Title: Part One: The End

Author: Esoteric Ink aka: 8smallfan8

Genre: Angst; Death!fic; Tragedy

Pairings: None

Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own the boys nor the story - but I do own the computer that allows me to create such fictions ;)

Author's Note: AU fic, characters were moved around the chess board accordingly.

Feedback: Is the greatest feeling in the universe. And who wouldn't want that?

The End.

Sam stood firm, his eyes locked on the wall just before him. His body, dirty and worn from the sleepless nights he knew lay ahead. Yet there he remained, raging every emotion inside of him completely alone. He said nothing; the sounds of deafening silence torturing him with every second that passed. This was all Sam could do to not curse God and all the angels he now realized, never existed.

He wondered, how could this have happened to them? To him? But Sam knew. Somewhere deep within the abyss of his guilt ridden soul, he knew it was always meant to be this way.

Looking down, he caught a glimpse of his hand, bruised and broken. Dried blood staining his fingers and painting his nails a crimson color of death. Sam wanted to reach down, to touch that sore and lifeless hand, but its cool temperature would shock the horrid truth into his veins, and he wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Not again.

So he stood, unwavering and yet weakened by this latest blow. His will, now icing over with a cold, damned passion for a future not worth living to see, Sam felt as though he had already lost his life. Hell, losing him was reason enough to lose himself entirely, but that wasn't what his older brother would have wanted for him. No, Sam knew Dean would have found a way to return, if only to kick his ass for being so selfish.

So Sam did what his mind pleaded: he looked back down, this time taking in his entire body. This moment was the last for Sam's strength, as his legs buckled and his knees hit the hardwood floor beside the mattress. Reaching out, he held on to his brother's arm, shaking, screaming and cursing Dean's heart to begin its metronome if only just one more time.

The younger Winchester knew this kind of self torment would offer him neither satisfaction nor absolution, but his heart needed to grieve. To let the horror of the last twenty-four hours reach him in ways he had hoped it wouldn't. Sam hadn't known the depth of fear he held inside over this exact situation until it finally happened, but he now knew that everything they had done as brothers and hunters, had lead up to this moment. Beyond a reasonable doubt or any thoughts of destiny and fate, Sam's heart bled for his brother. For he knew there was never a way out for Dean.

That thought, combined with all the others, forced the air from Sam's body, and his blood began to rage speedily beneath his skin. He felt the sudden anger, the loss and the agonizing pain becoming too much for him in that moment, so Sam did the only thing he could: he hit Dean.


Sam was angry his older brother left him. No goodbye, no hug or moment of truth shared between these two men; two men who had walked the streets of hell more than a few times together. There was nothing for Sam's heart to fall back on during the hard times that weren't too far from where he was now. There was just the hollow shell of of what was once Dean Winchester, lying before him.

No handshake or smart mouthed comment. No tears or faded last words of unconditional love.

There was nothing.

Sam's fist landed against Dean's chest one last time before his eyes finally saw what his arms were doing. It was disrespect, and a foul move by this young, bruised man who had never felt so abandoned. But it was all he could do to let God know, that his heart was crushed and hope was a faded dream of the past.

Sliding down the side of the cold, metal bed rail, Sam cupped his mouth and closed his eyes in a fit of post traumatic panic. "Oh God," he whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. Shaking his head, he nearly punched the tears from his cheeks as he stood up and hurriedly walked away.

Away from the death and the bitter truth of what was now behind him. Gasping, he reached the door and slammed his fists against the old wood, continuing on until his hands were raw and bloodied; a release Sam felt need be attained.

Leaning his forehead against the door, Sam felt his heart race and knew he had to exit the room before the business end of a bullet found its way to him willingly. Not looking back, he swung the door open and ran out into the blackened forest, the cool night air enveloping him and gifting him a piece of life he regretfully accepted.

Standing, Sam ceased his crying and attempted to focus on the world surrounding him. He heard the trees, swaying gently behind and around him; the silence, telling him that all of God's creations were peacefully sleeping; then the low drum of his own heartbeat, steadily thumping within his chest as proof of his existence.

Looking back to the open door behind him, his face as solid as stone, Sam knew things would never be the same. The demon had taken Dean's life only moments after he had ended its own. A vicious, earth shattering attack that slowed time and broke all laws of physics, Sam was comforted with the knowledge that Dean never knew what hit him.

Closing his eyes, tears began to stain Sam's face as he thought of his brother's last words, his last facial expression. His last everything. "It's over Sammy," was the final truth of man who fought his entire life, only to lose it all at an untimely and painful end.

Walking slowly back into the small cabin, Sam reached for his phone: it was time to call their father and let him know his eldest son had passed away. Kicking a chair over beside Dean's current resting place, Sam nodded to no one's vision, and placed the phone to his ear.

It was the most difficult moment of his entire life, hearing his father's hopeful voice; a man of obedience and passion, but Sam knew there was no other way to the truth then to go straight through it.

"Dad," Sam choked out, tears brimming and nearly escaping his eyes for the millionth time in less then a day. "Dad, I need you...to come to..." John cut Sam's voice off with a grunt, and not a word was said for the next five minutes.

John uttered a simple, "I will find you," reply and with that, the line cut off. Sam threw his phone against the wall, just hard enough to get another ounce of frustration out but light enough that no damage was interred, and slumped lazily back against the seat.

"I...don't know if you can hear me...or if you're okay wherever you are, but...but I..." Punching the mattress, Sam jumped from his chair and screamed again. How he was supposed to wait patiently in a room with his dead brother, without offering any words of comfort for neither himself nor the ears of an afterlife spirit. If Dean was now of a supernatural sort to begin with.

Not knowing what to do, what to say or if there was anything that could be done, Sam sat back down and closed eyes. "This is the end Dean," he whispered, leaning close and taking in the stillness of the bloody man before his eyes. "This is the end."

With that, Sam knew there was nothing more to be had then time. Time to wait for his father to discover the truth of what happened. Time to wait until he saw his brother once again, wherever that may be. Time to wait until his own death had found him.

If nothing else ever came from Dean's passing, however brutal and heartbreaking it was and will always feel, it offered Sam something he hadn't ever foreseen: the end of a life he never wanted, unless his brother was there, fighting along side him.

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