When It's Over 2/15
So the story "When It's Over" had originally been intended to be a oneshot. But people kept pestering me for more, so I'm delivering more. This story is going to be extremely different from my norm. And what I mean by that is there's no blood and gore, but there will still be plenty of angst between brothers. So enjoy.
Title: When It's Over
Chapters: 2/15
Rating: R
Spoilers: All of season one is fair game, but it's a future fic.
Notes: A future fic so it's definitely AU.
Summary: After a horrible accident, Sam and Dean have to relearn what it is to be a family.
The original story aka Chapter One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
The steps to the front door were the hardest. Inside the house had been the easiest, there were no steps above three inches aside from the stairs that led to the second story, but he didn’t think Dean would be needing to go upstairs for a while, at least not until they got one of those fancy chair mobile’s that could just carry his brother up. So if he wouldn’t be going upstairs for a while, the only places Sam needed to build a ramp were the steps up to the front porch and the one three inch step down that separated the living room from the kitchen. He’d gotten that step covered, but it was the outside steps he was having trouble with.
The plywood had to be a good two inches thick, Sam wouldn’t settle for anything less. He didn’t want the ramp snapping if it rained or was humid enough. So two inches thick, about seven feet long and three feet wide. It was going to extend down the walkway, but their house was back far enough from the sidewalk that there was still a good thirteen feet left if he needed to expand it further. He’d measured the exact angles and had cut out pieces to apply to the sides of the ramp so no rabbits or other animals would nest beneath it. He’d plastered it to the walkway. It was a permanent ramp. Sam hoped that would be a bold enough statement. He wouldn’t be taking it down any time soon.
Sam had attached the pieces of wood together with two three inch nails on every side. He purchased corner brackets to make sure the ramp stayed attached to the porch and had bought an all new power drill that had enough oomph behind it to keep Sam from messing up the wood with crooked screws. He bought two cans too many of waterproof sealant for the wood, but he needed to make sure he had some because he would put on a new coat every summer, before it snowed, just to make sure the sealant was still good. He bought a black tarmac mat to put on top of the ramp so Dean would have some traction and wouldn’t slip and slide when it was slick with rain.
All in all, when it was finished, the outside ramp looked pretty good. Sam had never thought of himself as a crafty kind of guy, but this project had turned out okay. Except it looked too steep. And there was a slight bump where the ramp met the porch. Maybe he could sand that down, he didn’t want Dean jarring himself every time he wanted to come in or out of the house. But if he sanded it down, he’d have to repaint the porch because Sarah would definitely have something to say if part of her beautiful white porch was suddenly sanded away. Yeah, he could repaint it. That wasn’t a problem. Another trip the hardware store. This ramp had to be perfect. This project had to be perfect. This whole god damned thing had to be perfect because if there was even one tiny flaw, just one tiny thing wrong, that meant it wasn’t good enough. It had to be perfect, and then some, because this was for Dean. Dean who looked so broken there was hardly enough glue in the world to fix him.
But don’t think of that now. Stay focused. This needs to get done. This has to be done.
“Hey you.”
Sam startled out of his thoughts as he turned to look at Sarah. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. Her hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail and damn she looked so beautiful, so supportive, so understanding. There was a slight crick to her lips, turned up into half a smile as she watched him.
“Hey you,” he answered with only a half hearted smile before he looked away from her and back down at the ramp he’d been working on for the past five hours. There was sweat beaded on his forehead and he knew Sarah would be scolding him later for not putting on sun block. But what was a little sunburn? It was nothing compared to a cracked cheekbone, broken ribs, fractured arm, severed spinal chord. Dear God.
“Looks like you could use a break,” she said in the voice that Sam came to recognize as her ‘I’m telling not asking’ voice. He both loved and hated that voice.
“It’s almost done,” he said, not letting his thoughts drift to undesirable places right now. “I think it’s too steep. And there’s a bump at the top I need to fix. That bump actually looks pretty big.” He chewed on his thumbnail. “Maybe I should tear this down and start over. I mean I could extend it out further. I don’t want Dean to have problems getting up-”
“Sam,” Sarah’s voice broke his tirade out thoughts. He paused and looked over at her. She shrugged off the doorframe and walked over to him, her feet making an echoing noise as she walked down the ramp and stepped off the side to stand next to him. Man, that would be noisy. He should have filled it in instead of making it hollow. Maybe he should have used concrete? “It’s fine.”
“Yeah,” Sam admitted begrudgingly. “I just…” I just what? What is it that he wanted? To make things as easy as possible for Dean? To make sure his brother had everything he needed? To hear Dean praise his excellent craftsmanship? To listen to Dean bitch and moan and joke and poke fun at him the way older brothers do? To have Dean back? Maybe that one came closest. He wanted Dean back. It had been thirteen years. Thirteen yeas of normal and of seeing Dean maybe four or five times a year and talking to him maybe once a month. Thirteen years since Dean had driven him to Stanford, gotten him squared away, and then took off on a hunt. It hurt to think of how much he’d missed his brother without really realizing it. Hurt to think that when Dean came around, when he’d shown up for a couple Christmas’ or had randomly come to take Sam out to lunch, that those were the times Sam felt like he could breathe easier. To know Dean was there, safe and sound, not laying in a basement somewhere bleeding and broken and dying. He didn’t know how hard it was to be without him until he was around. Life was fucked up that way.
So yeah, maybe what he wanted the most was to have his brother back. His brother, who joked and teased. Not this stranger in a wheelchair he barely knew. This quiet stranger who stared and didn’t smile and didn’t laugh when Sam made a joke. It hurt to think that this was all that was left of Dean. Not so much the physical aspect of it all, but the cold emptiness in Dean’s eyes.
Sam had known. He’d known from the minute he’d gotten the phone call from the hospital. He’d known from the way the doctor had said, “Mr. Winchester, your brother’s been admitted for treatment. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.” He’d known during the entire four hour drive across state to see him, to get to his side, to hold his hand, to see for himself that his brother was still breathing at least. And he’d known the moment Dean had given him a last attempt at normalcy with a joke that wasn’t funny, but Sam had laughed anyway. He’d known, but he hadn’t admitted it until he saw Dean’s eyes. So lost, so helpless, so dead. So un-Dean.
Dean was done. He’d given up. And Sam hated that the most. Because Dean never gave up on anything. It was what made him Dean.
“I just want to make him comfortable.” Sam hated the thought as soon as it was out of his mouth. It was something a doctor said to a dying patient’s family. All we can do is make him comfortable and wait. See how long he holds on. There’s a betting pool going on if you want to join. We’re guessing two weeks, at the most. “This isn’t going to be easy for him.”
“It’s not going to be easy for either of you,” Sarah whispered, running a hand along Sam’s chest and wrapping her arms around him, holding him close. Sam breathed her in. Her familiar scent calmed him a bit. It hadn’t changed over the years. Sam knew it never would. “You’re going to have to give this some time, Sam. Don’t expect a miracle the first day.”
“I know,” Sam whispered with a sigh and hugged her a bit tighter. No miracles the first day, right. But what about tomorrow? Could tomorrow come and bring with it a Dean that was familiar to him? What about the day after? Was it too much to ask that at the end of the week they would have fallen back into their roles as brothers? Probably. This wasn’t like all the other times Dean had been hurt. Dean could always bounce back, because he could always heal. But this. There was only so much that time could heal.
“Hannah’s looking forward to seeing him,” Sarah said as she pulled away from Sam. She kept one arm around his waist, her fingers rubbing his side affectionately. He smiled at the thought of his eldest daughter and Dean together. God, they were a deadly duo at one time, when Dean used to come around. The last time she’d seen her uncle see was only five years old. But they’d been two peas in a pod. Wreaking havoc in the household. Double teaming both Sam and Sarah to get ice cream and candy bars. It was the first time Dean had stuck around longer than two nights. He’d stayed a whole week. Sam guessed that was why Dean hadn’t come back after that. Why when he showed up to see Sam, it was always at his office or when he knew the kids were out of the house. Dean didn’t like getting attached. Especially not to something he knew could hurt him so much. He hadn’t even come around when Cameron was born. Sam had forgiven him instantly. “Told everyone in her class about her favorite uncle.”
“She didn’t tell them about the closet monster thing, did she?” Sam asked, unable to keep his smile hidden at the memory. Hannah had been afraid of the monster in her closet for a few months before Dean had shown up. Sam, after checking to make sure there was indeed not really a monster, had tried everything he could think of to convince here there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. But nothing had worked. Two nights after Dean had come to stay with them, Sam had gone into his daughter’s room and found the two of them camped outside the closet, with a wide assortment of provisions including vials of Holy Water, garlic, a half dozen rosaries, a packet of peanut M&M’s, and a gun which had been held firmly in Hannah’s hands. Sam had been furious at first when he caught sight of the gun.
Sam had rushed forward, angrily taking the gun from his daughter and yelling at Dean that this wasn’t the way things were around here and how stupid could he be to give a kid a gun and God he was just like Dad. Sam would feel guilty about that last part later, but Dean didn’t seem phased. He just held up his hands and had said, “Chill, Sam, it’s just a squirt gun.” And when Sam had looked closer, he’d felt all the anger melt out of him and it was replaced with embarrassment. He’d pulled the trigger and a stream of Holy Water had shot out. He’d looked back down at Dean, who was looking rather amused. “Magic squirt gun,” he’d said. “Always does the trick.”
Hannah had chimed in after that with a, “Yeah, Dad, chill. It’s just a magic squirt gun,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he was dumb not to realize it. Sam had given the toy gun back and after a few moments of making sure Dean would get Hannah to bed at a decent time, he’d left them to their adventures. Hannah hadn’t been scared of her closet since. And it wasn’t until a few months after Dean left, when Sam was cleaning out some old boxes from Hannah’s closet, that he found the protection rune carved into the wall at the back of the closet.
Sarah laughed as she remembered the incident too. The memory brought a warm rush of love and affection for his brother that nearly choked as it collided with the thought of how effected by this whole thing Dean was going to be.
“No,” Sarah answered, still smiling. “I don’t think she’s ever told anyone about that. It’s their little secret.” She stood on her toes to kiss Sam on the cheek. He looked down at her, wondering what that was for. “It’s going to be okay, Sam.”
God, how did she know exactly what to say to make things all better? It was a talent her and Dean shared to an infuriating fault. Sam nodded. “I know,” he whispered and kissed her forehead.
“Good,” Sarah answered. “I’m going to start dinner. You’ll probably be a while? Going to pick him up?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. Though he’d managed to get Dean transferred to a closer hospital, it was still an hour’s drive away. And no doubt it was going to be a chore getting Dean ready to go. “Save me some?”
“Sure,” she kissed him again before heading back up the ramp towards the house. “Drive safe.” She paused at the door and turned. “And Sam?”
“Yeah?” Sam turned around to look at her, his hands knitted in back of his head as he breathed out slowly, trying to alleviate the sudden panic he felt at the prospect of going to get Dean and bringing him home. Home. Sam’s home. Sarah’s home. Their home. And now it would be Dean’s home. He wondered how long it would take Dean to consider this his home. Had Dean really ever had a home?
“You should take a shower first,” Sarah said and Sam frowned at her. “Dean doesn’t need you showing up all sweaty and stinky.” She winked and went into the house.
Sam chuckled softly to himself before looking back at the ramp. It would have to do, for now. He’d put it off as long as he could. Truthfully, he didn’t want to admit that he was so nervous. This was Dean. This was his brother. There was no reason to be nervous. This is someone he’d known his whole life, someone he loved more than life itself. Someone who loved him back.
Or had that love disappeared too? Was Dean so far gone that he wouldn’t care? Sam hoped not. He prayed not. If there was one thing in his life that he had always counted on, it was Dean’s love for him. And if that was gone, Sam didn’t know what he would do.
Sam put away his tools and went to shower before going to pick up his brother and bring him home.
He only hoped there was still a brother left in that broken body.
Go to Chapter Three
Title: When It's Over
Chapters: 2/15
Rating: R
Spoilers: All of season one is fair game, but it's a future fic.
Notes: A future fic so it's definitely AU.
Summary: After a horrible accident, Sam and Dean have to relearn what it is to be a family.
The original story aka Chapter One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
The steps to the front door were the hardest. Inside the house had been the easiest, there were no steps above three inches aside from the stairs that led to the second story, but he didn’t think Dean would be needing to go upstairs for a while, at least not until they got one of those fancy chair mobile’s that could just carry his brother up. So if he wouldn’t be going upstairs for a while, the only places Sam needed to build a ramp were the steps up to the front porch and the one three inch step down that separated the living room from the kitchen. He’d gotten that step covered, but it was the outside steps he was having trouble with.
The plywood had to be a good two inches thick, Sam wouldn’t settle for anything less. He didn’t want the ramp snapping if it rained or was humid enough. So two inches thick, about seven feet long and three feet wide. It was going to extend down the walkway, but their house was back far enough from the sidewalk that there was still a good thirteen feet left if he needed to expand it further. He’d measured the exact angles and had cut out pieces to apply to the sides of the ramp so no rabbits or other animals would nest beneath it. He’d plastered it to the walkway. It was a permanent ramp. Sam hoped that would be a bold enough statement. He wouldn’t be taking it down any time soon.
Sam had attached the pieces of wood together with two three inch nails on every side. He purchased corner brackets to make sure the ramp stayed attached to the porch and had bought an all new power drill that had enough oomph behind it to keep Sam from messing up the wood with crooked screws. He bought two cans too many of waterproof sealant for the wood, but he needed to make sure he had some because he would put on a new coat every summer, before it snowed, just to make sure the sealant was still good. He bought a black tarmac mat to put on top of the ramp so Dean would have some traction and wouldn’t slip and slide when it was slick with rain.
All in all, when it was finished, the outside ramp looked pretty good. Sam had never thought of himself as a crafty kind of guy, but this project had turned out okay. Except it looked too steep. And there was a slight bump where the ramp met the porch. Maybe he could sand that down, he didn’t want Dean jarring himself every time he wanted to come in or out of the house. But if he sanded it down, he’d have to repaint the porch because Sarah would definitely have something to say if part of her beautiful white porch was suddenly sanded away. Yeah, he could repaint it. That wasn’t a problem. Another trip the hardware store. This ramp had to be perfect. This project had to be perfect. This whole god damned thing had to be perfect because if there was even one tiny flaw, just one tiny thing wrong, that meant it wasn’t good enough. It had to be perfect, and then some, because this was for Dean. Dean who looked so broken there was hardly enough glue in the world to fix him.
But don’t think of that now. Stay focused. This needs to get done. This has to be done.
“Hey you.”
Sam startled out of his thoughts as he turned to look at Sarah. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. Her hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail and damn she looked so beautiful, so supportive, so understanding. There was a slight crick to her lips, turned up into half a smile as she watched him.
“Hey you,” he answered with only a half hearted smile before he looked away from her and back down at the ramp he’d been working on for the past five hours. There was sweat beaded on his forehead and he knew Sarah would be scolding him later for not putting on sun block. But what was a little sunburn? It was nothing compared to a cracked cheekbone, broken ribs, fractured arm, severed spinal chord. Dear God.
“Looks like you could use a break,” she said in the voice that Sam came to recognize as her ‘I’m telling not asking’ voice. He both loved and hated that voice.
“It’s almost done,” he said, not letting his thoughts drift to undesirable places right now. “I think it’s too steep. And there’s a bump at the top I need to fix. That bump actually looks pretty big.” He chewed on his thumbnail. “Maybe I should tear this down and start over. I mean I could extend it out further. I don’t want Dean to have problems getting up-”
“Sam,” Sarah’s voice broke his tirade out thoughts. He paused and looked over at her. She shrugged off the doorframe and walked over to him, her feet making an echoing noise as she walked down the ramp and stepped off the side to stand next to him. Man, that would be noisy. He should have filled it in instead of making it hollow. Maybe he should have used concrete? “It’s fine.”
“Yeah,” Sam admitted begrudgingly. “I just…” I just what? What is it that he wanted? To make things as easy as possible for Dean? To make sure his brother had everything he needed? To hear Dean praise his excellent craftsmanship? To listen to Dean bitch and moan and joke and poke fun at him the way older brothers do? To have Dean back? Maybe that one came closest. He wanted Dean back. It had been thirteen years. Thirteen yeas of normal and of seeing Dean maybe four or five times a year and talking to him maybe once a month. Thirteen years since Dean had driven him to Stanford, gotten him squared away, and then took off on a hunt. It hurt to think of how much he’d missed his brother without really realizing it. Hurt to think that when Dean came around, when he’d shown up for a couple Christmas’ or had randomly come to take Sam out to lunch, that those were the times Sam felt like he could breathe easier. To know Dean was there, safe and sound, not laying in a basement somewhere bleeding and broken and dying. He didn’t know how hard it was to be without him until he was around. Life was fucked up that way.
So yeah, maybe what he wanted the most was to have his brother back. His brother, who joked and teased. Not this stranger in a wheelchair he barely knew. This quiet stranger who stared and didn’t smile and didn’t laugh when Sam made a joke. It hurt to think that this was all that was left of Dean. Not so much the physical aspect of it all, but the cold emptiness in Dean’s eyes.
Sam had known. He’d known from the minute he’d gotten the phone call from the hospital. He’d known from the way the doctor had said, “Mr. Winchester, your brother’s been admitted for treatment. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.” He’d known during the entire four hour drive across state to see him, to get to his side, to hold his hand, to see for himself that his brother was still breathing at least. And he’d known the moment Dean had given him a last attempt at normalcy with a joke that wasn’t funny, but Sam had laughed anyway. He’d known, but he hadn’t admitted it until he saw Dean’s eyes. So lost, so helpless, so dead. So un-Dean.
Dean was done. He’d given up. And Sam hated that the most. Because Dean never gave up on anything. It was what made him Dean.
“I just want to make him comfortable.” Sam hated the thought as soon as it was out of his mouth. It was something a doctor said to a dying patient’s family. All we can do is make him comfortable and wait. See how long he holds on. There’s a betting pool going on if you want to join. We’re guessing two weeks, at the most. “This isn’t going to be easy for him.”
“It’s not going to be easy for either of you,” Sarah whispered, running a hand along Sam’s chest and wrapping her arms around him, holding him close. Sam breathed her in. Her familiar scent calmed him a bit. It hadn’t changed over the years. Sam knew it never would. “You’re going to have to give this some time, Sam. Don’t expect a miracle the first day.”
“I know,” Sam whispered with a sigh and hugged her a bit tighter. No miracles the first day, right. But what about tomorrow? Could tomorrow come and bring with it a Dean that was familiar to him? What about the day after? Was it too much to ask that at the end of the week they would have fallen back into their roles as brothers? Probably. This wasn’t like all the other times Dean had been hurt. Dean could always bounce back, because he could always heal. But this. There was only so much that time could heal.
“Hannah’s looking forward to seeing him,” Sarah said as she pulled away from Sam. She kept one arm around his waist, her fingers rubbing his side affectionately. He smiled at the thought of his eldest daughter and Dean together. God, they were a deadly duo at one time, when Dean used to come around. The last time she’d seen her uncle see was only five years old. But they’d been two peas in a pod. Wreaking havoc in the household. Double teaming both Sam and Sarah to get ice cream and candy bars. It was the first time Dean had stuck around longer than two nights. He’d stayed a whole week. Sam guessed that was why Dean hadn’t come back after that. Why when he showed up to see Sam, it was always at his office or when he knew the kids were out of the house. Dean didn’t like getting attached. Especially not to something he knew could hurt him so much. He hadn’t even come around when Cameron was born. Sam had forgiven him instantly. “Told everyone in her class about her favorite uncle.”
“She didn’t tell them about the closet monster thing, did she?” Sam asked, unable to keep his smile hidden at the memory. Hannah had been afraid of the monster in her closet for a few months before Dean had shown up. Sam, after checking to make sure there was indeed not really a monster, had tried everything he could think of to convince here there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. But nothing had worked. Two nights after Dean had come to stay with them, Sam had gone into his daughter’s room and found the two of them camped outside the closet, with a wide assortment of provisions including vials of Holy Water, garlic, a half dozen rosaries, a packet of peanut M&M’s, and a gun which had been held firmly in Hannah’s hands. Sam had been furious at first when he caught sight of the gun.
Sam had rushed forward, angrily taking the gun from his daughter and yelling at Dean that this wasn’t the way things were around here and how stupid could he be to give a kid a gun and God he was just like Dad. Sam would feel guilty about that last part later, but Dean didn’t seem phased. He just held up his hands and had said, “Chill, Sam, it’s just a squirt gun.” And when Sam had looked closer, he’d felt all the anger melt out of him and it was replaced with embarrassment. He’d pulled the trigger and a stream of Holy Water had shot out. He’d looked back down at Dean, who was looking rather amused. “Magic squirt gun,” he’d said. “Always does the trick.”
Hannah had chimed in after that with a, “Yeah, Dad, chill. It’s just a magic squirt gun,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he was dumb not to realize it. Sam had given the toy gun back and after a few moments of making sure Dean would get Hannah to bed at a decent time, he’d left them to their adventures. Hannah hadn’t been scared of her closet since. And it wasn’t until a few months after Dean left, when Sam was cleaning out some old boxes from Hannah’s closet, that he found the protection rune carved into the wall at the back of the closet.
Sarah laughed as she remembered the incident too. The memory brought a warm rush of love and affection for his brother that nearly choked as it collided with the thought of how effected by this whole thing Dean was going to be.
“No,” Sarah answered, still smiling. “I don’t think she’s ever told anyone about that. It’s their little secret.” She stood on her toes to kiss Sam on the cheek. He looked down at her, wondering what that was for. “It’s going to be okay, Sam.”
God, how did she know exactly what to say to make things all better? It was a talent her and Dean shared to an infuriating fault. Sam nodded. “I know,” he whispered and kissed her forehead.
“Good,” Sarah answered. “I’m going to start dinner. You’ll probably be a while? Going to pick him up?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. Though he’d managed to get Dean transferred to a closer hospital, it was still an hour’s drive away. And no doubt it was going to be a chore getting Dean ready to go. “Save me some?”
“Sure,” she kissed him again before heading back up the ramp towards the house. “Drive safe.” She paused at the door and turned. “And Sam?”
“Yeah?” Sam turned around to look at her, his hands knitted in back of his head as he breathed out slowly, trying to alleviate the sudden panic he felt at the prospect of going to get Dean and bringing him home. Home. Sam’s home. Sarah’s home. Their home. And now it would be Dean’s home. He wondered how long it would take Dean to consider this his home. Had Dean really ever had a home?
“You should take a shower first,” Sarah said and Sam frowned at her. “Dean doesn’t need you showing up all sweaty and stinky.” She winked and went into the house.
Sam chuckled softly to himself before looking back at the ramp. It would have to do, for now. He’d put it off as long as he could. Truthfully, he didn’t want to admit that he was so nervous. This was Dean. This was his brother. There was no reason to be nervous. This is someone he’d known his whole life, someone he loved more than life itself. Someone who loved him back.
Or had that love disappeared too? Was Dean so far gone that he wouldn’t care? Sam hoped not. He prayed not. If there was one thing in his life that he had always counted on, it was Dean’s love for him. And if that was gone, Sam didn’t know what he would do.
Sam put away his tools and went to shower before going to pick up his brother and bring him home.
He only hoped there was still a brother left in that broken body.
Go to Chapter Three