Sad but True
Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own any of the Winchester men or plot lines that lead to the season finale. However, everything beyond that horrific crash is of my own creation. Also, I kind of stole the title from a Metallica song :)
AN: If you're like me, you jumped up from the couch and screamed at the T.V. when you saw that Mack truck slam into the Impala on Thursday's finale. Also, if you're like me, you feel extremely unsatisfied with this terrible, horrible cliffhanger that will gnaw at the back of your mind all summer long. So I've decided to do the one thing I can and have raced home on Cinco de Mayo to pound out this fic. The action picks up right where Eric Kripke left us dangling and I hope I can do the situation justice.
Chapter 1: This Shattered Heart
The beach always made Sam smile. He couldn't help it, there was just something rhythmically magical about the way the waves came tumbling in, each tiny droplet of water jostling and foaming at the shore's heels. He loved the way the sand looked when the water receded, how it was dark and rippled and speckled with little bits of rock and shells. He relished in the sound, in the steady, wet slap and his lips quirked into a grin.
He wasn't sure which beach he now overlooked, or why he was wearing heather gray linen pants, but he didn't much care. Jess was there, walking along the water's edge, her flip-flops in one hand and a large conch shell clasped in the other. She turned to him and smiled, her golden mane glittering with the rays of the setting sun, and Sam's heart skipped a beat. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and she was his.
"Come here," he called softly, leaning back on his elbows and tilting his head to the side.
She giggled but shook her head "no" and skipped a few steps further down the beach.
"Jess, come here," he called again, his smile dominating half of his face and revealing straight, white teeth.
But she kept going, the waves washing away the footprints she'd already left.
"She can't hear you, Sammy," the tone was soft and light, pleasantly conversational, and the voice instantly recognized.
"Dean," Sam twisted around to see his older brother standing three or so feet behind him, his hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket, his face tranquil. "What are you doing here?"
Dean smiled humorlessly, the expression never touching his eyes, and he turned to face Sam. "We're just waitin' for you, little bro, just waitin' for you."
Sam frowned, brows drawing together beneath his shaggy bangs and darted a glance to Jessica's still retreating form. "Who's we?" he asked distractedly, shading his eyes with one hand to better view his girlfriend.
"Dad and me. Duh."
Sam looked back to his brother, noticed the older man's calm features and the crimson streams that came bubbling from between his lips.
"Dean! Oh, God you're bleeding!" Sam was instantly on his feet, hands reaching for his brother.
"You've gotta save us, man," Dean didn't seem to notice the blood that was now freely coursing down his chin and spreading across his white shirt. If it went much further it would reach the lapels of his jacket.
Dean will hate that; he won't want his jacket ruined was all that Sam could think. Blood, so, so, so, so much blood. I have to stop the blood…
But with what? How? It was coming from Dean's mouth, staining his teeth crimson and contrasting sharply with his paled skin.
"Sa-am, oh Sa-am!" Jessica's voice came floating from down the beach and Sam felt his head involuntarily snap in her direction. She was standing on a small rock outcropping and waving furiously for him to join her there. "Sa-am," she called again, this time louder and more insistently.
"Please, Sammy, she's gone," Dean spluttered and Sam could feel the blood droplets splash his face.
Jess frowned at him and seemed to shake her head in disappointment. Then she raised the conch to her lips and a horn-like blast cut through the air mercilessly.
"Sammy…" Sam turned back to his brother, feeling helpless as he watched him choke on his own blood, as he watched the hazel eyes close to slits.
"You're right Dean, she is gone, she can wait a few minutes," Sam swallowed hard, feeling the wetness in his eyes. "But please don't you leave too, please…oh God!" Sam wanted to wail as Dean began to totter beneath his hands.
The conch was still ringing and the wet slap of the waves seemed to intensify with every shuttering breath the elder Winchester managed to force. He was slipping, Sam knew, slipping into a deep sleep from which he would no awaken. He couldn't lose his brother, not now, not ever.
But why was he here, and why was Jess there. Dean had never gone on vacation with the two of them, why were they at the beach again?
"Please, Sammy, she's gone…"
Why had he said that, what did he mean…
Jess is dead. Jess has been dead for a year. Jess was killed by the thing that killed Mom. The thing that had possessed Dad. The thing that had…
"DEAN! No! No!"
Consciousness came slamming into Sam just as the semi had come slamming into the Impala only minutes before. Each and every one of his senses was bombarded at once, each with a different twisted form of reality. It reeked of gasoline and sweat and blood and of their demise if that was at all possible. Jess was still blowing the conch, only now it was louder, more intense, and made Sam's head want to explode.
No, not Jess his foggy brain finally reasoned. Horn. Car horn. Somehow it seemed fitting that the horn had become stuck in the collision, it seemed appropriate that the timeless classic should wail in sympathetic agony for the Winchesters.
Sam swallowed thickly, tried to block the monotone howl from his mind and forced his eyes open. It was difficult no doubt. The right one, already swollen and purple thanks to that son of a bitch demon's son, now burned intensely with what he knew to be tiny glass shards. The black cloth headliner swam and blurred before his eyes and for one horrifying moment he thought he might puke all over himself. The involuntary tightening of his stomach alerted him to the fact that he had more than a couple of cracked ribs. Groaning weakly, he rolled his head to the side and his father came sliding into view beside him.
John was leaning heavily against the passenger door, his face and hands dark and slick with blood. He was breathing, Sam could tell, but showed no other signs of life.
"Da…" Sam tried to call but was unable to find his voice. He licked his lips and tasted his own blood.
"Dad," he finally managed to croak, his voice sounding muffled inside the car. There was no response, not so much as a twitch from John, and Sam moved his attention to the other passenger.
He twisted around in his seat, gasping at the fire that went crackling through his ribcage, and saw his brother. His wise-ass older brother was slumped in what looked like a rather comfortable position in the Impala's back seat. His legs were spread apart, one arm thrown casually across the plump vinyl upholstery, his head resting lightly on his own shoulder, fresh blood running down his chin…
"Dean!" Sam choked when he realized the origin of the wet, slapping wave sound effect from his dream.
Once the demon possessing their father had released its hold on Dean, the bleeding had stopped, at least outwardly. Sam hadn't known what it had done to his brother, or how bad the damage was, but he had known they needed to get to a hospital and quickly. Dean had lost a lot of blood, too much blood in Sam's opinion, and now he was bleeding again. Each of the older man's breaths smacked sickly from somewhere in his throat and brought little scarlet bubbles to his lips.
"Dean!" Sam pushed off from the floorboards; his right arm pinned against the seat, and reached for his brother with his left hand.
He tried to anyway. For some reason he couldn't seem to illicit a response from the limb and he grunted in confusion. Another attempt issued the same response as Sam struggled desperately to get to his gasping, wheezing brother. He finally looked down and noticed that his shoulder seemed too high somehow, like he was shrugging, and realization dawned.
"Dammit!" he hissed, sliding back down into his seat. His shoulder was dislocated, it wasn't the first time and he knew he could reset it himself, but there just wasn't time for that. He had to get to Dean.
For once thankful that he'd forgotten to wear his seatbelt, he reached across with his good arm and opened the door. He tumbled out, cussing mercilessly as his battered and bruised body landed with a jolt. But he shook off his pain and scrambled back along the ruined vehicle. Either the grass was extremely tall, or Sam was crawling on his knees, but he didn't care. It didn't matter; nothing mattered except getting to Dean.
When he reached the rear door he wrenched it open with a grunt and then clambered into the back seat. "Dean. Dean, come on. You're alright, come on," his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he circled his right arm around Dean's shoulders. His hand reached the nape of his brother's neck and the skin there felt cold and clammy.
"Dean, please," he whimpered without meaning to, the fatigue and desperation leaking out through the corners of his eyes. "Please, please, please…come on Dean!" Dean hissed laboriously and Sam could feel the spray of blood on his neck.
He had to do something, he had to save his brother, but he was so weak and so helpless right then. He rested his chin on top of Dean's head and the neatly gelled blonde hairs pricked his skin. "Oh God this can't be happening…"
"Oh but it is."
Sam's head whipped around at the sudden voice that pierced the constant drone of the horn. The man that stood at the open door he'd just crawled through looked every bit the normal, small town truck driver that he was. Except for one, tiny detail; the limpid, black hell portals that had taken up residence where his eyes should have been.
Sam knew he should have seen this coming, he knew he should have been prepared. Now, in his hurry to save Dean, he had been careless and they were all going to die. Of course it wasn't like he had even been helping Dean; he'd just been sitting there, crying and waiting to be saved.
The possessed man leaned down so that was level with the two Winchester's in the backseat.
Do something Sam! His mind screamed. He couldn't wait anymore; tears would do no good in this situation. He owed it to Dean, to his big brother who was constantly there for him. Do something right the hell now Sam!
This was it, this was the end. After all this time the three demon-hunters were to be claimed by a damn eighteen wheeler. Unless…
Sam's hand delved into the front of his Carhartt jacket and withdrew clutching an antique revolver. John would be furious. Sam knew that if he did this, they might never be able to avenge the deaths of his mother and Jessica. They might never achieve the closure they sought…But they would be alive, and sometimes, according to Dean, that was worth it.
He pulled the trigger and the Colt's last bullet cracked through the air, taking the demon and human soul with a flash of lightening. The empty carcass crumpled in the grass and all was silent once more.
Silent save for the Impala's screams, Dean's last struggle for breath, and his baby brother's sobs.
So here's the part where all you wonderful readers out there in fanfic land review and let me know what y'all think. I hope you enjoyed and look for more soon if I get positive feedback. Hope everyone had a great Cinco de Mayo!