When It's Over 4/15
Title: When It's Over
Chapters: 4/15
Rating: R
Characters: Sam, Dean, Sarah
Spoilers: All of season one is fair game, but it's a future fic.
Notes: A future fic so it's definitely AU.
Warnings: Sadness and angst. Bring tissues.
Summary: After a horrible accident, Sam and Dean have to relearn what it is to be a family.
Chapter Four
Sam groaned as someone rolled onto him. It took him half a second to recognize the weight, the scent, the feel of Sarah. Even after all these years, he’d never been able to fully get rid of the hunter instinct that had been ingrained into him. That fraction of a second when he thought of flipping that weight off, pinning them to the floor and pulling a knife. He still kept one in the drawer of the table beside the bed. No matter how many years of normal Sam could get, that would never change. He’d gotten comfortable once before. He wouldn’t do it again. Not to that extent. And the best part was, Sarah understood. She understood because she knew. She knew what was out there, what could hurt them. She’d been hesitant at first about the knives and the runes and the other “emergency only” supplies Sam kept around the house. But after Hannah was born, she’d gone out and bought Sam a whole new set of hunting knives. “Just in case.” They’d hid the knives together.
“Mmm, morning,” Sarah whispered as she kissed his neck. Sam groaned his greeting back, still not opening his eyes. She chuckled softly and wrapped her arms underneath him. “You didn’t turn on the alarm.”
“Nope,” Sam said, smiling.
“So I guess that means you’re not going to work today.” Her tone wasn’t reprimanding, merely observing, amused.
Finally opening his eyes, he found her looking down at him, a frisky look on her face. He loved that look. “Nope,” he repeated.
Sarah laughed and in between kissing him again she said, “Me neither.” She laid her head on his chest. “Been a while since we’ve both had the day off.”
“Sure has,” he agreed as he kissed the top of her head. He rolled over so they were side by side, facing each other. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he just ran his fingers down the side of her face and really looked at her. Sarah. His wife. His beautiful, gorgeous, intelligent, perfect wife. What had he done to deserve her? It wasn’t my butt she was checking out. Dean’s words played through his head. They’re first date had been because of a hunt, but also, because of Dean. If it hadn’t been for his brother, he would have talked to her once and probably wouldn’t have looked back. Not in the state of mind he’d had back then. But Dean had pushed. And Sam had found the love of his life. The thought gave Sam a sober feeling.
“I should go see how Dean’s doing,” Sam whispered.
Sarah’s smile faltered for a second and if he hadn’t been watching for it, he never would have seen it. But he did and immediately he was torn. “Yeah,” she whispered and rubbed his arm before rolling onto her back and looking at the ceiling.
“Well, I mean, I don’t have to do it right now. I could-”
“Sam,” Sarah interrupted and turned to look at him. “I think Dean needs you more than I do right now.”
For some reason, the words were enough. They were enough to tell him that Sarah was behind him. That she didn’t hold it against him, or Dean, or anybody. That she understood. But it also hurt to realize it was true. He wished it wasn’t. He wished Dean wasn’t hurt. He wished Dean could have found a wife, had a family, lived a life, a real life. Maybe he still could.
“Oh? Are you sure?” Sam said playfully and sat up, but bent down to kiss her forehead. “You don’t want me to give you more babies?”
Sarah let out a laugh and shoved his chest. “Get out of here you perv.”
Sam chuckled as he stood up and grabbed a pair of pants from the dresser. He pulled on a clean shirt, checked himself once in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair before heading to the door. He paused for a second, a wave of nervousness rushing through him at the prospect of facing Dean. Would he be more responsive today? Would he want to see Sam? Would Sam get another glimpse of the brother he knew? He hoped so. He hoped to God it would be so.
With a deep breath, he pulled open the door and turned to give Sarah a smile, which she returned, before closing it behind him. He walked down the stairs quietly and headed down the hall towards the guest room, Dean’s room. Another hesitation, another deep breath, and he knocked quietly on the door. There wasn’t an answer, so he pushed it open slowly, not wanting to wake Dean up if he was sleeping.
But that wasn’t the case.
Sam literally felt his shoulders drop as he found Dean still sitting in his wheelchair, facing the window, the exact same way he’d left him the night before. One glance at the made bed told Sam that his brother hadn’t even touched it. He internalized the sigh that begged to escape his lips and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, wondering what he should say. He was sure yelling at his depressed, unresponsive brother wasn’t going to get them anywhere. And even a friendly-toned lecture probably wouldn’t do much good. Maybe feigned curiosity? Worth a try.
“Weren’t tired?” he tried to keep his voice light, a simple question, no anger or scolding behind it. He thought it came out pretty well.
“Guess not.” The answer surprised Sam. He half expected Dean to not respond, or maybe yell or get annoyed or something. He didn’t know how to take this answer. So he just nodded and walked over to sit down on the bed, so he could see Dean’s face.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, changing the subject. “We’ve got the fixings for steak and eggs, or biscuits and gravy. We even got grits if you want them.”
“I’m not hungry.” The short answer. Dean didn’t even turn his head to look at him.
Okay, new tactic. “You should eat something, Dean,” he said, bending forward, trying to see Dean’s eyes. But his brother just kept staring out the window. “We could just make toast if you want-”
“I said I’m not hungry,” Dean’s voice was curt, bitter. It was Dean-speak for “go away.”
Sam wasn’t going anywhere. “Fine, we’ll just wait ‘til lunch.” Dean let out a long sigh. Sam tapped his fingers on his knee, getting frustrated. “It’s a little hot in here, don’t you think? Maybe we should open a window.” Sam got up and made it halfway to the window, but Dean’s next question stopped him. Or, not so much the question as the tone.
“Aren’t you going to work?” It was the way he said it that made Sam clench his fists. That ‘get the hell out of my face,’ ‘what the fuck are you doing here,’ ‘I don’t appreciate you’ kind of tone. Sam had to remind himself that Dean was dealing with something that he couldn’t even begin to understand. That his brother was stressed, depressed, angry, hurting. It took all of Sam’s willpower not to yell.
“I took the day off,” Sam said slowly, quietly, steadily. Don’t yell, don’t get mad.
Dean finally turned his head and Sam’s anger instantly melted away at the look he found in his brother’s eyes. Dean looked guilty. Sam hadn’t expected that. What could his brother possibly be guilty for? Did he feel guilty for being here? Guilty for Sam staying home from work? That had to be it. Dean whispered a quiet, “Why?”
Not wanting to fuel his brother’s guilt trip, he shrugged half-heartedly and said, “Needed a break. Had a few days of paid vacation.”
Sam watched Dean’s brow furrow slightly as he turned to look back out the window. He almost missed the whispered words. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall, watching his brother, his eyes glancing over the assorted wounds decorating Dean’s body. How could he not stay home? He wouldn’t dare leave Dean home alone, not like this. When Dean didn’t answer, Sam decided to stop skirting the issue. “Look, Dean, if we’re gonna help you get better-”
“Who asked you to?” Dean spat so vehemently Sam was a bit taken aback.
“What?” he asked, thinking maybe he missed something.
Dean turned his head and stared at Sam, his bruised face angry. “Who asked you to help?”
For a moment, Sam was at a loss for words. He just stared at Dean, but his brother wouldn’t look away, his angry face relentless. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but all he could get out was a scoff of disbelief. “No one,” he answered, struggling for an answer. “No one had to ask,” he added, his frustration filtering back in. “You’re my brother, Dean. What did you want me to do? Leave you there?”
“Yes.” The answer was quick out of Dean’s mouth.
Sam frowned. “You’re serious? You’d rather be back at the hospital?”
Dean clenched his good hand into a fist and grit his teeth. “Yes, goddammit, Sam.” Dean turned away, tears of frustration forming in his eyes. He was grinding his teeth, his jaw working in circles, making the stitches on his cheekbone tug and pull. Sam just about reached out to hold his jaw still, but restrained himself.
“Dean…” But Sam didn’t get a chance to finish.
“I didn’t ask you to get me and bring me into your fucking apple-pie life. I didn’t ask for it, Sam. You should have fucking left me there. But you can’t leave things alone, can you? You can’t just look the other way and be happy? You gotta keep taking until you have it all, don’t you?” Dean’s voice rose with his rant and his voice was strained and more emotional than Sam had heard it in a long, long time.
Sam felt his throat constrict with emotion. Why did things have to be so hard? “Sarah and I just want to help you. We just want to see you get better and then when you’re back on your feet you can…” Oh God. He didn’t just say that. But judging by the way Dean’s face paled and his brow furrowed even deeper, if that was at all possible, he apparently had said it. And Dean reacted.
“I’ll never be back on my feet!” he screamed, turning his wheelchair to face Sam. And although Sam was getting angry again, he was glad that Dean was finally facing him. That he’d finally stopped pretending he wasn’t there. “I’ll never get up from this fucking chair again and you know why? Do you know why, Sam? Because while you went off and found your perfect life, I had to carry on the family business. I had to finish what Dad started because you don’t give a shit about what happened.”
The floodgates broke after that. Sam forgot about his vow to not yell at his brother. He yelled, and he couldn’t stop himself. “That’s not true!” He took a deep breath. “And that’s not fair. You know how upset I was after Dad died. God, Dean, how can you say that I don’t care? I had nightmares for years after what happened. And not just about Dad. I had them about Mom, I had them about the fight, I had them about you, Dean. You know why? Because I do care. I do care about you. You know if you ever really needed me, I’d be there.”
“Oh yeah?” Dean asked. “Then where were you?” Sam felt his stomach drop. No, Dean, please don’t say that. “Huh? Where were you?”
Sam shook his head, fighting back the urge to cry and scream and just punch something. “You’re really blaming this on me?” he asked quietly and watched as Dean’s eyes fell and he turned his head away. “My seeing the future days are over Dean. I didn’t know this was going to happen. No one knew this would happen, not even you. But if I did? Jesus, Dean, I would have been at your side in a heartbeat.”
They were quiet for a second, Sam watching Dean, Dean watching a spot on the floor. Sam wondered if his brother was going to say anything. His heart was racing. His head hurt. Say something, Dean. Just say something.
“Well, you weren’t.” Sam let out a shaky breath he’d been holding, it sounded like a muffled sob. The tears in his eyes weren’t helping. “Now you finally got what you wanted.” What? I never wanted this. “We’re both done hunting.” Sam’s face crumpled and he had to look away. It hurt. It hurt because Dean was right. That was what Sam had wanted. He’d spent many days, weeks, years praying that Dean would just stop hunting. That Dean would just give it up and be safe. But damn. This wasn’t what he wanted. Not ever this.
“Not like this, Dean,” he whispered. But apparently Dean was done talking. He turned his wheelchair to look back out the window and let out a sigh. “Dean…”
“I’m tired, Sam.”
Sam closed his mouth, trying to think of something, anything to say that would make this right. But nothing came to mind. He didn’t know how. So he just nodded. “Okay.” Then headed to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I may not have been there then,” he whispered, not looking back to see if Dean was listening. He knew he was. “But I’m here now.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He was out the door before Dean could give one.
Go to Chapter Five