One shot. No spoilers. I hate spoilers. This is only my imagination, because I can't stand waiting any longer, and I need something to hold me over. I know this is like my other one A Day's Past, but it's with Dean. I hope you all like, I thought I liked it, and then I decided it wasn't so good but oh well. Summer is here, and the doctors suck at figuring out the cause of my pain, so I write about this. Also, my knowledge on all this medical stuff is not that great, so just bare with me. I thought I should tell you the next addition to Old Man Serra is going to be called Kilts and Shamrocks- so I'd appreciate it if you looked at it when I do get around to writing it. And I'm still looking for a beta if anyone's interested.
Disclaimer: I truly wish I did own Supernatural and our boys, but the sad reality is that I don't. And while I still like to pretend, it doesn't get me any closer.
Setting: Right after Devil's Trap.
Warning: Language I suppose, but that's about it. No spoilers to the new season, I swear.
Summary: He remembers the green eyes, and the words they spoke. He remembers sitting in the backseat watching the conversation unfold, barely being able to stay awake. He remembers the look on his brother's face right before it happened.
He wraps his fingers around the railing a little tighter. It wasn't that he's scared, no Dean Winchester is never scared, it's more the fact that he needs to hold on to something, just to make sure it's there. He doesn't know what he's grabbing onto, but he keeps at it, tightening his grip with every breath he takes. There's a moment where he wants to open his eyes, where he wants to know what's going on, but then he remembers. He remembers the green eyes, and the words they spoke. He remembers sitting in the backseat watching the conversation unfold, barely being able to stay awake. He remembers the look on his brother's face right before it happened, but he doesn't remember what happened.
He knows that he can't still be in the car; there's no way. He can't lie straight in the car, even across the backseat, and he couldn't for a long time now. He's most definitely on a bed as well, that much he can make out. He can hear the beeps, and feel the quiet of the room. With his toned hunter skills, he guesses no one else is with him. But he can feel the buzz of activity going on just outside the room. Without opening his eyes, he guesses he's in a hospital. Not where he wants to be, but better than other places.
Moving his hand is not the smartest idea he's ever had. Thinking about his body allows to pain to be unleashes, and he slowly feels it creeping on him. It's no the kind of pain that you feel and say 'oh damn, that hurts.' It's the kind of pain where you wish what whatever was trying to kill you, had succeeded. But Dean still moves his hand. He slides his hand across his face, checking for any major damages. Now he's moving his feet, slowly making his way through each body part, mentally checking which hurts more than others.
He's barely made it through his check when he hears the door open. He hears the floor creak as someone steps into the room, closing the door behind him. Now he's tempted to open his eyes, but he doesn't.
"I think he's awake," it's a quite whisper, but with the limited noise, he can hear it clearly.
"Get over there and check his pulse," this voice is clearly a man's Dean notes. "I'm going to do a quick check-up. When he's more awake, we'll come back to see if there's any damage."
He just wishes they'll go away. He hates the probing and the whispers he continues to hear. It's not like he can't hear them. He's tempted to open his eyes and scream at them, but he knows if he does that they'll just stay longer. So he bites his tongue, and counts to ten. It's only a few minutes before they leave again, but it's felt like forever.
Fuck man, someone needs to turn off those lights! Dean opens his eyes for the first time. He looks around taking in the room; it's a basic hospital room. Beige walls, tile floor, small window which happens to be open, and of course the big square lights sitting directly above him. And that's when he notices that he's alone in the room. And now he wishes he had opened his eyes earlier. Scanning for a call nurse button of some sort, he finally finds a little button just near the right side of the bed.
It amazes him how fast it took her to get back in the room. And that's when he notices her petite little shape. She's cute, with her long red hair, and common, yet unique brown eyes. Dean notes that she's blushing, and he think it's cute. She looks younger than him, maybe about Sam's age.
"I'm sorry," she moves through the door and closes it in one swift moment. Dean notes how soft her voice is, it's so fragile, almost like it'll break at any second. "I knew I should've stayed to make sure you were okay."
"D-d-" Dean's voice croaks. He realizes it's a little rusty from not using it, and now he wishes he could have water. The little red head reads his mind as she places a glass of water to his lips.
"Hear drink some of this," she's focused, so set on doing things right this time. "It should help a little."
"Thanks," his voice finally works. And he mentally checks away that he should not try talking without drinking water the next time he's in a hospital bed and he doesn't know why and some cute nurse walks in.
"No problem," she smiles a bright smile. "It's my job. Although, I'd probably do this for you anyways."
Dean laughs as her cheeks turn bright red. "Oh my god, I did not mean to say that out loud!"
She covers her mouth a little, and then places the glass on the table beside the bed. Now she's fussing with everything; asking him he if's too hot, or too cold, or hungry, or if he needs anything, and it makes Dean laugh more. He's never seen anyone so little move or talk so fast.
"Oh my god!" She puts her hand up to her mouth again. "I completely forgot! My names Becca, I'm your nurse."
"Well Nurse Becca," Dean straightens his position a little, and finally relaxes his grip on the side railings. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"Well," she starts giving him a sympathetic look. "You were in a car crash, I think. They said they found the car totaled, with you and two other people inside."
"Car crash?" Dean's mind tried to wrap around the concept. "Do you know what happened to either of the other two?"
"I'm sorry," she starting looking everywhere but at him; up, down, left, right, and then they settle on the floor as if it's the most interesting thing she's seen in a while. "One of them didn't make it out, and the other hasn't woken up yet."
"What!" Dean screams. Now this he couldn't wrap his mind around. "How long has it been?"
"You've been in here for about two days now," she shifts her position a little, clearly nervous about the information she's giving.
"Can you tell me which of them, um, hasn't woken up?" Dean finds himself struggling to hard to spit up the words, but it's better than asking which one hadn't made it.
"Well, I think he's the younger one," she shifts towards the door. "I know they said he was driving, but I'm not his nurse, so I can't really tell you.
"Do you know if I can see him?" Dean spits out before he realizes he even did.
"Um, I don't know if you're really in the state too."
"No," his voice is firm, almost threatening, but he can't threaten this poor little nurse. "I need to see him. Go talk to some doctor or someone, but I need to see him."
She finally looks back at him, meeting his gaze. And then she turns, and leaves the room, leaving Dean to think about the information again. He vaguely remembers being in the car, and now it's starting to come back to him. He remembers being hit, but he doesn't know anything after that. His mind is still wrapping around the fact that is dad is gone. And now he feels the single tear sliding down his face. It's not right he decides. It's okay. Not after everything, he can't die like this. And now Dean decides it's a mistake, they've clearly mistaken John. But then he realizes if it's not John, its Sam. And he can't accept that either. He can't accept either, but now he has to accept one.
It's a while before there's anymore commotion, and Dean wishes there was some. He can't bring himself to stop thinking about John and what that little red head said, but he can't accept it either. And he wishes with all his heart, he just wouldn't think about it right now. But it's a funny thing, the mind. At times people say you can control it, you can control what you're thinking. Dean's never really been in control of himself though, he's never really made the shots. Sam's been in control of Dean, and that's how it always went. But Sam wasn't here to make Dean stop thinking about John, so Dean had to think about John.
Dean doesn't cry, Dean doesn't whine. It's practically a known fact. It's one of the things that makes Dean, or so he thinks. But as he feels the tear slowly make its way down his cheek, Dean knows there's a part of him that's itching to let it all out. It's a funny feeling, the tear sliding down his rough, unshaven face. It's an odd feeling, and only because he hasn't felt it in a while. And almost like it's an addiction, now Dean wants more.
Dean's almost decides to let them fall, let them get away for once. But then he hears the door creaks open, and the foot steps that follow. The slight whisper that comes next is easy to make out on the silence. Dean sucks up the urge to cry before his visitor can notice.
"You can go see your brother now." Dean meets the eyes of Nurse Becca. Dean nods because he can't say anything, he just wants to go. He eyes the wheelchair he now sees being wheeled in. Nurse Becca looks at Dean and completely understands his gaze. "You have to get in this, I'm sorry. It's the only way they'll let you go."
Dean sighs, realizing it's his only way out. Oh how he wishes there was some other way. But he can't fight right now, he's too tired. He feels his body lagging, and he's starting to get weary. The only thing he won't have though, is being put in that wheel chair. He moves a little, and finally stands up, immediately falling into the chair from the spinning in his head. He sits patiently in the chair, fully aware of where he's going. He meets the stares of people he passes in the corridors, and he dares them, just dares them to say something. But they all look away with their pitiful gazes before they even dare to. And all Dean wants to do is scream, he wants to scream to let them know that he's not weak; he's a Winchester. He wants to scream that he's not stuck in this hell hole they call a hospital. He wants to scream that he's been through more pain in his life than any doctors ever seen in their career, and he can over come this one too. Because that's what he does.
He waits patiently as Nurse Becca walks around him and opens the door to Sam's room. Room 106, he stores it away for later. He's already memorized how to get from his room to Sam's, and now they'll never be able to stop him. She pushes him in just a little more, and places him by the foot of the bed. Dean glances up and meets her eye, and nods in a direction with his head. She gets it right away and maneuvers the wheel chair so it's right along side Sam's body.
"I'm going to leave you alone with him," Nurse Becca talks softly, she always does. "Just press this red button when you're ready to go. But if it gets to long, I'm going to come back and get you."
Dean turns his head to acknowledge her, but doesn't really look at her. He's scared that if he looks away from Sam's right hand now, then something bad will happen. And now his eyes are dead glued his little brother in front of him.
"Sammy," Dean starts, and then he realizes that Sam can't correct him right now. And it hurts. "Sam, wake up buddy. Nap time's over."
He tries nudging Sam a little, just to see if he'll wake up. But he doesn't.
"You better wake your ass up soon, because I cannot stay in here for very much longer," now he tries a different tactic. "Sam- come on buddy. I need you to wake up. I don't want to be alone, and I need to know you're okay."
He moves his hand through the railing that separates him from his little brother, and grabs the unmoving hand. He gives it a good squeeze before he goes on, but he doesn't let go of it.
"Sam, please, this isn't funny anymore," Dean stops and takes a breath. His eyes go up to the ceiling and he feels like crying again. Everything about this is oh so wrong. And then he makes the decision that he thinks is the worst he's ever made. "Alright, Sam, I'm going to go away now."
He starts to get up, and he slowly starts letting go of Sam's hand. And that's when he feels it. It's the slightest feeling ever, and he would've missed it if he weren't paying attention. If he were still wrapped up in his thoughts or wanting Sam back, he would've missed it. He would've missed it when Sam squeezed back. And for a second Dean's face lights up, and his eyes dart back and forth between his and Sam's hands to Sam's face. He finally gives up on leaving and sits back down, never taking his eyes off of Sam's eyes, and never moving his hand from Sam's grasp. Now he knows Sam can hear him, and better yet, now he knows Sam wants him to stay.
Dean's torn, he's torn right down the middle. He's torn between staying here and being alone with Sam, or calling the doctor or whoever will answer to see if Sam will wake up more. He doesn't know whether or not Sam will wake up more, and what happens if he doesn't call the doctors? Will Sam be okay waking up by himself? He's never done this before, and it's starting to freak him out. But then he looks at Sam's still unmoving body and he can't bring himself to press that little button. So he stays, and he watches Sam's face.
"Sam, come on I know you can do it," Dean's almost begging. It's not fair to get a little taste and not get it all. "Wake up, you can do it. Come on just wake up."
Dean stops talking as he watches Sam's eyes flutter, and he squeezes the hand he has. He's tempted to just open Sam's eyes for him, but he can't; he has to let Sam do this. He watches impatiently as Sam struggles with his eyelids, up and down, and up and down.
"Come on Sam, you can do it, just a little bit more," and Dean wants to laugh now. "How's that for coaching? Huh? I bet I'd have been a good soccer coach when you wanted to play, but Dad wouldn't let you. Haha."
And whatever bonding time Dean was hoping for was over. All of a sudden people rushed in, they were pushing Dean left and right, but he wouldn't let go of Sam's hand. There were nurses and a doctor and they were everywhere, and they wanted Dean out.
"Son," someone somewhere turned to speak to Dean, but he was barely paying attention. All that matters is staying with Sammy. "You need to leave. We'll have one of the nurses' escort you back to your room and come get you later when Sam's settled again."
"No!" Dean shouts. "No, I'm staying here!"
"I'm sorry, we have to make sure everything is okay first, and then you can come back."
Now Dean's found the owner of the voice, and he's glaring. It's one of those deathly glares he saves only for those who he truly hates. He's glaring at the doctor, who seems to be holding himself.
"D-d-dean," and it's so soft that he almost misses it. But Dean wouldn't dare miss them. Both eyes hang for a second on each other, and then shift towards Sam.
"Sam, did you just say something?" Dean almost shouts. "Sammy, talk to me."
"Please son, we'll let you come back in a while," the doctor tries again; he's trying to usher Dean out of the room. The flurry of people starts up again, trying to get Sam to respond, trying to get Dean out, and trying to run tests.
"S-s-stop," All movement in the room pauses. It's amazing how just that one voice can stop everyone. "D-dean, please don't leave me.
And that's all it takes. Now Dean refuses to leave, and he'll be damned if anyone can make him. The room clears out a little, and people finally realize that Dean is here to stay.
It's been a few days, and Dean's getting restless. He's tired of waiting, because now he can walk. Now he can sit up, eat food, and do everything completely on his own. Now he's allowed in Sam's room without the wheelchair. But it's been a few days, and Sam's still coming to it. He's been in and out every couple of hours, and when he was around, Dean explained to him what happened. They'd briefly mentioned the car crash and how each was feeling, but no one brought up dad's death or the demon. No one brought it up, but it came in volumes. Sam knew from the way he'd come around, and he'd see Dean shed one little tear before he knew Sam was awake. Dean knew in the way Sam wouldn't bring it up, that it would bring on an uncomfortable silence.
But what Dean didn't know was Sam blamed himself. Dean didn't know that Sam was breaking inside, because he had yet another person to add to the list of 'people who got hurt because of me.' And Sam silently thanked whatever it was that had him in the bed, and Dean restlessly waiting for him to get better.
Sam doesn't believe in God. And that's what he's thinking about as he feigns sleep listening to Dean's breathing. He's pretty sure Dean's fallen asleep in that plastic chair, but he never knows with Dean. Does Dean believe in God? Did Dad? They're questions that often came up in Sam's life- but ones that were never addressed. He sits and wonders, because the chances of a God are slim. If there's so many evil things like demons and poltergeists, why can't there be a God? But are they really evil? It's a question that's come up in his mind many times during a hunt. Is it so bad to stick up for something or want it so bad that even death can't part you from your dreams? Sure that might be the case with spirits, but what gives demons a right? Is it just a matter of perception, because last Sam checked, there was no problem with killing cows to eat, but it's a crime the minute a person's killed. He's lost in his thoughts and he fails to notice Dean's awake.
"Sometimes I wonder to you know," it's funny that Sam's the one that turned out with the powers, because he always felt Dean could read his mind. "I don't know Sam, I really just don't. It's a funny idea, but do you believe in angels? I don't think of Mom as a bad spirit, but we saw her, didn't we?"
Sam glances at Dean and he realizes Dean's serious. Sam notes it takes guts for Dean to talk openly about Mom like that. Dean was avoids the topic of Mom, except for when Sam was younger. Sam would sit and listen to the stories Dean told of this lovely women he called Mom, but Sam was too little to see the signs of hurt and fear that crossed Dean's little hazel eyes. But now Sam knows; now he can read Dean like any other book he picks up.
"If he does exist, why do so many people go struggling through life?" Sam questions Dean even though he knows Dean never asked for it. "Why is that the people, who deserve it the most, don't get it? And the people, who don't deserve shit, get it?"
His mind briefly shifts to Dean and all the things he's done for him, and how no matter how hard he tries, he can't fix the problem. He can't get Dad back for Dean, and that's all he thinks Dean needs.
"Sammy, I never believed in God and you know that," but he didn't know it. And he found some comfort to Dean's words, because now he can accept that he doesn't believe it either. "But if there is, and let's say there is for just a second, I'd imagine that he see's people in two ways. People who get it and don't need or want it, and people who are greedy and can't see what they already have. I suppose it's one of those lessons that older people always try and teach you, but we're all arrogant sons of a bitch, and we just nod and smile."
Dean doesn't see that Sam thinks he's responsible for taking something away for them both. Dean doesn't see that Sam wants to understand why Dean's lost so much. But what Dean does is, is someone broken. And Dean's looking for superglue, because that's what Dean does. Dean fixes what's broken, and he moves on. And as he searches for the glue in Sammy, he doesn't see the parts breaking even more.
"It's just," Sam pauses and takes a breath. "Life's so unfair Dean."
"I know Sammy," he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the chair with a sigh. "Life's unfair and that's just how it is. Doesn't matter if it's cliché, but that's life. Life's one big bowl of cereal and someone's got to be eaten next."
And then Sam laughs. Sometimes Dean doesn't make any sense, and Dean knows Sam doesn't get it. Dean knows that Sam doesn't understand that he's trying to say that either you get taken away, or someone gets taken away from you and that's life. Sam thinks Dean is hungry.
"Hey Sam," Dean shifts his gaze to meet Sam's eyes. They stare at each other for a single moment. "It's funny you know."
"What's funny?" Neither one takes their eyes off the other. It's like in the moment; they can say anything and both will understand. Some say the eyes are a window to the soul, and right then, either brother felt like they could see anything about the other.
"It's funny that we're brothers," and Sam raises a brow, still neither one looking away. "It's funny that we're so different, and yet we still agree on the same things. It's funny that we can spend so much time together and one of us not is dead. And it's even funnier, that you got the short straw, and I got all of Mom's and Dad's good traits."
And then Dean smiles one of those loopy sided smiles and Sam bursts out laughing.
Dean always felt that the one thing that kept him and Sam from each other were the silences that went miles. He always knew when Sam wanted to tell him something but didn't, or when he didn't want to tell Dean something. It just came with being brothers. It didn't matter if they wanted something different, because each one of them always gave up the other. It was better they were different, Dean didn't mind, just as long as Sam didn't try to change the music.
But as he sits there with his loopy grin and laughs with Sam about who knows what now, he realizes that Sam's keeping something from him. It's been a long time since they've been able to sit there and have a good laugh together, just a nice genuine laugh. And Dean's afraid to break it; but he's more afraid of what will happen if he doesn't.
"It's Sam," Sam interrupts. And Dean notes that as the first time Sam corrected his nickname tonight.
"Whatever," Dean continues pretending to not care. "What's going on?"
"Hmm?" Sam shakes it off a little, not really understand Dean's question. "Uhh, we're sitting in a hospital because we got into a car crash. Or has your old age caught up with you?"
"I'm being serious Sam," Dean's eyes change, and Sam will swear on it later. They go from the fun casual look to the stern intense one. "Come on, tell me. Are you mad about Dad and you guys being in a fight?"
Sam sighs and takes a deep breath. He knew it was coming, but he hoped not so soon. He's actually a little surprised Dean brought it up, considering Dean hates chick flick moments.
"No Dean," Sam sighs again and Dean rolls his eyes. Sam can be such a drama queen sometimes. "I just, I don't know. You don't think I should've shot him back at the cabin do you?"
"What? Sam!" Dean can't believe it. Not again with this. "Sam that never would've been better, what are you thinking?"
"Well," Sam looks up to meet Dean's eyes. "At least we'd still have the impala."
"Sam," and Sam shrugs. "Look it's not your fault. Killing Dad before would have us in the same predicament. "
"But that's not all I'm talking about," now he's looking at his hands, morbidly fascinated by them. "I mean, I started this whole mess. If not with driving the car, then how about with holy water when we checked to see he if was possessed? What about with getting over myself and not being so obsessed with this demon and not letting Dad go alone to meet Meg? How about not missing on that shot I took? And what about not leaving for college? Or better yet, how about not being here in the first place?"
"Sam," Dean starts but Sam stops him. Sam's shouting now.
"No Dean! Don't Sam me! If I weren't here, Dad would be alive. Mom would be alive. You would have Mom and Dad. It'd be better. That's why there's no God; because he took away Mom and gave you guys me."
"SAM STOP IT," Dean's good at playing shouting games. Sam stops and looks up at Dean on the verge of crying.
"Why would he make you trade something so beautiful like Mom, for something so horrible like me?"
"Sam, if there is any reason to believe in God, then that's it. No I don't love that he took Mom away, and no I don't love that he took Dad away. But you have to pay a price. I would never, and I mean never, dream of trading you for either of them. I love them Sammy, and I want them back so bad. And it hurts so bad, but I'm glad I have you."
It's almost silent except for the few sniffs from Sam. He's embarrassed about the tears, but he almost can't help it. And part of him wants it. They stay there for a long time, Sam lying in the bed looking up at Dean, while Dean stands and stares intensely into Sam's eyes.
Dean moves first. He grabs the back of the chair, sliding it across the floor so it makes that annoying scraping sound. He plops down in it and leans his feet up on the end of Sam's bed. Dean closes his eyes and sits with his hands clasped, like he's ready to pray or something. And then Sam settles and closes his eyes as well, letting his hands sit loosely at his side. And for half an hour both sit there never speaking a word, but both wide awake and knowing it.
"I love you Dean," Dean cracks open one eye to look at Sam. And then he scoots his butt in the chair a little.
"I love you too Sammy." And this time, no one corrects him.
Perception is a funny thing. Dean's remembered all the times he's walked into a perfectly nice looking town, only to find tons wrong with it. Or how about the countless amount of times he's walked into a old, horrible looking town which seems to be a hit for the paranormal, only to find its just dandy.
Dean thinks his perception is a bit odd right now. He's running down a path, and it's pretty dark. In his state, he can't quite make out if its trees he's running by or buildings, and he kind of wants to laugh at himself for it. Since when as he not been able to tell the difference between buildings and trees? He surmises that it's probably trees he's running by since it's a dirt path and it's not that wide. Dean's never really known side walks to be dirt.
Dean thinks about why he's running, and he can't remember. But he doesn't stop. He keeps running, and now he starts running faster. Maybe, just maybe, if he gets to where he's going he'll remember why. But then he sees the last thing he'd expect. He sees a cabin, and it resembles the one they were all in when tragedy struck. He slows down a little and starts eyeing the cabin; he walks around it making sure to check behind him. And that's when he notices the footstep sounds behind him. He curses himself for not being more careful and checking before. He does a quick sweep of the cabin, and decides it's safe before he walks in. He creeps into the cabin and thinks everything looks a little to familiar and fresh.
He starts walking quietly, always careful not to make sounds. He hears the door creak open, and now he knows whoever is following him has come in.
"Dean?" He recognizes the voice and let's out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Dean where are you?"
"Sammy?" he says after minute. Then he steps out into the same room Sam's standing in. "I'm over here."
"Oh good it's you," and Dean grins. He wants to say something like, yeah well who else would it be, but he decides against it. "Man, why were you running? I couldn't get Dad by myself and had to leave him in the car."
"Dad's in the car?"
"Yeah," Sam eyes Dean a little. "Should I go back and get him?"
"No, I'll get him."
The next part is blurry and Dean wonders if he's losing his vision. He runs back the way he comes, thinking how ironic it is that he never saw the car. But he comes around a corner, and there she is, the sweet old Impala. Dean notes that she's always there, never failed on him. And he wants to laugh for it. He finds his Dad in the back seat, almost looking like he's sleeping, but Dean knows he's not. He lifts him up and starts the trek back to the cabin.
It's exactly the way he remembers. He walks up to the cabin, carefully dumping Dad down in one of the side room. Dean walks into the main room where he meets up with Sam. Sam announces that he's salted all the doors and windows, and then Dean wants to scream. He feels like he's reading a script, because it all sounds laid out. And he remembers it all.
It all plays out just like he remembers. Dad wakes up and tells Sam to check the salt again. And this time, Dean thinks it's ironic that the demon almost wants to lock himself in. But he follows the script because he can't help himself. He see's himself point the gun at his Dad and this time, he almost wishes he had pulled the trigger. And then Sam comes back, and it's still happening like he remembers it. And then it happens, and they're stuck against walls. And Dean cringes because he knows what's coming. He knows those words he hates most to hear are going to come, and just thinking about them makes him want to hurl.
It all happens the same everything and Dean hates it. He hates reliving it, but right now he can't remember if it's real or not. Has this already happened? But then it changes. He gets all the way up to the point where he's on the floor begging Sam not to kill Dad. But Sam doesn't get a choice this time, not in this play. The gun gets pulled from Sam's hand and then turned around to face him. And Dean witnesses something he wishes he'll never ever have to see.
Whatever this is, Dean hopes it will end now. But it doesn't. Now Dean's up with the gun in his hand, and it's pointed directly at Dad. There are two bullets left, and Dean barely registers that. And before he can stop himself, he pulls the trigger on his Dad. Dean looks around for a moment, and then for the first time since Mom died, he cries. He falls to the floor sobbing, one tear for everything bad that's ever happened to Sam, and one for everything for Dad. One tear for every time Dean lost something, and one tear for every time he wished he had cried. And then there's a countless number of them for watching Sam die, and another batch for killing Dad.
Dean wakes up in a full sweat. His eyes jerk open as he takes in his surroundings. He sees Sammy on the hospital bed asleep and finally looking in peace. He sees all the monitors, and checks behind him for the door. Once he sees the doors closed, and every things exactly how he remembers it, he breaths a sign of relief. Just a dream, he thinks. No, he corrects himself, just a nightmare.
Dean's not special. He has nightmares just like Sammy, but he's never told anyone. Sam can't help his, they're intense and often come true. But Dean's, Dean's reach the unthinkable. Sam sees people he doesn't know, Dean only sees the ones he does. He always sees the thing he fears most, and he's scared that it'll happen. The worst part is Dean was so close to it coming true. A turn of events and a different out come. But nothing comes without its price.
Dean wipes his forehead with the back of hand, and he feels twelve again. He feels like an idiot, crying about this and that and using the famous L word Sam and him usually get around. But its okay he decides, because now it's just Sam and him. It's been that way for a while, just him and Sam and the lovely old Impala. And the thought of the Impala brings a grin to his face, the good old Impala that's always been there. And then he remembers it's not there, and he hates everything even more. He glances at Sam and sighs. After everything they lost, and every thing they gained again, it seems as though they both lost the only things that ever really drove a small wedge between them.
"I love you too Sammy," Dean leans his head on the edge of the hospital bed by Sam's hip. "I love you too."
A/N Alright guys, I started this one a while ago, and I just finished it while I'm stuck in the boonies of Alaska. No seriously, there's nothing out here and all we're doing is sleeping and heli-skiing. It's quite the life. As I was writing it there were many points when I was like, wow this would be a great place to end it. But I kept going, because I don't know why. It didn't feel right to end it just there, felt like it was empty. This is my take on what should happen next season, well a little. Dads gone and our boys live is basically how I feel it should happen. I do however think there is chance that will happen. I'm actually okay with John living too, but I think he deserves a good slap on the back of the head every now and then. Anyways, like I said before, no spoilers just my imagination. And in the next couple days I plan on either starting the next addition to Old Man Serra, Kilts and Shamrocks, or doing another one shot. Either way I don't really care, but if you do then go ahead and tell me. Also, I said it before and I will again, I'm still looking for a beta if anyone's interested. Thanks for reading, please review I love them, I will admit.