managed to have a wallet on him, much less a set of keys to the Impala, but then waves that thought away because Dean’s just back from Heaven. Anything is possible.
Dean returns, room key in hand, and opens the passenger-side door, reaching in to help Sam get up and into the room.
Sam bats his hands away, struggles to unfold himself from the seat, admits defeat and lets Dean help him. He’s trembling from exhaustion and shock, stiff and achy all over. He can barely feel his feet as he stumbles toward the motel door, leaning heavily against Dean the entire way.
Inside, Sam collapses on the bed furthest from the door, lets Dean pull his boots off, sits up when Dean pulls him up, lets Dean undress him from the waist up so he can check him over for injuries. Sam half-expects him to find a gaping wound from the knife dipped in lamb’s blood, the one he killed himself with in the djinn dream.
Dean’s horrified, grief-stricken face flashes in front of Sam. Guilt slams into him llike a wall.
Dean’s hands are warm and calloused and so familiar Sam starts crying again, silent and pathetic, dehydrated, sick with relief that Dean’s alive.
When Dean starts working on his belt, pushes him down on his back so he can pull his jeans off, Sam bats his hands away and does it himself, wincing as his soiled boxers pull uncomfortably on his pubes.
Dean’s efficient and practical, doesn’t even glance at Sam’s crotch as he inspects his bare legs for breaks or injuries. When he pulls Sam to his feet again, Sam comes willingly, lets Dean lead him into the bathroom, sits patiently on the toilet seat as Dean runs a warm shower for him, getting the water just right before leaving him to it.
“You good?”
Sam nods sharply, pulling himself up with the help of the sink counter, keeping his eyes down until Dean leaves the room.
Alone at last, Sam pushes his boxers down, steps naked and shaking into the shower, grabs the bar of soap on the shower shelf, and begins to scrub away the past few days. Grime, piss, blood, sweat, tears, snot, and dirt wash away down the drain at his feet. The rinse water turns almost black as he washes his hair. He stays in the shower until the water at his feet flows clear, until every last speck of dirt has washed away, every physical reminder of his time in that beloved dream world.
Despite his joy at having Dean back, Sam’s got no illusions about his ability to convince Dean to retire. Hunting is Dean’s life. He might be talked into semi-retirement if he were seriously injured, but Sam always doubted even that possibility. That skepticism was what led Sam to figure out the truth in the dream world. As long as there’s one evil thing left on Earth, Dean will never retire. The best that Sam can hope for is that the next time one of them dies, the other one goes, too.
When he steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, the room is empty. The note on Dean’s bed says, “Gone to get food.”
Sam flips on the TV as he pulls a t-shirt, sweatpants, and clean boxers out of his duffel, grateful to Dean for bringing it in from the trunk.
The TV tells him it’s been over three days since he walked into the abandoned warehouse where he got djinned.
His dirty clothes are missing. Dean must have bagged them up to trash or burn. There’s no way Sam would ever wear them again.
Dean brings him a smoothie.
“It’s been at least three days since you ate, Sam,” he says. “Better start slow.”
Dean sets down a bag containing his signature bacon cheeseburger and fries on the room’s little kitchenette table, sits down to dig in.
Sam tries not to stare at Dean as he sucks carefully on his straw. The smoothie has too much sugar, of course, and it makes Sam’s stomach cramp, but he’s grateful.
“Spit it out, Sam,” Dean orders as he finishes his food, wipes his mouth and hands.
Sam jumps, struggles to keep his face neutral.
“Spit what out?”
“Don’t give me that,” Dean says. “Something happened in there, in that fantasy world, that’s got you questioning everything about your real life, and I wanna know what it is.”
Sam ducks his head, takes a sip of his smoothie.
“No, you don’t,” he protests feebly.
“Yeah, Sam, I do. Is it the retirement thing? ‘Cause you gotta understand, Sammy, it’s not some macho trip for me. It’s not just who I am and what I do.”
Sam nods. “I know.”
“So what, then?” Dean presses. “What’s got you so worked up, huh? Hell, anybody’d think you’re unhappy to see me.”
“No!” Sam insists. “That’s not it. I’m grateful Jack let you come back. I am. Obviously. You being not-dead was my greatest wish.”
“Sam, I can tell when you’re sad,” Dean says. “You’re acting like somebody whose dog just died, but I know you’re not grieving for Miracle, since he was my dog.”
“Dean, about that.” Sam’s relieved to change the subject. “The vet said Miracle was just old. It was a peaceful death, he said.”
Dean stares at him, a little frown deepening the crease between his eyes, and Sam can see he won’t let this go until he figures it out.
Then Dean gives his head a little shake and looks away. “Whatever.”
Sam finishes his smoothie while Dean cleans up, clearly frustrated that Sam’s not talking, but unwilling to push it.
Sam feigns exhaustion, crawling under the covers without brushing his teeth, just to show Dean how tired he is, and Dean relents because it’s in his DNA to take care of his suffering little brother.
He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
He wakes up in the dark, confused for a moment until he feels the ache in his belly. He’s hungry.
“Sammy?”
For a moment, Sam wonders what Dean’s doing in the other bed. Why isn’t he sleeping right here beside him?
Then he remembers.
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’m awake. Hungry.”
“You want me to get you something?”
He sounds so solicitous, Sam almost wonders again if he hasn’t somehow slipped back into the dream world, the one where Dean was like this. Caring. Loving. Honest about his feelings.
“Nah, I can wait for breakfast,” Sam answers.
Dean’s not done, Sam can tell. In the dark, he’s been thinking. He’s got something to say.
“I can’t lose you, Sam.” Dean says it so quietly, Sam almost doesn’t hear him.
“You won’t lose me,” Sam assures him. “Ever.”
Sam hears the sheets on Dean’s bed rustle as he turns over, onto his back.
“If I stop hunting, you might leave,” Dean says.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam assures him. “You should know that by now.”
Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He’s really trying.
“It’s about not letting you down,” Dean says finally. His voice sounds strained. Sleep-hoarse.
“Me?” Sam squeaks. “You’re worried about letting me down if you retire? How could that possibly let me down?”
“You said it yourself. You always looked up to me. I’m supposed to take care of you. Protect you. How can I do that if I’m not hunting?”
Sam’s flummoxed. In the dark, after some hours of serious thinking, Dean’s being completely honest and open with him. Vulnerable.
Sam takes a breath. “Dean, I will always look up to you, but you don’t need to take care of me anymore. I’m not a child. And after everything we’ve been through, I don’t need you to protect me, either. I just need you to be my brother. My partner. My best friend.”
Dean’s silent for a moment, and Sam imagines him staring at the ceiling, frowning.
“I don’t know how to do that without hunting,” he admits.
“Yes, you do,” Sam promises. “You’ve always wanted a normal life, and you deserve that. You deserve a chance to settle down, to not live in fear, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You deserve a home. A family who loves you.”
“I got you for that,” Dean reminds him. “You’re my home. You’re my family.”
“Right,” Sam nods. “And I always will be. But you don’t have to prove anything to me, Dean. I’ll love you just as much if you’re working in a garage, or a salvage yard. You don’t always have to be the big hero.”
Sam waits with bated breath as his words sink in.
“You’ll always be my hero,” Sam finishes.
Lame, he thinks, but he doesn’t care. It’s true.
“What about you?” Dean asks. “Don’t you want a normal life? A wife? Kids? I sorta figured, with me out of the picture, you could have those things, finally.”
Sam shakes his head, although in the dark Dean can’t see him.
“None of those things matter, if I don’t have you,” Sam says, willing Dean to believe him.
Sam lies still in the dark, waiting, but Dean doesn’t answer right away, so Sam closes his eyes, starts to drift off again.
“Not going anywhere,” Dean promises softly. “Not leaving you.”
Sam sighs. This won’t be easy, but he thinks he might have made some headway.
He may never get Dean to retire. He may never have the kind of relationship that he had with Dean in his dream. But having him here, safe and alive again, is enough.
In fact, it’s so good it makes Sam suspicious.
What if this is just another version of his djinn-induced fantasy? What if, sensing that the first fantasy was too good to be true, the djinn altered it, just a little, to make it less perfect, more fucked-up, so as to be more believable.
Sam decides he doesn’t care. Either way, he’s got his brother back. If he’s still dying in that warehouse, it won’t be long now till he reunites with Dean in Heaven. And if it’s true, and this really is Dean returned from Heaven, well.
Sam will accept this Dean, with all his flaws and his inability to love Sam the way Sam wants, and he’ll be grateful.
As sleep takes him under again, Sam sends out a prayer.
“Thanks, Jack.”
fin