{SPN J2BB} Hey Brother: Chapter 5 of 6
NOW
Dean is sitting at the table in the library of the bunker when Sam walks in. He determinedly pays attention to the laptop in front of him as his brother quietly makes his way towards him and settles down at the opposite side of the table.
Dean remembers every minute of what had happened last night. As they’d woken up in the morning, the tension between them had been simmering just below the line. They’d left before anyone in the city could track them down.
As soon as they’d reached the bunker, Dean had made a beeline towards his room with his duffel, not sparing his brother another glance. It’s not like Dean wanted to ignore Sam. He just couldn’t bring himself to face his brother. Not after last night. Not after…
Dean’s grits his teeth as he remembers the promises he made to his brother. The promises he knows he has to keep. But how? How can Sam expect him to do this? Dean knows he’s being all kinds of selfish but he can’t do this anymore. He hadn’t lied about that while being drunk as fuck the night before. He just can’t do it anymore. He can’t keep losing the people he loves.
His mom.
His dad.
Cas…
Dean snaps out of his thoughts as Sam clears his throat in an attempt to get his attention. Slightly reluctant and wary about what Sam wants to talk about, Dean slowly raises his head, moving his gaze from the laptop to Sam.
“I know you don’t want to hear any of this right now, Dean. But this can’t go on for much longer and you know that,” Sam says.
“Yeah, it can. We can make it work,” Dean replies, trying not to show how hurt he feels knowing exactly what Sam is trying to imply.
Dean watches as Sam runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “Dean. I…I can’t do this.
“I can’t be something we hunt. I know you feel like crap and I know that seeing me here every day to remind you of what happened doesn’t make it any easier. I want to make it easier for you, Dean. Just… please,” Sam pleads. “I know it’s not the right time to talk about this, but the right time never comes.”
Dean’s hands clench into fists. “So you think you leaving for good will make things easier?” he counters, angry. Angry that Sam wants to leave. Angry that he’s at fault. Angry that he can’t reverse what he’s done. Angry at himself, at this life, at his fate.
“I know it won’t. But you’ll get through it. You’ll heal. You’ll have Cas - “
“CAS IS GONE!” Dean bellows. “He fucking left, Sam! And you know why? Because I,” he points a shaking thumb towards himself, “I made him leave. I can’t hurt anyone else, Sam. I just can’t.”
“You think this isn’t hurting me? You don’t think I see the looks on your face when you look at me, Dean?” Sam argues, getting to his feet. “All I see is pain and guilt and hurt and the ever present knowledge that I’m the reason for it! And if you think you can’t take it, then I can’t either, Dean!”
“Sam - “
“No!” Sam yells, weeks of frustration reaching its peak point. “I can’t hurt anyone else either, Dean. I don’t want to turn into something I’m not. Or do you not remember what happened to Bobby?”
“Bobby was different, Sam, don’t bring him into this,” Dean snaps, getting to his feet as well.
“How is this any different from Bobby?!”
Dean stays silent, his hands absently reaching up towards the amulet around his neck. He remembers the time he threw it into the trash all those years ago, never knowing that Sam had picked it up before he’d left the room. He remembers finding it in Sam’s duffel bag after…
Dean can’t bring himself to think about it. He stares angrily at his laptop, trying to ignore Sam’s voice. He knows his brother is doing nothing but voicing the truth he’s been too scared to face.
“Dean, look at m-“
“ENOUGH!” he bellows, cracking. His eyes well up of their own accord as his knees go weak and he sinks to his chair, his elbows resting on the table and his face buried in his hands as he breaks down. His shoulders shake in silent sobs as Sam watches, stunned.
A few minutes of silence follows with Sam not knowing what to do and Dean trying to pull himself back together. He finally looks up, wiping away the tears lining his cheeks.
“You think I want you to suffer, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice hoarse. “You think I want you to be something we hunt? I know full well that I don’t have a choice here. As much as I want to scour every goddamn book in this place for a way to bring you back, I can’t. Because you and I both know how well that’s gone in the past. You know why I’m not spending my nights looking up solutions? Because I made you two promises.
“I promised you I’d let you go when the time came. That I wouldn’t look for fucked up and selfish ways to bring you back. And I’m keeping that promise. I also made you a promise before we left, for the case.”
Sam sucks in a sharp breath.
Dean takes in a shaky breath, knowing that he can’t put this off any longer. He feels the gaping hole in his chest widen as he takes off the amulet. “I… I need to let you go,” he chokes out.
Dean looks up to see Sam’s eyes filled with unshed tears.
“I know I’m only going to screw this up more by making you stay here. And I know that’s what you wanted to talk about. Letting you go. I just… I need some time. A couple hours, just… please. I can’t…” Dean trails off, biting his lip. He’s never been one to cry, but things have just been too much.
“Take whatever time you need,” Sam finally says. “For… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for making you do this. None of this should have happened in the first place.”
Dean gives a small smile. “I know. I’m sorry too. I wish I could take it all back. I want you to know that.”
Sam nods in understanding. Dean watches and feels his heart break as Sam’s form flickers and disappears.
Dean looks down at the amulet in his hands, a symbol of their relationship, a symbol of their bond, a symbol of their loyalty and care for one another, and the only thing left of his little brother.
A MONTH AGO
“No, no, no, no,” Dean’s voice breaks. What the fuck has he done?
He stares at the pool of blood in front of him and into the lifeless eyes of someone he’d give his life for. Someone he knew he couldn’t live without.
Dean pulls the disturbingly still body towards himself, silent tears streaming down his face as his mind keeps replaying the event that occurred just minutes ago.
The rage completely fills him up, and all he sees is red. Gripping the knife in hand, Dean slashes and injures, relentless. He doesn’t inflict direct wounds. He makes his movements so that these men die the most painful death he can dish out.
He feels elated, the Mark spurring him on. It’s like all rationality flows out the window as he viciously slices the last man’s throat and torso before plunging the knife directly into his heart. It’s like he’s a demon again.
That’s what stops him. Dean fights the power of the Mark, desperate to not be the monster he usually hunts down. He stares in alarm at the large mass of red before him, and the bodies littering the room.
He falls to his knees, shock making his knees weak.
It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. He needs this to not be real. He can’t be a monster, he just can’t.
Somewhere in his mind, he hears a door open and a girl scream. He readies himself for another attack, the Mark controlling him more than his own will.
He sees Sam running towards him, sees the look of concern and not-so-hidden shock on his brother’s face. He wants to drop the knife, but he can’t.
He can only watch as Sam kneels before him and almost cradles Dean’s face with his hands. Dean’s arm seems to move of its own accord, and before Dean can stop himself, the knife plunges deep into Sam’s torso.
Sam’s gasp of pain finally makes Dean snap out of it, but it’s too late. Sam falls back, hitting the ground with a muffled thud.
Dean’s hands shake and his breaths quicken as he realizes what he’s done.
“Fuck, no, no, no, shit, Sammy,” Dean stammers, moving closer to Sam, afraid to touch him. He feels like time has suddenly stopped around him. He didn’t just fucking stab his own brother. Holy mother of crap, what the fuck has he done?
“De’n,” Sam whispers. Dean’s heart breaks seeing the understanding in Sam’s eyes. Sam has always been an open book and one of the most selfless people Dean has known. Even when the life is draining out of him, Sam still has faith in his brother. “’t’s ‘kay,” Sam chokes.
“Please, no. Sam, no. What have I done?” Dean begs, unshed tears obscuring his vision.
Sam starts to close his eyes.
“Sam, no! Don’t you dare clock out on me! I’ll find a way, please, Sam, don’t do this,” Dean pleads, his eyes brimming with tears.
“Let me go,” Sam breathes so quietly that Dean almost misses it. Dean startles when Sam holds Dean’s forearm in a surprisingly strong grip as he struggles to breathe.
“I can’t,” Dean says, the tears making their escape.
“Please,” Sam mouths. A second later, his ragged breaths stop and the hand clutching Dean’s forearm drops to the blood soaked floor with a muffled thud.
“No,” Dean whispers as he shakes his brother gently. “Sam, please, wake up,” Dean sobs.
“SAM!” Dean bellows, anguish lacing every bit of his tone. “God, no,” Dean cries, carefully pulling out the knife from his brother’s body and throwing it as far away from himself as he can.
Dean hugs Sam, as he rocks back and forth, his mind taking him back to the first time he saw Sam die in Cold Oak.
“I didn’t mean to,” Dean whispers, as he closes his eyes against the fresh onslaught of tears.
~*~*~
The moon shines in the sky which is filled with a mesmerizing collection of twinkling stars. A chilly breeze blows over the scene. However, the peacefulness is quite contrary to the scene that plays out in front of the Seraph. The angel steps out quietly from behind the trees set towards the back of the bunker, his eyes drawing towards the man standing in the small clearing between the bunker and the trees, a burning pyre in front of him.
Castiel watches in anguish as the man drops to his knees, clutching at his hair, mouth open in a silent scream. Not for the first time in his life, the angel wishes he had his own grace. His temporary grace is just not strong enough to revive someone from the dead.
And oh, he wishes and wishes that he could revive his friend that now burns in the pyre before the broken man he so loves.
He slowly walks over to the man and kneels down beside him. “Dean,” he says.
Dean looks towards Castiel with broken, bloodshot eyes and immediately latches onto Castiel, shaking like a leaf as tears stream down his cheeks. “I killed him. I fucking killed him, Cas,” Dean sobs.
Castiel’s heart wrenches as he holds on tightly to Dean, resting his cheek on the hunter’s head. He whispers empty reassurances as a silent tear slips down his cheek to embed itself into Dean’s hair.
“It’ll be okay, Dean. It’ll be okay.”
And at that moment, Castiel wonders. Will it ever be okay? He may know the pain of losing a brother, but this is different. Castiel never had a bond with his own siblings like the bond between Sam and Dean.
He’s heard every so often that hurting one is hurting the other. He’s seen the truthfulness to this statement too, in the lengths the brothers have gone for one another.
And he realizes then that it’s never going to be okay.
As if to prove his line of thought, Dean suddenly shoves Castiel away. “How?! How the fuck is this ever gonna be okay, Cas?!” Dean yells, pain lacing every word. “I killed him. I… I fucking killed him. This is never gonna be okay!”
“Dean - “
“Just leave me alone,” Dean snaps as he unsteadily gets to his feet and stomps off towards the bunker.
Castiel stays on his knees, beside the burning pyre of his best friend, at loss about how to console Dean. He wishes he was in place of Sam. Dean may have been devastated even then, but at least he’d still have Sam.
Castiel knew that Dean cared about him, but Castiel also knew that Dean cared about Sam more. Sam was his family, his everything. Castiel knew that if it ever came to choosing between himself and Sam, even though it would cause pain to Dean to leave Castiel behind, he’d choose Sam.
The angel finally decides to give Dean his space. He’ll go and check on him later and make it up to him.
Dean was right.
It’s never going to be okay.
NOW
Dean slowly opens the door to his room, needing a little privacy. Sam may be a spirit and for all Dean knows, Sam could be eavesdropping on his every move. But Dean knows his brother, and alive or dead, he respects people’s boundaries. And what Dean is about to do isn’t easy on either of them.
The hunter sits down cross-legged on the floor to the left side of his bed in front of and facing the bedside table. He opens the drawer and pulls out a small box, which on opening reveals the few number of family photos he’d managed to save and treasure for all these years.
He smiles as he flips through each photograph, most of them of him and Sam at different ages. He finally stops at the one he’s looking for. His family photo. John and Mary standing side by side with John carrying Dean on his hip and Mary cradling Sam.
Dean runs his fingers delicately over the photo, yearning for his family. He’s lost everything. He recalls telling Sam to consider him as stone number one when Sam had gotten his soul restored by Death. But what Dean hadn’t told Sam was that it applied the other way around too.
Sam was his stone number one. Sam is his stone number one. Sam will always be his stone number one.
But even so, truth is that stone number one was gone. In reality, all that was left of Sam was the amulet. Dean had avoided talking to Castiel after he’d given Sam a hunter’s funeral. He’d spent all of his time that day in Sam’s room gathering his brother’s things to get rid of. They’d just serve as a reminder of what happened and Dean didn’t want that.
Dean had been clearing out Sam’s desk drawer when he’d found the amulet wedged right at the back of it. He’d stood in shock staring at it for a good fifteen minutes before hesitantly putting it on. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the familiar weight against his chest until he’d put in on.
Dean had then gone on to burn all of Sam’s stuff, even though it hurt, knowing as a hunter that Sam could turn up as a spirit if any part of him was left behind.
Somewhere in his mind, Dean had considered that idea, but he knew it would have been unfair to Sam.
Only it ended up happening anyway.
Dean sighs as he puts down the photographs and rubs at the pendant of the amulet, the string twisted around his fingers. He remembers jumping out of his skin the night after the funeral when he’d tossed and turned for the umpteenth time and seen a figure standing at the edge of his bed. At first, he’d thought that he was hallucinating, but a while later, he came to realize that the amulet was what was holding Sam back.
Dean remembers pleading for his brother to stay for a while, for just ‘one last case’. Only, the one last case turned into quite a few last cases when Dean couldn’t seem to let go.
Dean now appreciated how much Sam cared. Sam was willing to stay for Dean and the reason he wanted to leave now also, was not for himself, but for Dean. Because he wanted Dean to hurt less.
When did things get so messed up? Dean wonders.
Dean wipes away the single tear that slips out of his left eye. He shifts so that his back is leaning against the side of his bed.
His hands rest on his knees as he clutches his hair.
Not one day will pass without him wishing he’d stabbed himself instead of Sam. At least then Sam would have been alive.
Dean’s breathing hitches as he tries not to break down again.
He hurriedly composes himself when he hears a sudden knock on his door. He clears his throat. “You don’t have to knock, Sam,” Dean says, staring at the floor.
The door opens but when Dean doesn’t hear anyone walk in, he looks towards the doorway and feels his heart jump to his mouth.
He unsteadily gets to his feet, his eyes not believing the sight of the man standing right outside his room. He’s missed that tan coat, that eternally messy black hair, and those sparkling blue eyes.
“Hello, Dean.”
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