When It's Over 5/15
Bwahaha, I was not entirely distracted by the Jensen pictures floating around. I managed to get this chapter out of the way...mwahaha.
Title: When It's Over
Chapters: 5/15
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 Five
“How’s your head?”
Sam startled and looked up at his brother, who was standing at the foot of the other bed, packing his duffle bag haphazardly. Dean was watching him with careful eyes. Eyes that were still too far sunken, still too dark, still too sad. But Sam had seen them worse. The first few days after the big fight, where the demon died and took their Dad along with it, Dean’s eyes had been foreign. So cold Sam was sure he was staring at a stranger. At least now he resembled his brother again.
“Huh?” Sam asked, realizing his thoughts had been wandering.
“Your head,” Dean said and pointed at him with a shoe. “How’s it feel? You seem kind of spacey lately. You blacking out again?”
“No,” Sam answered and shook his head. “My head’s fine.” Thank God. It had gotten bad. The nightmares, the visions, the telekinesis that sometimes got out of his control. They’d been worried. Terrified that one day Sam would just lose control all together. He’d nearly thrown John across the room during an argument it had gotten so bad.
But that had all stopped when Sam had single handedly killed the demon. When he’d watched the demon slash their Dad’s throat and nearly rip Dean in half, Sam had lost it. He’d completely lost control. He’d tell Dean later that he didn’t remember what happened. He just saw Dad laying on the floor and Dean’s shoulders popping as he was pulled by his arms in two different directions, and then all of a sudden he was at Dean’s side, holding a shirt to his bleeding wrists. The windows had been shattered, half the room had collapsed, and the demon was splattered on all of the walls. Sam couldn’t remember anything, but judging by the nosebleed, the sudden extra hundred pounds in his head, and the three weeks of random fainting spells, he knew it was something he’d done.
After that, the visions hadn’t come back. The telekinesis never accidentally flung anything around again. The nightmares were still there, but fortunately none had come true. It was over. It was all over.
“Yeah, well that’s questionable,” Dean said and Sam frowned before remembering they had been talking about his head. Dean zipped up his bag and then turned fully to face Sam. “What’s wrong then? Or are you just extra broody by choice?”
Sam ignored the jab. “I talked to an advisor at Stanford.” He watched his brother’s face go slack and Dean turned back to his bag, fidgeting with the strap. When he didn’t say anything, Sam went on. “We’re setting up a meeting with the dean to talk about me getting readmitted. He seemed sympathetic after…well, you know.”
“So, you’re going back to school then?” Dean whispered quietly, still not looking up.
Sam hesitated. They’d had this talk before, but it had never been more than just speculation. It had never been the real thing and he knew it was going to be hard for Dean. But Sam needed him to understand that this wasn’t goodbye. At least not a forever goodbye. It was a ‘I’ll see you later, come visit me as often as possible, I’ll always be there for you’ type of goodbye.
“If you’re okay with it, then yeah,” Sam said slowly. Dean glanced over at him, but didn’t say anything. “I mean, it’s been six months since Dad…and I just thought that we’d given it enough time. No more visions, no more demons. I really want to go back. But I won’t go if you really don’t want me to.”
Dean just stared and Sam could see the conflict raging a battle inside his head. For a moment, Sam didn’t think his brother was going to say anything. He thought that they’d just stay like this forever, Sam waiting for an answer, Dean not wanting to give one. But finally, after an eternity of silence, Dean gave a slight nod of his chin and said, “If it makes you happy, then I’m not going to stop you.”
A wave of relief washed over Sam. He’d expected more of a fight from his brother. He’d expected screaming and yelling and begging and pleading, maybe swollen eyes and split lips. But he hadn’t any of that. Just an okay, you can go. Just an okay, I’ll let you go. Sam tried not to let it show how excited he was.
“You could come with,” he suggested. “We could get an apartment, have a home, you know? Or you could go see Cassie. Go be with her. It can be over, it can all be over. You don’t have to keep this up, Dean.”
“Yeah I do,” Dean whispered so quietly Sam barely caught it. Then he turned and gave Sam the most forced smile he’d ever seen.
“Someone has to.”
Sam sighed as he pushed a stack of papers to the side of his desk. He’d been going over paperwork for cases his firm was working on. It was amazing how reading about other people’s problems got his mind off his own. Well, at least partially. He was pretty sure he’d never be able to get Dean out of the back of his mind for long. There was always something that would remind him of his brother. Remind him of those sad eyes. Of those glaring eyes. Of those horrible accusations.
He still couldn’t get over the fact that Dean was blaming him. But part of him already knew that Dean didn’t actually blame him. More like he needed to blame something. All of the bad things that happen in the world have to have a reason for why they happen. Dean needed a reason. Hell, so did Sam. But who was there to blame, really? Himself? He hadn’t know this was going to happen. And he’d offered Dean a way out. He’d told him to come with him, to stop hunting, to get a life. But Dean just kept on going. Maybe Sam should have tried harder.
What about blaming the poltergeist that had been haunting the house Dean was purifying when he fell? Sure, it was easy to lay the blame on that. But Dean had already gotten rid of the poltergeist. It wasn’t even around. So how about the house itself for being old and rotten? What about the people who called asking for help? What about the paramedics who had taken four god damn hours to find his brother?
Hell, why not blame the whole thing on John fucking Winchester? The man was dead, but even in death he still managed to piss Sam off, still managed to get under Sam’s skin and make Sam spend many nights awake just thinking about how wrong things were back then, how wrong they are now. Had John ever given them a choice other than to hunt? Had he ever told Dean that son, it’s okay to stop hunting once this is over. Had he ever even thought of what would happen to his sons when this was over? I want Dean to have a home. Had he ever fucking told Dean what a home was? What it felt like? That yeah, Dean, it’s okay to want a place, a person, a family, a feeling all of your own? No, he hadn’t. And he’d died before he ever could. A part of Sam thought that his dad always knew he was going to die in the end. The only thing John had ever taught his sons was how to stay alive. But his definition of alive had been shot to shit.
In the end, Sam supposed he could always blame Dean. Dean, for not getting out while he still could. Dean, for always wanting to be the goddamn hero. Dean, for walking around in a stupid, rotting house, not knowing better, not thinking straighter, not taking precautions. Dean for being Dean.
Maybe it was the lawyer in him, but he couldn’t help but feel that there had to be someone to blame. There was never freak accidents. There was always someone to sue. Someone who was guilty of something. For the life of him, Sam couldn’t figure out who that was.
The front door opened and closed and Sam heard the sounds of his children galloping through the house, giggling and playing and laughing. He never got sick of that sound. He thought briefly of poking his head out of his office and telling them to keep it down, in case Dean was sleeping, but he highly doubted that his brother was indeed asleep. He was probably still sitting there, staring, hating, living without actually living. Sam shuddered at the thought.
Sarah suddenly appeared in the doorway and Sam looked up at her with a tired smile. She’d pulled her hair back and looked flushed. “Busy day?” he asked.
She sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in her eye showed him she didn’t really mean it. “Remind me never to take Pat and Cam to watch Hannah at ballet. The older girls were all swooning over Pat and Mrs. Debbie had Cam doing a Plié by the end of class.”
“Well, I’m not buying him a tutu,” Sam said and ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion both physically and mentally.
Sarah came further into the room and stood in front of his desk. “How did it go this morning, with Dean?” Sam just sighed and looked up at her. “That bad, huh?”
Sam put his hands down on the desk and shook his head. “He kept saying that I shouldn’t have brought him here. And, I don’t know, maybe he’s right. I feel like all I’m doing is making him feel bad.”
Sarah pulled a chair over and sat down across from him, taking one of his hands. “This is going to be difficult,” she said. “For both of you. For all of us.”
“Do you think I did the right thing?” Sam asked quietly, brokenly. “Bringing him here?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah admitted. She chewed on her lip. “Does it feel right?”
“Nothing feels right,” Sam said. “We’re going to have to go back to work someday. There’s not always going to be someone here to be with him. I don’t think he should be alone.” He paused for a moment, face twisting with emotion. “Maybe I made a mistake.”
Sarah squeezed his hand. “Mistake or not, he’s here now. If you send him back to the hospital now, you’re going to be doing more hurt than good.”
Sam put his head in his hand. “I don’t know what to do.”
“He’s confused, Sam,” she said. “He’s hurting, more than just physically. It’s going to take a lot for him to get over this. And for you.” Sam frowned at her. “It’s not easy, Sam. Seeing someone you love hurt like that. The best thing you can do for each other is just be there. Whether it’s easy or not.”
“He doesn’t want me there,” Sam said.
“Yes he does,” Sarah nodded. “He just thinks he doesn’t.”
Sam smiled and let go of Sarah’s hand, watching as she waited for him to say something. He looked away, scanning the mess on his desk, his eyes falling on the picture of Sarah and the kids he kept there. In the bottom corner of the framed picture, was the photo of Dean and Sam and their Dad sitting on their car, ready to go fishing. Sam barely remembered that fishing trip. But he remembered being tucked in at night by their Dad. He remembered sharing smores and hotdogs cooked over a fire with Dean. He remembered sitting on the edge of the river, his Dad showing him how to cast a line. It was one of his earliest memories.
“You know,” Sam said, unconsciously moving a hand to rub a finger over the picture. “If Dad was here, he’d know what to do. He’d tell Dean to suck it up, learn to deal and move on. Dean always listened to him. They always got through to each other. He’d probably say ‘be a man, Dean,’” he said in his best impression of John. He smiled after he said it, but the smile faded just as quickly. “I miss him sometimes.”
“I know,” Sarah whispered. “Maybe you should tell Dean that.”
Sam scoffed and shook his head. “He’d just get mad. Or just…tell me to go away.”
“You think so?” She asked. He just looked at her. “No matter how much it doesn’t seem like it, that’s still Dean in there. He’s still the same annoying protective older brother who likes to see good things happen to you. He doesn’t like to see you hurting. You should try talking to him again. And keep trying, no matter how many times he tries to shut you out.”
Sam pressed his fingers into his eyes and then rubbed them down his face before looking at Sarah again. How did she always know the right thing to say? From the first time he’d met her, she always knew exactly what to say, exactly what would make him see things clearer.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked, smiling genuinely.
“You flashed me that cute smile of yours,” she said, getting up and playfully pinching his cheek. He chuckled and watched her leave. As she walked out the door, she called, “And I always thought your butt was particularly cute.”
Sam just chuckled.
Go to Chapter Six
Title: When It's Over
Chapters: 5/15
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 Five
“How’s your head?”
Sam startled and looked up at his brother, who was standing at the foot of the other bed, packing his duffle bag haphazardly. Dean was watching him with careful eyes. Eyes that were still too far sunken, still too dark, still too sad. But Sam had seen them worse. The first few days after the big fight, where the demon died and took their Dad along with it, Dean’s eyes had been foreign. So cold Sam was sure he was staring at a stranger. At least now he resembled his brother again.
“Huh?” Sam asked, realizing his thoughts had been wandering.
“Your head,” Dean said and pointed at him with a shoe. “How’s it feel? You seem kind of spacey lately. You blacking out again?”
“No,” Sam answered and shook his head. “My head’s fine.” Thank God. It had gotten bad. The nightmares, the visions, the telekinesis that sometimes got out of his control. They’d been worried. Terrified that one day Sam would just lose control all together. He’d nearly thrown John across the room during an argument it had gotten so bad.
But that had all stopped when Sam had single handedly killed the demon. When he’d watched the demon slash their Dad’s throat and nearly rip Dean in half, Sam had lost it. He’d completely lost control. He’d tell Dean later that he didn’t remember what happened. He just saw Dad laying on the floor and Dean’s shoulders popping as he was pulled by his arms in two different directions, and then all of a sudden he was at Dean’s side, holding a shirt to his bleeding wrists. The windows had been shattered, half the room had collapsed, and the demon was splattered on all of the walls. Sam couldn’t remember anything, but judging by the nosebleed, the sudden extra hundred pounds in his head, and the three weeks of random fainting spells, he knew it was something he’d done.
After that, the visions hadn’t come back. The telekinesis never accidentally flung anything around again. The nightmares were still there, but fortunately none had come true. It was over. It was all over.
“Yeah, well that’s questionable,” Dean said and Sam frowned before remembering they had been talking about his head. Dean zipped up his bag and then turned fully to face Sam. “What’s wrong then? Or are you just extra broody by choice?”
Sam ignored the jab. “I talked to an advisor at Stanford.” He watched his brother’s face go slack and Dean turned back to his bag, fidgeting with the strap. When he didn’t say anything, Sam went on. “We’re setting up a meeting with the dean to talk about me getting readmitted. He seemed sympathetic after…well, you know.”
“So, you’re going back to school then?” Dean whispered quietly, still not looking up.
Sam hesitated. They’d had this talk before, but it had never been more than just speculation. It had never been the real thing and he knew it was going to be hard for Dean. But Sam needed him to understand that this wasn’t goodbye. At least not a forever goodbye. It was a ‘I’ll see you later, come visit me as often as possible, I’ll always be there for you’ type of goodbye.
“If you’re okay with it, then yeah,” Sam said slowly. Dean glanced over at him, but didn’t say anything. “I mean, it’s been six months since Dad…and I just thought that we’d given it enough time. No more visions, no more demons. I really want to go back. But I won’t go if you really don’t want me to.”
Dean just stared and Sam could see the conflict raging a battle inside his head. For a moment, Sam didn’t think his brother was going to say anything. He thought that they’d just stay like this forever, Sam waiting for an answer, Dean not wanting to give one. But finally, after an eternity of silence, Dean gave a slight nod of his chin and said, “If it makes you happy, then I’m not going to stop you.”
A wave of relief washed over Sam. He’d expected more of a fight from his brother. He’d expected screaming and yelling and begging and pleading, maybe swollen eyes and split lips. But he hadn’t any of that. Just an okay, you can go. Just an okay, I’ll let you go. Sam tried not to let it show how excited he was.
“You could come with,” he suggested. “We could get an apartment, have a home, you know? Or you could go see Cassie. Go be with her. It can be over, it can all be over. You don’t have to keep this up, Dean.”
“Yeah I do,” Dean whispered so quietly Sam barely caught it. Then he turned and gave Sam the most forced smile he’d ever seen.
“Someone has to.”
Sam sighed as he pushed a stack of papers to the side of his desk. He’d been going over paperwork for cases his firm was working on. It was amazing how reading about other people’s problems got his mind off his own. Well, at least partially. He was pretty sure he’d never be able to get Dean out of the back of his mind for long. There was always something that would remind him of his brother. Remind him of those sad eyes. Of those glaring eyes. Of those horrible accusations.
He still couldn’t get over the fact that Dean was blaming him. But part of him already knew that Dean didn’t actually blame him. More like he needed to blame something. All of the bad things that happen in the world have to have a reason for why they happen. Dean needed a reason. Hell, so did Sam. But who was there to blame, really? Himself? He hadn’t know this was going to happen. And he’d offered Dean a way out. He’d told him to come with him, to stop hunting, to get a life. But Dean just kept on going. Maybe Sam should have tried harder.
What about blaming the poltergeist that had been haunting the house Dean was purifying when he fell? Sure, it was easy to lay the blame on that. But Dean had already gotten rid of the poltergeist. It wasn’t even around. So how about the house itself for being old and rotten? What about the people who called asking for help? What about the paramedics who had taken four god damn hours to find his brother?
Hell, why not blame the whole thing on John fucking Winchester? The man was dead, but even in death he still managed to piss Sam off, still managed to get under Sam’s skin and make Sam spend many nights awake just thinking about how wrong things were back then, how wrong they are now. Had John ever given them a choice other than to hunt? Had he ever told Dean that son, it’s okay to stop hunting once this is over. Had he ever even thought of what would happen to his sons when this was over? I want Dean to have a home. Had he ever fucking told Dean what a home was? What it felt like? That yeah, Dean, it’s okay to want a place, a person, a family, a feeling all of your own? No, he hadn’t. And he’d died before he ever could. A part of Sam thought that his dad always knew he was going to die in the end. The only thing John had ever taught his sons was how to stay alive. But his definition of alive had been shot to shit.
In the end, Sam supposed he could always blame Dean. Dean, for not getting out while he still could. Dean, for always wanting to be the goddamn hero. Dean, for walking around in a stupid, rotting house, not knowing better, not thinking straighter, not taking precautions. Dean for being Dean.
Maybe it was the lawyer in him, but he couldn’t help but feel that there had to be someone to blame. There was never freak accidents. There was always someone to sue. Someone who was guilty of something. For the life of him, Sam couldn’t figure out who that was.
The front door opened and closed and Sam heard the sounds of his children galloping through the house, giggling and playing and laughing. He never got sick of that sound. He thought briefly of poking his head out of his office and telling them to keep it down, in case Dean was sleeping, but he highly doubted that his brother was indeed asleep. He was probably still sitting there, staring, hating, living without actually living. Sam shuddered at the thought.
Sarah suddenly appeared in the doorway and Sam looked up at her with a tired smile. She’d pulled her hair back and looked flushed. “Busy day?” he asked.
She sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in her eye showed him she didn’t really mean it. “Remind me never to take Pat and Cam to watch Hannah at ballet. The older girls were all swooning over Pat and Mrs. Debbie had Cam doing a Plié by the end of class.”
“Well, I’m not buying him a tutu,” Sam said and ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion both physically and mentally.
Sarah came further into the room and stood in front of his desk. “How did it go this morning, with Dean?” Sam just sighed and looked up at her. “That bad, huh?”
Sam put his hands down on the desk and shook his head. “He kept saying that I shouldn’t have brought him here. And, I don’t know, maybe he’s right. I feel like all I’m doing is making him feel bad.”
Sarah pulled a chair over and sat down across from him, taking one of his hands. “This is going to be difficult,” she said. “For both of you. For all of us.”
“Do you think I did the right thing?” Sam asked quietly, brokenly. “Bringing him here?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah admitted. She chewed on her lip. “Does it feel right?”
“Nothing feels right,” Sam said. “We’re going to have to go back to work someday. There’s not always going to be someone here to be with him. I don’t think he should be alone.” He paused for a moment, face twisting with emotion. “Maybe I made a mistake.”
Sarah squeezed his hand. “Mistake or not, he’s here now. If you send him back to the hospital now, you’re going to be doing more hurt than good.”
Sam put his head in his hand. “I don’t know what to do.”
“He’s confused, Sam,” she said. “He’s hurting, more than just physically. It’s going to take a lot for him to get over this. And for you.” Sam frowned at her. “It’s not easy, Sam. Seeing someone you love hurt like that. The best thing you can do for each other is just be there. Whether it’s easy or not.”
“He doesn’t want me there,” Sam said.
“Yes he does,” Sarah nodded. “He just thinks he doesn’t.”
Sam smiled and let go of Sarah’s hand, watching as she waited for him to say something. He looked away, scanning the mess on his desk, his eyes falling on the picture of Sarah and the kids he kept there. In the bottom corner of the framed picture, was the photo of Dean and Sam and their Dad sitting on their car, ready to go fishing. Sam barely remembered that fishing trip. But he remembered being tucked in at night by their Dad. He remembered sharing smores and hotdogs cooked over a fire with Dean. He remembered sitting on the edge of the river, his Dad showing him how to cast a line. It was one of his earliest memories.
“You know,” Sam said, unconsciously moving a hand to rub a finger over the picture. “If Dad was here, he’d know what to do. He’d tell Dean to suck it up, learn to deal and move on. Dean always listened to him. They always got through to each other. He’d probably say ‘be a man, Dean,’” he said in his best impression of John. He smiled after he said it, but the smile faded just as quickly. “I miss him sometimes.”
“I know,” Sarah whispered. “Maybe you should tell Dean that.”
Sam scoffed and shook his head. “He’d just get mad. Or just…tell me to go away.”
“You think so?” She asked. He just looked at her. “No matter how much it doesn’t seem like it, that’s still Dean in there. He’s still the same annoying protective older brother who likes to see good things happen to you. He doesn’t like to see you hurting. You should try talking to him again. And keep trying, no matter how many times he tries to shut you out.”
Sam pressed his fingers into his eyes and then rubbed them down his face before looking at Sarah again. How did she always know the right thing to say? From the first time he’d met her, she always knew exactly what to say, exactly what would make him see things clearer.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked, smiling genuinely.
“You flashed me that cute smile of yours,” she said, getting up and playfully pinching his cheek. He chuckled and watched her leave. As she walked out the door, she called, “And I always thought your butt was particularly cute.”
Sam just chuckled.
Go to Chapter Six