While you Slept
Liquid courage, he'd heard it being called often. And if Dean, the bravest man Sam knew, was gulping it down like that before saying 'Yes' to Michael, that meant that Dean wasn't sure he could make himself go forward with it.
While you slept
"I'm in Cicero, of all places, if you can believe that. Saying goodbye to Lisa wasn't nearly as hard as saying goodbye to all those things that I know I could never truly have; the house with a picket fence, a steady job, a couple of kids at home, bugging me to take them to some nut-curling, emo-screaming, lousy music concert or a simple baseball game.
Saying goodbye to my imaginary family, because it's too hard saying goodbye to you, my real one."
Two days.
Forty-eight hours.
That's how long it took for Sam to find Dean. Forty-eight hours spent wondering at every turn of the second if he still had a brother, if Dean had already said yes. If the world had already ended and someone had failed to warn him.
Because there was no doubt in Sam's mind that giving himself up was exactly what Dean intended to do when he took off.
Dean's in Cicero, of all places. Then again, when not even Dean's most private dreams were kept a secret from Sam, it had been easy to figure where he'd go to say goodbye to his own life.
To Lisa.
To Ben.
The glimpse of normal life that Dean craved for, dreamed of, but would never admit to anyone. Not even himself.
He admitted it to Lisa, though. At least that was what she said, between the tears and the cries of 'Please, find him!', when she called Bobby.
The salvage yard was the only trusty number that either Winchester could ever give to anyone, the only number that wouldn't get lost in the thousands of times they changed cell phone numbers. It was the only contact that Dean had left her.
Lisa had been scared, panicked, frightened out of her gourd, Bobby had said. Dean had sounded like he was saying goodbye, not just to her, but to the world. He'd sounded like a suicide; like a man tying up loose ends, just before jumping off a bridge.
Sam knew better. Dean wasn't going to kill himself. They both knew how pointless that was. No... Dean was planning to do something far worse.
Alone, with an angel who was just as worried as Sam himself, at the course of the events, they wasted no time. Traveled angel-express.
Sam was actually getting used to it.
When they got to Cicero, Sam didn't even had to waste that much time finding out which motel Dean had checked in to.
Mike's Travel Inn kind of stood out from all the rest.
Had Sam not been so worried sick out of mind, the irony of it might've actually made him laugh. Because that's the kind of dark and sarcastic sense of humor that spells Dean no matter how you look at it.
The room's door wasn't even locked. It was like Dean had stopped caring about his own safety, like he hadn't really expected anyone to come.
Sam walked in completely unnoticed and studied his brother. Dean stood at the dresser, staring at the mirror like he was seeing a million things there except his own reflection, like he was having trouble recognizing the man looking back at him.
Sam too was surprised at how different his brother appeared now. Not that it was something overly evident. No, Dean still looked like the same Dean of always. He just looked like... half of himself. Like some overzealous gardener with a pair of sharp pruning shears had hacked at him, like Dean was nothing more than an overgrown bush. Cutting off more than was necessary, more than the excess branches and leaves until there was nothing left but this sparse shape. The essence of Dean.
Sam couldn't convince Dean to change his mind. He'd known that going in.
Still it was hard just standing by and watching as Castiel materialized out of thin air to get the drop on his brother. Harder still to watch as, with a simple touch, Dean was rendered unconscious and dropped to the floor. Like flipping the switch on a lamp.
Dean never made it to the floor. The angel grabbed his dead weight with the same ease of someone grabbing a thin piece of cardboard and threw him on the only bed of the room. Unceremoniously. Carelessly.
Castiel hadn't said a word about it since Sam told him about Dean taking off, but Sam could tell that the angel was slowly brewing his anger. The angel's own feelings of betrayal seething beneath.
The force of the throw and Dean's weight, bounced him on the bed before he settled more or less on top. The tapped off carton box and the glass on top of it weren't as lucky.
The glass rolled around on the faint carpet on the floor, leaving breadcrumbs of spilled whiskey in its wake. The box fell with a heavy thud as something shifted inside.
There was nothing else in the motel room, nothing that indicated anyone had even been there, and Sam hadn't seen the Impala parked outside. He could almost guess what he'd find inside that box even before opening it.
Sam sliced the seal and pulled back the flaps. Inside were Dean's mother-pearl handle gun, the car keys, dad's jacket and a white envelope. The box was addressed to Bobby, but this... this Dean had left unaddressed. Not even glued shut. To whomever it may concern.
Sensing the angel's impatience at his lingering, Sam quickly stuffed it into his pocket. They needed to hurry, to go where or do what, Sam wasn't exactly sure, but he was eager to leave, to put this place behind him. The smell of defeat and pain hung heavily in this room and more than anything, they were hoping that putting this place behind then would make Dean's decisions disappear.
The only thing that they actually left behind was the half empty bottle of scotch, sitting on the table where Dean left it, and the Impala, stashed wherever Dean had left her.
Oddly enough, the sight of that bottle brought Sam a little hope.
Dean had been pouring it down his throat like a drowning man. Like a man in need of the sweet safety of numbness.
Liquid courage, he'd heard it being called often. And if Dean, the bravest man Sam knew, was gulping it down like that before saying 'Yes' to Michael, that meant that Dean wasn't sure he could make himself go forward with it.
It meant that Dean wasn't sure that, when the time came, his mouth would actually be able to articulate the words.
So, he'd been drinking. And that fact alone was enough to make Sam believe that not everything was lost.
~100~100~SPN~100~100~
"Bobby, you're... shit! Man, you know what you mean to me, you know how much I care for you and how much I respect everything that you represent. You were there for most of my life and you never backed out, not once. That makes you family and I'm sorry for... everything.
Bobby, I know it's too much to ask, and God knows you've already given enough, but I need you to look after my bro... look after my wheels, will ya? I'm leaving her in a storage place near here. Keys are in the pocket."
The whole thing was starting to feel like a Buster Keaton movie. Sam was supposed to keep the water from coming in, but all he had to plug the hundred holes at the bottom of this boat were fingers and toes. He was down to his last one, and still water was pouring in.
Dean was missing, giving the slip to Castiel.
Castiel was no where to be found, send somewhere far away by Dean's 'slip'.
And now Adam was gone.
Sam felt like tearing out all of his hair. String by string. Just for starters.
It was like they were a family of matches and all Sam had were idiot brothers, itching to scratch their heads against the side of the matchbox and go out in a blaze of flames.
So, taking a page out of Dean's book, Sam took it out on Bobby. Like the man hadn't already been through enough. Like Sam couldn't see the weight of Dean's surrender pushing the older hunter deeper and deeper into a hole of pain and misery that Sam knows he alone won't be able to pull Bobby out of.
No. Dean was the one who managed to keep Bobby from killing himself with a couple of heartfelt words and a promise. Sam's just glad that someone did.
Castiel's mini-tornado was actually a welcome sight. Until Sam spotted whom the angel had draped around his neck.
Dean.
Bloody.
Limp.
Unconscious.
Sam barely heard any of what Castiel was saying as the angel, once more, dumped Dean's body on the bed. Like yesterday's used clothes.
Castiel had beaten the crap out of Dean. He'd confessed as much. He was also not apologetic about it. Not even one bit. Sam figured that that would be a pickle for his brother and the angel to solve amongst themselves.
Sam was just glad that Dean was back with them. More or less in one piece, but still Dean.
Sam was just as non-apologetic when he ordered the angel to help him take Dean to the panic room. It was the least he could do.
If Castiel was right and Adam had truly told the other angels where he was, odds were they might be coming for Dean next. And Sam wasn't going to allow them to take his older brother as easily as they took the younger one.
~100~100~SPN~100~100~
"Sam, please don't follow me. Hopefully, by the time this gets to you, it will already be too late and I'...
Don't be mad at me, like I know you'll be, but this is the only way, and you know it as well as I do. Everything is falling apart faster than we can glue it back together and you know I couldn't live with the guilt of knowing that there was something I could've done to stop it and do nothing.
So, I'm doing this. Might not be the smartest thing to do, but it's our surest bet."
Dean's wrists were bony. That was the only thing Sam could focus on as he cleaned the blood from Dean's face and checked just how much damage Castiel had done.
Sam couldn't remember if Dean always had bony wrists or if that was something more recent. Like the new lines that had surprised him when he caught Dean squinting in the sun some time ago.
They could almost be confused with laugh lines, little crows feet grooved into the fleshy corners of his brother's green eyes, but Sam knew better than to assume that. Dean didn't laugh anymore. Hadn't for a long time now.
Dean had been sinking further and further into despair without anyone taking notice until the only choice he thought he had left was to run away and offer himself to one of the most powerful beings in the Universe. Use his empty shell, as Famine had told him, for something useful.
Which, for Dean, meant the ultimate sacrifice; his life for the lives of everyone else. For Adam; for Bobby; for Sam.
It was time for Sam to keep Dean safe instead. Which Sam was.
By keeping Dean in cuffs.
In a room where angels could come and go as they pleased.
Bobby and Castiel were right. Taking Dean to that room where they were keeping Adam was insane. But then again, it was just as insane to keep Dean locked in a place that wasn't safe for him at all.
~100~100~SPN~100~100~
"Sam, you told me once that you prayed. I don't know if that's still true, but I'm asking you now, pray one last time. Pray that we never see each other again. Because, Sammy, that's the last thing I ever want. That's the last thing I'll be able to stand.
Don't get me wrong... you are the one person I love the most in this fucking planet; the little boy I watched growing up, the man I helped raise to be all that you are now."
If Sam hadn't hated Zach before, he sure did now. No one had the right to lay Dean bare like that, to ruthlessly peel away all of the careful layers that Dean always kept around himself. To leave him so... raw and exposed.
The very few times Sam had heard Dean sound like that, like he was breaking up inside, they'd been alone. Dean let himself be broken in front of him because Sam was blood, Sam was family. Sam was the only one who could listen.
But now... now Zachariah was there to watch it too, glee flashing all over his beady eyes as he enjoyed what he clearly thought as his victory.
Even Sam believed that this was in fact Zach's victory.
To hear Dean sobbing that 'Yes', to see him throw in the towel and just bow his head to fate... it hurt more than the damage that Zachariah had done inside. It made him bleed deeper than the burning gashes Sam could feel in his stomach.
It felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest and there was nothing to look forward to but the gaping black hole that Sam could feel himself falling into.
Dean had given up. Given in. Died out.
And then Dean was winking at him, like this was a play in high school and Romeo was about to kiss Juliet and Sam felt more on the other side of Alice's mirror than at the bottom of that dark pit.
Sam knew Dean was also carrying one of the angel swords. Castiel had given one to each of them, saying that they might not kill Zachariah, but could use them to at least distract the angel long enough to escape. The one Sam had been carrying had flown right out of his hands when Zach jumped him.
And he'd forgotten Dean still had his.
When the silver blade dropped from Dean's right arm and disappeared inside Zach's head, the only outcome that Sam could predict was the angel's surprise at being stabbed by the 'maggot inside a worm's ass'. Maybe some anger and pain. At the very least, unbalance the angel long enough for Sam to scrabble to his feet, for Dean to grab Adam and for the three of them to scatter away.
The thing that really happened... that Sam hadn't been expecting.
The sight of Zachariah's essence pouring away from him, arms thrown back like the wings they could not see and the light...
Sam tried to hold up his gaze for as long as he dared, but he had too look away, close his eyes.
The image, however, was burned into his retina, playing on and on for the infinite seconds it took for the dead angel to blink out of existence. And Dean, staring at a dying Zach, eyes burning with fire and light and yet, unflinching, unaffected. Inhuman.
Sam had been truly scared when he'd seen Dean kill the Whore of Babylon, the one who could only be killed by a true servant of Heaven.
That... compared to this-- it felt like comparing a glass of salt water to the Pacific.
And then, as fast as it started, it was over. Zach flew to one corner of the room, Dean to the other and the fact that Michael was arriving took precedent over everything else and they ran.
~100~100~SPN~100~100~
"I'm proud of you Sammy. Despite everything, I still am.
But I'm also scared. I'm scared that you'll give in to Lucifer and that the next time we see each other, neither of us will be the men John raised us to be. That we'll no longer be brothers. So, please... I beg of you: accept my choice and, for all that you love, don't let me see you ever again..."
They lost Adam. Again.
But at least Dean now knows just how deep Sam's faith in him runs and that alone, somehow, seems to shift the weight on his shoulders. Its crushing presence is still there, looming over them like a damn anvil; after all, Lucifer was still out there, unleashing Horseman after Horseman and rubbing his hands in anticipation for inauguration day; and if there is a single weapon on this Earth that can be used to kill him, Sam and Dean haven't found it yet. Sam knows that; Dean certainly knows that, but the insurmountable odds of them being able to win this are no longer pulling his brother down. Because, somehow, they're sharing the load now. Finally.
And Sam is lying to Dean. Again.
Because he did see something in Dean's eyes, but it was much more than the realization that Sam trusted him; it was more than a strong will to not disappoint his younger brother.
Sam can't help but wonder how long it took Dean to confront him about the demon blood and his powers, after Dean realized that Sam was changing. After he'd seen the switch flip in Sam's eyes.
Because Sam has seen it now, in his brother's eyes, the way they glowed white as he killed Zachariah, the way he still has eyes, despite the fact that he stared right into the face of an angel's true form. Sam has seen it in the way Dean forgot to flinch when Michael was all but tearing down the walls of that room with the power of his voice.
Something has changed in his brother, and Sam is scared of what that might mean.
He's still Dean. He's still Sam's brother, who, despite being dead on his feet, still insisted that they'd stopped at a free clinic, to make sure that Zach's dickeries hadn't caused Sam any permanent damage.
He's still Dean when he greets Bobby at the door and can't bring himself to meet the other man's eyes until the older man extends him a hand and hands him a cold beer.
Sam is sure some permanent damage was done, but not inside him, and certainly not to the love that Bobby feels for Dean.
Something bigger than Zach's death happened that night and Sam fears that, when he finds out exactly what that was, he'll be too late to do anything about it.
After reassuring both of them that he was no longer in need of a suicide watch of the proportions they'd put him through before, Dean finished his beer and yawned. Bidding them good night he went, of his own accord, to the panic room, not because there was any need for it now, but because it had a free bed and Dean had finally passed the stage of denying that he was on his last leg.
There were no cuffs this time. And the door was wide open.
And Sam is leaning against the iron wall inside, but he'd not keeping watch. He's watching. Studying his brother. Looking for something out of place.
Dean's sleeping on his right side instead of on his back like he usually does, something Sam knew Dean had no choice about. Sam had seen the size of the bruises on Dean's back, leftover souvenir of Castiel using him as a pinball against the alley's walls.
The cuts in Dean's left cheek are only now starting to turn black, a large stain that goes from his cheekbone to his jaw, disappearing somewhere in the middle of his neck. But that is all Dean.
That is his brother, exhausted and bruised and still fighting
Dean just killed an angel. Something that Uriel told them that only another angel could.
And he did it after saying 'Yes'.
The implications are too big for Sam to allow himself to think about them, but the thing that grates the most inside him is that... Dean should not look so normal after events like that.
He should look different somehow. Give Sam a sign that he should be worrying about this, that he should be looking for way to get an angel out of someone's body. Or looking for falling stars nine months before Dean was born.
He can't really decide which is worse.
Sam shakes his head, lets it bang viciously against the iron wall. Maybe he's just imagining things, reading too much into this.
His hands slip into his jeans' pockets and his fingers brush against a folded piece of paper.
Dean's 'suicide' letter.
Sam had completely forgotten about it. For a moment, he entertained the idea of unfolding it, to read what Dean's last words were supposed to be. For a moment, he needed to know what Dean's reasoning to give up was; most importantly, to find out what are the chances of something like this happening again.
The thing is... A couple of hours ago, Sam's greatest fear had been Dean saying 'Yes' to Michael.
And now... now Sam feared that Dean wouldn't even need to say the word.
Sam never opened it. He fished his lighter out of his other pocket and burned the letter to ashes instead.
The burning paper left a faint taste of bile in Sam's throat. Or maybe that was something else entirely.
The end
AN: Good grief! This was like the coda that would never end... Started writing this the day after the episode aired, 2 weeks ago. Placed it in the 'garbage' tray 2 days after that, and didn't pick it up again up until yesterday. So, for better or for worse, here is my take on Supernatural's episode 100... because I simply couldn't let it go by without one :O)
Many, many thank yous to jackfan2 for her, as always, marvelous skills at making this better. Any residual mistakes are there because I put them there (like Wally ;)