You Gave Me a Choice, You Settled My Soul, 1/1, PG-13, 5x22, Sequel
So I wrote my fic You Gave Me a Name, You Defined My Purpose with the sequel already in mind. Because obviously, we needed Sam's POV. Right?
Title: You Gave Me a Choice, You Settled My Soul
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: For 5x22 like woah.
Prompt: #204 - Chattel for tamingthemuse.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine.
Summary Sequel to You Gave Me a Name, You Defined My Purpose, essentially Sam's POV for the events of the first story: "It's your choice." Sam hopes he made the right one.
Wordcount: 3,100
“It's your choice,” God said.
Which was highly ironic, Sam felt, because he'd never had a choice in his entire life, save for the one he'd made five minutes ago. Okay, so he wasn't sure it was minutes. A day? Week? Month? God, year? He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been falling with Adam when there'd been a wrenching pull throughout his entire body, and the next thing he'd known, he'd been free. No more being Lucifer's chattel, no more screaming in the back of his mind. Just him and Adam in free fall.
And then he hadn't been falling.
“It's your choice,” God told him. Another choice he got to make because he was a big boy now. Except God, who looked an awful lot like a certain prophet Sam knew (and who knew how long God had been hidden inside Chuck), was smiling at him gently, not upset or annoyed or anything. Patient. God was the epitome of patience.
Suddenly Adam vanished. “What-?”
“He made his choice,” God said, raising a hand to softly halt Sam's panicked question. “It's your turn, Sam. It's your choice.”
Choice to do what? Rewind the past few years of his life? Go wherever, whenever? Buy a cowboy hat and be a rodeo rider? Dean would love to see that: they'd tried the bucking bull a few times when they saw it, but Dean had always outlasted him.
Dean. Who knew how long he'd been down there, alone. Castiel and Bobby both dead, and Dean abandoned with a broken jaw, nose, and god knew what else Sam had done to him.
Lucifer. Lucifer had done those things, he reminded himself. Lucifer had hurt Dean. Sam had saved him.
“Saved them all,” God interjected, like he'd been calmly listening to all of Sam's thoughts like a conversation. “Everyone, Sam. You made a difficult choice, and wrote a bittersweet ending.” Chuck's lips turned upward at an inside joke. “Now you get to write a new beginning.”
New beginning? “Anything?” Sam pressed.
God just smiled at him. “It's your choice,” he said once more.
And before Sam could properly formalize the thought, his subconscious answered for him, and God disappeared as his mind called for his brother.
The next thing he knew, there was a pop above him, showering him with sparks. He glanced up and found a broken streetlight, still sparking here and there. A new glow of light pulled his gaze forward, and what he saw made him freeze.
It was a small house. The window, through which the light was coming, portrayed a family scene. A son happily chattering away as he ate his dinner. A mother and wife who was placing food on the table. And a father and husband who stared off into the distance, a glass filled with amber liquid hanging loosely in his fingers.
Dean.
Sam had no concept of time; had no idea if this was the evening of the big day (though it couldn't be, considering Dean's healed face). It could be two years after he tumbled. He couldn't judge the time on the boy. Ben, he remembered. Kid could be that size anywhere from ten until fifteen years of age. Sam knew nothing.
Except calm. He gazed at the scene as Lisa nudged Dean to pick up his fork. Dean had done as he'd asked, and gone for the happy ever after. He hadn't done anything stupid, hadn't stayed in hunting. It left a warm feeling inside of Sam, something quiet and serene.
And something bittersweet, too. He wasn't going to deny it. It was hard to see that Dean had moved on, even though that was what he'd told Dean to do. It left Sam feeling adrift, because how the hell could he go up to the door and knock? Ruin everything Dean had taken for himself? Everything inside of him screamed to go knock on the door and beg for his brother back, to not be left outside under a broken streetlight, but he couldn't do it. Dean had moved on: Sam needed to let him go.
With a small sigh Sam turned and began walking down the street. Would've been nice if God had left him a way to get around, but he was alive. He wasn't still falling in that dizzying way with Lucifer clawing to get out. He was free.
And alone.
It took him two days to get to South Dakota. He'd hitched rides and hidden on buses until he was only twenty or so miles from Bobby's home. His heart ached at the thought of his friend long gone, but it hadn't been Sam. It hadn't. It'd been Lucifer.
He pushed himself to the limit to make it, but figured it would be worth the while. There were a few operating cars on the lot, if Dean hadn't dealt with the property, and the house would have weapons hidden. No clothes, but Sam would work from there. At least he'd have a bed.
Bobby's old car was parked out front. Not the van, but the car he'd had before the wheelchair had forced him to take a bigger vehicle, and Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat. He skirted around it and slowly took the stairs, his muscles aching from the long walks from the past few days. He didn't bother knocking, simply turned the knob and pushed it open.
It was hard to say who was more surprised, him or Bobby. Neither moved for a good five seconds, and then Bobby reached forward, presumably to gut him. Sam instead found himself wrapped in an embrace that was as safe as it was tight. “God it's good to see you,” Bobby mumbled against his shoulder. He pulled away a minute later, frowning. “You all right?”
“Besides a two day walk and hike to get here?” Sam said, before shrugging. “I'm actually pretty okay.” Missed Dean, but that was just a new feeling he was going to have to live with. Sam wasn't undoing the last good he'd done his brother.
He found himself explaining to Bobby everything that had taken place, even as he'd tried to get Bobby to answer how the hell he was alive. “A little human-angel got angelfied again,” Bobby said. “Sit, I'll get you a coffee. Look like you could use it.”
“So long as it's laced with whiskey, we'll be fine,” Sam said, falling back into Bobby's chair. Bobby's kitchen was warm around him, the sofa where he always was, and if his eyes burned a little, neither man spoke of it. It was the closest place to a home Sam had ever had, and they both knew it.
The other almost home was his brother and the car that had wound up saving the world. Sam wondered if Dean knew that.
“How's Dean?” he asked when he couldn't stand to wait anymore.
Bobby shook his head. “Held out askin' longer than I thought. I haven't heard from Dean since we split about two weeks ago.”
Two weeks. That gave him a time frame, at least. “He's not far,” Bobby was saying. “He's in-”
“Indiana with Lisa, I know,” Sam said.
Bobby stared. “And you know this how?”
“Because that's where I came to after God did his...whatever it was,” Sam replied with a sigh. “And I know, I should've gone up and said something-”
“You think?”
“But I couldn't,” Sam insisted. “Bobby, he was happy, okay? I couldn't take that from him. I wouldn't do that.”
His friend's eyebrows slid skyward. “I don't think the word you're lookin' for is 'happy', Sam,” he said softly. “Dean was devastated. Doubt two weeks off is gonna leave him 'happy'.”
“He's with Lisa now,” Sam said again, not sure who he was trying to convince of that more, Bobby or himself. “That's all that matters. I want him to have a good life. If I told him that I was back, then he'd drop her to come see if I was okay. He'd give it all up for me, and he's done that enough.”
Bobby ignored him and reached for one of his many phones. “Your brother should be allowed to make his own decisions, Sam. It ever occur to you that maybe you're what makes Dean happy?”
Sam paused, biting his lip. Some small part of him insisted that Dean would rather be a martyr than happy, would choose Sam over the new life with Lisa, but maybe...maybe Dean would really be happier with Sam. Because Sam could contend that much: Dean hadn't looked happy with Lisa. There'd been no smiles, and he'd been distant. Remote and as detached as a human being in a warm, family setting could get.
Bobby shook his head. “The pair of you, I swear,” he muttered. “Am I callin' him or what?”
Sam gave a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, call him. Let's see how things are, first. If he does ask, explain it to him?” he added in a rush, his eyes suddenly widening. He knew Bobby had put all sorts of symbols on the porch: if Sam had gotten close enough to get to the door, he wasn't possessed by anyone. But a voice over the phone? That was different.
The phone rang in Bobby's hand, startling them both. It took two rings before Bobby glanced at Sam. “Someone's ears must've been burning,” he said, before picking up after the third. “Good to hear from you, Dean. I was about to call you, actually.”
Sam didn't hear what Dean said, but all the good humor fell from Bobby's face in an instant. “You stupid sonuvabitch, you can't be serious-”
Sam pushed himself out of the chair and leaned across the table, desperately trying to pick up on what Dean was saying. The words were muffled, but the tone and the sob from the other end weren't. His eyes widened and he motioned for Bobby to turn it to speaker phone.
Bobby's next words made that unnecessary. “You're gonna set Lucifer free, and for what?” he said incredulously, pausing before speaking again. “Obviously for Sam, don't take that tone with me. Dean, you can't-”
“Tell him,” Sam said, fighting to breathe. Oh god. Dean wouldn't: he'd made him promise. Dean was supposed to be living an apple-pie life, happy with Lisa and Ben and not sounding so angry and broken at the same time, flying off to let Sam out of a cage he'd never really been in in the first place. “Bobby, tell him-”
Bobby was looking more terrified by the minute. “Dean just listen to me for a minute, Sam's-”
Sam half pulled the phone to his ear, unable to sit and not hear anymore. “-this point, I don't even care if Lucifer gets back out,” Dean was saying in that same, broken tone, his voice rough with tears. He couldn't seriously be saying this. How the hell could he not care, when he'd spent almost the entire year reminding Sam of the mistake he'd inadvertently made? And to do it on purpose?
“Dean-!” Bobby shouted, and Sam was pretty certain he shouted it with him, but he didn't know.
“I'm sorry, but really, I'm not,” was all Dean said before the line went dead.
“Goddammit,” Bobby cursed, immediately hitting redial. The line rang and rang but no one picked up. Dean had finished talking, it seemed.
Sam pushed himself up and out, already moving towards the door. “I need a car,” he yelled. Because he knew where Dean was going. Knew exactly what Dean was going to do, and they were going to have a serious talk about this when Sam stopped him.
When. Not if. Dean wasn't about to redo Sam's first horrible mistake.
“Key in the basket's for the Firebird near the gate,” Bobby called after him. “Fastest car I got.”
Less than twelve hours to Lawrence, Sam had to bet, but god knew where Dean was at that point. “Call Castiel,” Sam said, already a foot out the door. “Tell him to stop Dean!”
Then he took off at a run for the dusty Firebird, sitting alone near the entrance. It started on the first try, and it did indeed give him the pickup he was hoping for when he slammed the accelerator to the floor.
Dean wasn't going to pick up the phone: there was no use calling. The two day (two week) old clothes Sam was wearing were scratchy and full of dust, grime, and blood, only a reminder that he should've stepped onto the porch and talked to Dean. He should've told Dean at least that he was back.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda. His life story.
He didn't stop, not when his stomach first begged for food, then later threatened to rebel against the small sips of coffee he'd had at Bobby's. He didn't stop when his eyes wanted to close and his body simply wanted to shut down. It wasn't happening. Not until Dean had been stopped.
When he pulled into Stull Cemetery hours later, though at a better time than he'd hoped, the Impala was already there. Heart in his throat, Sam stumbled out of the Firebird and ran like hell for his brother. The lone figure in the cemetery stood with his hand outstretched towards the ground, his face away from Sam. Words floated through the air, words that were about to unleash Hell on Earth again, and Sam took off running. “Bar ra-”
“Dean!” he yelled, his legs threatening to trip beneath him. “Dean, don't! Dean!”
Dean stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “Bar ra...bar ra esh...”
It took Sam all of two seconds to see what was really going on. Dean was standing with tears in his eyes, hand trembling over the earth. The words were choked out, tripping on his tongue, stuttering when Sam knew that his brother had the incantation down cold. It wasn't lack of knowledge. It was common sense and logic and a promise that forced Dean's hand to his side and his chin to his chest.
Sam forced himself to move anyways. God only knew how long it would take before Dean would try and start again.
Sure enough, as soon as Sam got close enough Dean lifted his head. “Dean, just, wait, wait a minute, just wait a minute, okay?” he pleaded, out of breath. If Dean had a weapon on him, Sam was screwed, because he had absolutely nothing except the clothes on his back, except-
Except Dean was staring at him like he was the second coming, awe and fear and shock and hope on his face. Sam raised his hand to try and stall anything, pleading with Dean to leave it be and not open it because hey, Sam was right there, and somewhere in there Sam's logic fell away into rambling, because Dean wasn't moving.
And then he was, step by step across the damned piece of grass Sam had never wanted to see again. A moment later and Sam was wrapped in his arms tight. His brother was seriously nuts, because he hadn't even checked to see if Sam was human or anything, and god how could his brother be so stupid-
“Sammy?” Dean choked out, sounding so terrified and unsure, and Sam didn't care if his brother had lost a few brain cells over the past two weeks. Sam wrapped his arms as tight as he could, an irrational fear of losing Dean emerging. It felt like if he didn't hold on, then Dean was going to slip through his fingers, and Sam was going to find himself somewhere cold and dark. Not in the middle of a cemetery at night, his big brother there and alive and there.
“Dean,” he whispered. Dean didn't let go. Sam didn't either.
It was only when Sam's legs began to give that he knew he needed to move them. The instant he tried to shift Dean only tightened his grip, leaving Sam to helplessly laugh. “Dean, I can't...I can't stand for much longer,” he admitted. “I haven't really eaten anything the past few days.”
That brought Dean to focus. “Days?” he asked, his voice shot. His eyes were red and his face tear-stained, but he seemed calm for the moment. “You've been out for days? You could've called, borrowed someone's cell phone-”
“I actually got pulled out...in front of Lisa's house,” he said quietly. Dean's jaw slid open, the inevitable hurt about to get blasted far worse than it ever had before, and Sam hurried to try and make him understand. “You just...you were there with Lisa and her son and I couldn't...I'd left you to have a normal life and I thought you were happy-”
“'Happy' isn't exactly the word, Sam,” Dean said with a dark look, and yeah, okay, Sam had known that.
“I know that now, but I...I seriously thought you were coping,” he said softly. “I just wanted you to be happy. I didn't want to drag you back into this.” Because God pulling you out of Hell's cage? Yeah. Left you kind of unable to settle into a 9 to 5 routine.
Dean didn't punch him, which surprised Sam. Instead, he pulled Sam in until their foreheads bumped slightly. “I've been out of my mind miserable,” Dean admitted quietly. “I couldn't go anywhere, see anything without thinking about my little brother. And then I saw this girl and her kid brother and I...I couldn't do it anymore. I wasn't able to go through life brotherless. I'm sorry, Sammy, but I can't. If you try and tell me to pack up and head back to Lisa's-”
“Good,” Sam said, cutting him off, before trying to explain. “Good that, you know, you can't do brotherless either.” Because the hardest choice he'd ever had to make was walk away from Dean's life two days before. Cut himself out of his life to make his brother happy.
Dean snorted a laugh. “We got work to do?” he asked.
Sam smiled back. It's your choice, he'd been told. He'd skipped Heaven in favor of a life with cuts and bruises, demons and spirits, dodging the cops and running credit card scams. Eating crap food and never getting thanked.
Looking at his brother, pulling back slightly just to see his brother smile for probably the first time in two weeks, Sam couldn't find it in himself to mind.
“Always,” he said. He'd made his choice, and he wasn't changing it.
Not for anything.
END
~Nebula
Title: You Gave Me a Choice, You Settled My Soul
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: For 5x22 like woah.
Prompt: #204 - Chattel for tamingthemuse.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine.
Summary Sequel to You Gave Me a Name, You Defined My Purpose, essentially Sam's POV for the events of the first story: "It's your choice." Sam hopes he made the right one.
Wordcount: 3,100
“It's your choice,” God said.
Which was highly ironic, Sam felt, because he'd never had a choice in his entire life, save for the one he'd made five minutes ago. Okay, so he wasn't sure it was minutes. A day? Week? Month? God, year? He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been falling with Adam when there'd been a wrenching pull throughout his entire body, and the next thing he'd known, he'd been free. No more being Lucifer's chattel, no more screaming in the back of his mind. Just him and Adam in free fall.
And then he hadn't been falling.
“It's your choice,” God told him. Another choice he got to make because he was a big boy now. Except God, who looked an awful lot like a certain prophet Sam knew (and who knew how long God had been hidden inside Chuck), was smiling at him gently, not upset or annoyed or anything. Patient. God was the epitome of patience.
Suddenly Adam vanished. “What-?”
“He made his choice,” God said, raising a hand to softly halt Sam's panicked question. “It's your turn, Sam. It's your choice.”
Choice to do what? Rewind the past few years of his life? Go wherever, whenever? Buy a cowboy hat and be a rodeo rider? Dean would love to see that: they'd tried the bucking bull a few times when they saw it, but Dean had always outlasted him.
Dean. Who knew how long he'd been down there, alone. Castiel and Bobby both dead, and Dean abandoned with a broken jaw, nose, and god knew what else Sam had done to him.
Lucifer. Lucifer had done those things, he reminded himself. Lucifer had hurt Dean. Sam had saved him.
“Saved them all,” God interjected, like he'd been calmly listening to all of Sam's thoughts like a conversation. “Everyone, Sam. You made a difficult choice, and wrote a bittersweet ending.” Chuck's lips turned upward at an inside joke. “Now you get to write a new beginning.”
New beginning? “Anything?” Sam pressed.
God just smiled at him. “It's your choice,” he said once more.
And before Sam could properly formalize the thought, his subconscious answered for him, and God disappeared as his mind called for his brother.
The next thing he knew, there was a pop above him, showering him with sparks. He glanced up and found a broken streetlight, still sparking here and there. A new glow of light pulled his gaze forward, and what he saw made him freeze.
It was a small house. The window, through which the light was coming, portrayed a family scene. A son happily chattering away as he ate his dinner. A mother and wife who was placing food on the table. And a father and husband who stared off into the distance, a glass filled with amber liquid hanging loosely in his fingers.
Dean.
Sam had no concept of time; had no idea if this was the evening of the big day (though it couldn't be, considering Dean's healed face). It could be two years after he tumbled. He couldn't judge the time on the boy. Ben, he remembered. Kid could be that size anywhere from ten until fifteen years of age. Sam knew nothing.
Except calm. He gazed at the scene as Lisa nudged Dean to pick up his fork. Dean had done as he'd asked, and gone for the happy ever after. He hadn't done anything stupid, hadn't stayed in hunting. It left a warm feeling inside of Sam, something quiet and serene.
And something bittersweet, too. He wasn't going to deny it. It was hard to see that Dean had moved on, even though that was what he'd told Dean to do. It left Sam feeling adrift, because how the hell could he go up to the door and knock? Ruin everything Dean had taken for himself? Everything inside of him screamed to go knock on the door and beg for his brother back, to not be left outside under a broken streetlight, but he couldn't do it. Dean had moved on: Sam needed to let him go.
With a small sigh Sam turned and began walking down the street. Would've been nice if God had left him a way to get around, but he was alive. He wasn't still falling in that dizzying way with Lucifer clawing to get out. He was free.
And alone.
It took him two days to get to South Dakota. He'd hitched rides and hidden on buses until he was only twenty or so miles from Bobby's home. His heart ached at the thought of his friend long gone, but it hadn't been Sam. It hadn't. It'd been Lucifer.
He pushed himself to the limit to make it, but figured it would be worth the while. There were a few operating cars on the lot, if Dean hadn't dealt with the property, and the house would have weapons hidden. No clothes, but Sam would work from there. At least he'd have a bed.
Bobby's old car was parked out front. Not the van, but the car he'd had before the wheelchair had forced him to take a bigger vehicle, and Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat. He skirted around it and slowly took the stairs, his muscles aching from the long walks from the past few days. He didn't bother knocking, simply turned the knob and pushed it open.
It was hard to say who was more surprised, him or Bobby. Neither moved for a good five seconds, and then Bobby reached forward, presumably to gut him. Sam instead found himself wrapped in an embrace that was as safe as it was tight. “God it's good to see you,” Bobby mumbled against his shoulder. He pulled away a minute later, frowning. “You all right?”
“Besides a two day walk and hike to get here?” Sam said, before shrugging. “I'm actually pretty okay.” Missed Dean, but that was just a new feeling he was going to have to live with. Sam wasn't undoing the last good he'd done his brother.
He found himself explaining to Bobby everything that had taken place, even as he'd tried to get Bobby to answer how the hell he was alive. “A little human-angel got angelfied again,” Bobby said. “Sit, I'll get you a coffee. Look like you could use it.”
“So long as it's laced with whiskey, we'll be fine,” Sam said, falling back into Bobby's chair. Bobby's kitchen was warm around him, the sofa where he always was, and if his eyes burned a little, neither man spoke of it. It was the closest place to a home Sam had ever had, and they both knew it.
The other almost home was his brother and the car that had wound up saving the world. Sam wondered if Dean knew that.
“How's Dean?” he asked when he couldn't stand to wait anymore.
Bobby shook his head. “Held out askin' longer than I thought. I haven't heard from Dean since we split about two weeks ago.”
Two weeks. That gave him a time frame, at least. “He's not far,” Bobby was saying. “He's in-”
“Indiana with Lisa, I know,” Sam said.
Bobby stared. “And you know this how?”
“Because that's where I came to after God did his...whatever it was,” Sam replied with a sigh. “And I know, I should've gone up and said something-”
“You think?”
“But I couldn't,” Sam insisted. “Bobby, he was happy, okay? I couldn't take that from him. I wouldn't do that.”
His friend's eyebrows slid skyward. “I don't think the word you're lookin' for is 'happy', Sam,” he said softly. “Dean was devastated. Doubt two weeks off is gonna leave him 'happy'.”
“He's with Lisa now,” Sam said again, not sure who he was trying to convince of that more, Bobby or himself. “That's all that matters. I want him to have a good life. If I told him that I was back, then he'd drop her to come see if I was okay. He'd give it all up for me, and he's done that enough.”
Bobby ignored him and reached for one of his many phones. “Your brother should be allowed to make his own decisions, Sam. It ever occur to you that maybe you're what makes Dean happy?”
Sam paused, biting his lip. Some small part of him insisted that Dean would rather be a martyr than happy, would choose Sam over the new life with Lisa, but maybe...maybe Dean would really be happier with Sam. Because Sam could contend that much: Dean hadn't looked happy with Lisa. There'd been no smiles, and he'd been distant. Remote and as detached as a human being in a warm, family setting could get.
Bobby shook his head. “The pair of you, I swear,” he muttered. “Am I callin' him or what?”
Sam gave a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, call him. Let's see how things are, first. If he does ask, explain it to him?” he added in a rush, his eyes suddenly widening. He knew Bobby had put all sorts of symbols on the porch: if Sam had gotten close enough to get to the door, he wasn't possessed by anyone. But a voice over the phone? That was different.
The phone rang in Bobby's hand, startling them both. It took two rings before Bobby glanced at Sam. “Someone's ears must've been burning,” he said, before picking up after the third. “Good to hear from you, Dean. I was about to call you, actually.”
Sam didn't hear what Dean said, but all the good humor fell from Bobby's face in an instant. “You stupid sonuvabitch, you can't be serious-”
Sam pushed himself out of the chair and leaned across the table, desperately trying to pick up on what Dean was saying. The words were muffled, but the tone and the sob from the other end weren't. His eyes widened and he motioned for Bobby to turn it to speaker phone.
Bobby's next words made that unnecessary. “You're gonna set Lucifer free, and for what?” he said incredulously, pausing before speaking again. “Obviously for Sam, don't take that tone with me. Dean, you can't-”
“Tell him,” Sam said, fighting to breathe. Oh god. Dean wouldn't: he'd made him promise. Dean was supposed to be living an apple-pie life, happy with Lisa and Ben and not sounding so angry and broken at the same time, flying off to let Sam out of a cage he'd never really been in in the first place. “Bobby, tell him-”
Bobby was looking more terrified by the minute. “Dean just listen to me for a minute, Sam's-”
Sam half pulled the phone to his ear, unable to sit and not hear anymore. “-this point, I don't even care if Lucifer gets back out,” Dean was saying in that same, broken tone, his voice rough with tears. He couldn't seriously be saying this. How the hell could he not care, when he'd spent almost the entire year reminding Sam of the mistake he'd inadvertently made? And to do it on purpose?
“Dean-!” Bobby shouted, and Sam was pretty certain he shouted it with him, but he didn't know.
“I'm sorry, but really, I'm not,” was all Dean said before the line went dead.
“Goddammit,” Bobby cursed, immediately hitting redial. The line rang and rang but no one picked up. Dean had finished talking, it seemed.
Sam pushed himself up and out, already moving towards the door. “I need a car,” he yelled. Because he knew where Dean was going. Knew exactly what Dean was going to do, and they were going to have a serious talk about this when Sam stopped him.
When. Not if. Dean wasn't about to redo Sam's first horrible mistake.
“Key in the basket's for the Firebird near the gate,” Bobby called after him. “Fastest car I got.”
Less than twelve hours to Lawrence, Sam had to bet, but god knew where Dean was at that point. “Call Castiel,” Sam said, already a foot out the door. “Tell him to stop Dean!”
Then he took off at a run for the dusty Firebird, sitting alone near the entrance. It started on the first try, and it did indeed give him the pickup he was hoping for when he slammed the accelerator to the floor.
Dean wasn't going to pick up the phone: there was no use calling. The two day (two week) old clothes Sam was wearing were scratchy and full of dust, grime, and blood, only a reminder that he should've stepped onto the porch and talked to Dean. He should've told Dean at least that he was back.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda. His life story.
He didn't stop, not when his stomach first begged for food, then later threatened to rebel against the small sips of coffee he'd had at Bobby's. He didn't stop when his eyes wanted to close and his body simply wanted to shut down. It wasn't happening. Not until Dean had been stopped.
When he pulled into Stull Cemetery hours later, though at a better time than he'd hoped, the Impala was already there. Heart in his throat, Sam stumbled out of the Firebird and ran like hell for his brother. The lone figure in the cemetery stood with his hand outstretched towards the ground, his face away from Sam. Words floated through the air, words that were about to unleash Hell on Earth again, and Sam took off running. “Bar ra-”
“Dean!” he yelled, his legs threatening to trip beneath him. “Dean, don't! Dean!”
Dean stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “Bar ra...bar ra esh...”
It took Sam all of two seconds to see what was really going on. Dean was standing with tears in his eyes, hand trembling over the earth. The words were choked out, tripping on his tongue, stuttering when Sam knew that his brother had the incantation down cold. It wasn't lack of knowledge. It was common sense and logic and a promise that forced Dean's hand to his side and his chin to his chest.
Sam forced himself to move anyways. God only knew how long it would take before Dean would try and start again.
Sure enough, as soon as Sam got close enough Dean lifted his head. “Dean, just, wait, wait a minute, just wait a minute, okay?” he pleaded, out of breath. If Dean had a weapon on him, Sam was screwed, because he had absolutely nothing except the clothes on his back, except-
Except Dean was staring at him like he was the second coming, awe and fear and shock and hope on his face. Sam raised his hand to try and stall anything, pleading with Dean to leave it be and not open it because hey, Sam was right there, and somewhere in there Sam's logic fell away into rambling, because Dean wasn't moving.
And then he was, step by step across the damned piece of grass Sam had never wanted to see again. A moment later and Sam was wrapped in his arms tight. His brother was seriously nuts, because he hadn't even checked to see if Sam was human or anything, and god how could his brother be so stupid-
“Sammy?” Dean choked out, sounding so terrified and unsure, and Sam didn't care if his brother had lost a few brain cells over the past two weeks. Sam wrapped his arms as tight as he could, an irrational fear of losing Dean emerging. It felt like if he didn't hold on, then Dean was going to slip through his fingers, and Sam was going to find himself somewhere cold and dark. Not in the middle of a cemetery at night, his big brother there and alive and there.
“Dean,” he whispered. Dean didn't let go. Sam didn't either.
It was only when Sam's legs began to give that he knew he needed to move them. The instant he tried to shift Dean only tightened his grip, leaving Sam to helplessly laugh. “Dean, I can't...I can't stand for much longer,” he admitted. “I haven't really eaten anything the past few days.”
That brought Dean to focus. “Days?” he asked, his voice shot. His eyes were red and his face tear-stained, but he seemed calm for the moment. “You've been out for days? You could've called, borrowed someone's cell phone-”
“I actually got pulled out...in front of Lisa's house,” he said quietly. Dean's jaw slid open, the inevitable hurt about to get blasted far worse than it ever had before, and Sam hurried to try and make him understand. “You just...you were there with Lisa and her son and I couldn't...I'd left you to have a normal life and I thought you were happy-”
“'Happy' isn't exactly the word, Sam,” Dean said with a dark look, and yeah, okay, Sam had known that.
“I know that now, but I...I seriously thought you were coping,” he said softly. “I just wanted you to be happy. I didn't want to drag you back into this.” Because God pulling you out of Hell's cage? Yeah. Left you kind of unable to settle into a 9 to 5 routine.
Dean didn't punch him, which surprised Sam. Instead, he pulled Sam in until their foreheads bumped slightly. “I've been out of my mind miserable,” Dean admitted quietly. “I couldn't go anywhere, see anything without thinking about my little brother. And then I saw this girl and her kid brother and I...I couldn't do it anymore. I wasn't able to go through life brotherless. I'm sorry, Sammy, but I can't. If you try and tell me to pack up and head back to Lisa's-”
“Good,” Sam said, cutting him off, before trying to explain. “Good that, you know, you can't do brotherless either.” Because the hardest choice he'd ever had to make was walk away from Dean's life two days before. Cut himself out of his life to make his brother happy.
Dean snorted a laugh. “We got work to do?” he asked.
Sam smiled back. It's your choice, he'd been told. He'd skipped Heaven in favor of a life with cuts and bruises, demons and spirits, dodging the cops and running credit card scams. Eating crap food and never getting thanked.
Looking at his brother, pulling back slightly just to see his brother smile for probably the first time in two weeks, Sam couldn't find it in himself to mind.
“Always,” he said. He'd made his choice, and he wasn't changing it.
Not for anything.
END
~Nebula