Forgive me and carry on.
The full moon was beautifully caressed in wisps of clouds, but to Sam's tear-filled eyes it was another sign of a love lost. Only hours ago a single shot echoed through his soul and shattered the apartment walls, and now he was driving toward the moon toward the night - towards memories that promise to haunt Sam in his dreams. It was like losing Jessica over again; but this time he was at fault. He killed her, pulled the trigger, and sent that silver bullet through her heart.
Dean drove in silence. He watched his little brother hide his head between the window and his sleeve. Salty tears silently dragged out lines on Sam's face - evidence of what he went through. Dean knew it had to hurt Sam his Sammy, but once again he would go through with Sam and his angst over Madison's death, just like he had with Jessica. The one thing that changed was that this time Sam is the reason she died, and he can't make that better. All he could hope for was that Sam would pull through.
They stopped at a motel just outside of San Francisco, Sam waited in the car as Dean went to the front office to get a room. Sam couldn't hold it in any longer, and now alone he cried freely - letting the loathing radiate off of him, but always watching for a sign of his brother's presence coming back to the car.
Dean turned the corner of the office and slid down the wall; how was he going to deal with Sam? How was he going to keep Sam safe? He almost lost him once because of a death that wasn't his fault. Now this death was on his little brother's hands and he couldn't lose Sam.
Sam stopped crying and realized that Dean had been gone far too long, and something must have happened to him. He pulls himself back together and reaches for the door handle just as Dean walks out, with the keys in his hand reflecting light as if it were a piece of the sun itself. Dean entered the car and smiled at Sam. It was genuine, but his usual smirk he gave. They drove in silence from the office to their motel around the back.
As they entered the motel Sam darted to the bathroom before Dean had a chance to ask him anything. Sam slid down the fake wooden door of the bathroom, and making sure the door was locked, huddled against his self. Minutes later, Dean heard the shower running and decided to haul in their bags and weapons for cleaning. Sam sat in the shower fully clothed and let the water wash off the evil that surrounded him and his every thought.
Dean came back to the motel room with their two duffel bags of clothes and small bag of guns and knives that needed to be cleaned and sharpened. He cleaned the weapons slowly - checking every hour to see if he could hear Sam. But every hour there was only the sound of the water from the shower. Dean started to get worried and raised his hand to knock at the door. Before his hand connected he thought better of it. Sam had gone through a lot today, and maybe he just needed some time alone.
Soon after entering the shower the tears started - though no one else but Sam would ever be able to tell - their salty betrayal mixing and diluting with the water of the tap. He tried to get the blood off - off his clothes, off his skin, off of his hair. It was everywhere, and it wouldn't wash off in the constant falling water. For hours he washed until he rubbed layers of skin off, and then began to cry again. He was going to have to stop this. If he was not fully capable of keeping his emotions in check while on a hunt with Dean, there could be dire consequences like Dean's death, and Sam was not going to be responsible for his brother's death.
Sam got up and crossed the small motel bathroom. He stood facing a mirror above a once white sink, now colored a yellow from years of use. Sam looked at his reflection staring, accusing him of the death of his brother, because he wore his emotions on his sleeve and loved a "monster". Angered at him, for what his life had become and for that reflection smirking back at him - he lashed out at the mirror. His fist smashed the mirror into pieces that fell into the sink and embedded into his fist.
Dean had heard the crashing and refused to let it slide. He went to the bathroom door and knocked as he called Sam's name in an even tone. When no response came, he began threatening to break the door down if Sam would not come out. All Dean's efforts fell on deaf ears, and with no other choice and full of concern for his little brother, he broke the door down. He entered the bathroom to find the mirror broken and trickles of blood covering pieces of shattered glass. A trail of blood lead into the shower, and Dean followed it with his eyes until an opaque shower curtain blinded his sight. Ripping the curtain off its hooks to find what Dean feared would happen.
His little brother was sitting in the shower with a shard of glass in one hand, and two lines of blood welling up on each wrist - blood being washed away by the constant stream of water that by now ran cold.
Dean struggled to pull his brothers long and muscular form from the shower, and set him against the outer wall. For minutes on end, Dean futilely tried to stop the constant stream of blood that now pooled by Sam's lifeless wrists. Dean could not stop the flow, and Sam was turning blue. There was no time to play doctor. Dean reached in his soaked jeans for his cell and called the ambulance. He'd say sorry later, but Sam needed the hospital. Dean needed the hospital too. The hospital would fix Sam, and Dean could spend his life looking after his little brother as he had always done.
Dean sat by his brother, listening to the far off sirens coming closer and hoping they won't be too late. As the lights of the ambulance floods the motel through the thin curtain, Sam was put on a stretcher and Dean pushed out of the way. He sat on the bed to watch them take Sam into the ambulance. One of the paramedics asked if Dean wanted to go with them, and he nodded and followed the stretcher. There were words being thrown around that Dean was sure only were said to keep Dean out of what was happening - it didn't work. The heart monitor told Dean what the paramedics wouldn't… Sam's heart stopped beating. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and whispered into it "you don't get to do this to me" as tears bubbled under his eyelids.
"Clear" is all Dean heard, as a hand pulled him away from his brother. Dean watched as his brothers back arched up from the voltage coursing through his body, the electricity trying to start his heart for him.
They reached the nearest hospital which was inside of San Francisco. They launched Sam into the hospital doors barking orders at attendants of the hospital, all the while the paramedics moved Sam forward leaving Dean to follow behind, where he could no longer touch his brother. He fell into a chair after being told he could go no further than this room, worried and scared he hid his head in his hands and let himself go. He allowed himself to cry, because he might lose the biggest part of his life…his brother.
After he finished crying - deciding it's not doing Sammy any good - he watched the doors of the ER. Every time a doctor came out, his body tensed and waited to hear "Mr. Winchester's family?" Every time another name was called, this made Dean feel worse than getting the news himself. Thoughts that shouldn't be there popped up every time a new doctor called a different name. Like is Sammy dead? Is he okay? Will he have amnesia? What if Sam forgot Dean? Dean pushed these thoughts back every time a doctor left, "Sam's OK" he'd repeat to himself in whisper barley able to be heard by his own ears. Till finally a doctor came in and called, Dean swallowed hard and stood greeting the doctor with a hand shake.
"I'm Doctor Duquette..."
"How's Sam? Can I see him now?"
"Of course, there just a couple of things we have to talk about. Do you mind if we go somewhere more private?"
Dean nodded and turned to follow the doctor, stealing one more look at the ER door - hoping to see Sam. Dropping his head in defeat, Dean followed the doctor to his office.
As Dean entered the office, Dr. Duquette closed the door and gestured for him to sit in the seat in front of the desk. He looked at it uneasily but decided to sit anyways; whatever the news he thought it might be safer sitting down.
"First off, I'd like to talk to you about he extent of the injuries"
Dean knew it meant Sam would be in for a rough ride.
"He has suffered massive blood loss, guessing on the information gathered from you. When he fell, he hit his head pretty hard and developed cerebral edema - head trauma in layman terms."
"Will he wake up?" Dean asked, voiced laced with worry. He knew better than believe everything would be ok. His family hunted supernatural beings for a job.
"If he does it'll be a miracle. Don't get me wrong people do recover, but with patents with intense injures such as your brother barley ever recover. I'm sorry for your loss."
Sorry. The doctor was sorry; Sam was against all odds never going to wake up and the DOCTOR WAS SORRY. Dean dug his nails into the flesh on his palm till the skin gave way and blood slowly trickled from the wounds and dripped onto his pants.
"Can I see him now?" he asked through clenched teeth, and stood moving toward the door.
"Yes but one more thing… If Sam does wake up, we're suggesting putting him in the psychology ward for evaluation."
Dean stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face the doctor.
"You will do nothing to Sammy!" he spat, and stormed out of the room heading to the nurses station to get Sam's room number.
"Sammy come on...I'm not leaving, so you're going to have to get up and be my pain in the ass little brother. Come on Sam." Dean pleaded as tears streamed down his face leaving trails over his cheeks that burned lightly, as they fell of his chin on to Sam's hands (at least now they were warm). Dean sat by Sam's bed stroking his brother's hand, and sweeping the bangs from the face as he smiled to himself "your bangs were always to long."
This went on for weeks. Dean was only leaving Sam's side to get food or the occasional washroom break, and once or twice to have a shower. As soon as Dean was done any of these tasks he rushed back to his position at Sam's side, and soothed the empty body that Dean still believed was Sam.
As the months passed, the nurses started kicking Dean out as visiting hours were over, Dean would go to the closest motel and under the alias Jim Rockford, in case Sam woke up and tried to find Dean. He spent long nights waiting in the dark with his cell on his chest in case something was up at the hospital. As the weeks past, Dean needed his routine (after many requests of Bobby and Ellen). He walked to the nurse's station and asked for Sam's belongings, and from the box Dean grabs Sam's Rolex. Slipping it on his wrist, he entered Sam's room every day for the past two months.
"Hey Sammy I got a job to do, I'll be back as soon as I'm done. Don't worry I'll be safe." He grabbed Sam's hand as usual and stroked the back for a few minutes, moved Sam's stubborn bangs from his eyes and left the room to go on his first hunt since Madison. He was alone; aside from the Rolex he wore that reminded he his brother was still back in the hospital waiting. Sam could take care of himself if something happened to Dean, but Dean knew that they would both lose part of them if someone were to die. Maybe that was why Dean was holding on to Sam for so long, he didn't want to lose that part.
This fight took Dean to Oakland - just outside of San Francisco, crossing the San Pablo Bay. This was an easy fight, as easy as they came for his family - Especially because Dean didn't have Sam. He fought a poltergeist, and as usual won. Instead of going for a celebratory drink with Sam for a job well done, he rushed back to the San Francisco hospital - where to his knowledge - Sam still lay.
When Dean got there and asked the nurse at the station if Sam Winchester was still in room 212, she replied with a slight nod of her head; to busy to look up from her paperwork. Dean walked along the hallway to Sam's room thinking how good the fight felt, with all that tension building up and being used in a positive manner. Well, as positive as it gets. He could have put that tension towards a mortal. He thought about what Sam was to him, and if he could go on hunts further out. Maybe one day, but right now he was happy to be back by Sam's side. He opened the door of room 212, and there lay his little brother looking as innocent as he did when he was five. Dean sat at his usual chair and picked up Sam's hand and rubbed small circles on the back as he told Sam of his fight.
Slowly Dean's visits to Sam became shorter and further spaced apart, but Dean always thought about his brother. Sam was a part of Dean, so even when he was hunting he carried Sam on his wrist and in spirit. When Dean did visit he ended up crying - his baby brother was aging and he couldn't live life and experience it. On Dean's last visit, he grabbed Sam's hand in both of his.
"Sammy please forgive me, I couldn't let you go. Please forgive me for keeping you here. I release you Sam - find Mom and Jess, they miss you. I know it because I miss you."
Dean broke down in tears quiet sobs escaping his body.
As Dean left he went to Dr. Duquette's room, where he was doing paper work.
"Excuse me, Dr. but I have a question."
"Why certainly" he said as he dropped his pen and look at Dean shift from foot to foot.
"What is it?"
"In your professional opinion is there a chance Sam will wake up."
The doctor dropped his gaze to his shiny black shoes as he answered. "That chance window closed over 4 months ago."
This time it was Dean's turn to drop his eyes, if only to hide the fresh tears reaching the surface of his lids.
"I... I want to pull the plug on...on Sammy" Dean choked out the words in a whispered voice just loud enough to let the doctor hear him.
"Certainly, there are some forms to sign but we can do that." As the doctor went to get the paper work for Dean to fill out, Dean sank into the chair in front of the doctor's desk.
How could he do this to Sam, to himself? Because this loss was on his hands, he'd sign the paper but he wouldn't watch his brother die.
"Here you are" Doctor Duquette said, as he handed the papers to an obviously shaken brother, and turned to check on interns
"I'll be back a little later and we'll discuss a date and time."
With that he disappeared closing his door behind him. Dean signed the papers and he left the office - traveling the familiar hallway into room 212.
"Sam...Sam, please forgive me and... Move on." With that Dean squeezed Sam's hand and moved his bangs one last time from his eyes and left. Fully knowing that this was the last time he'd see his brother, alive. He went back to the office and waited for the doctor to come back. When he did, Dean asked when the earliest time was – finding out it was tomorrow at noon. Dean agreed and said he wasn't going to show up, but he'd like the body sent to Lawrence Kansas. He'd make arrangements from there.
The next day at noon Sam died, but so did Dean. He stayed in his room all day crying.
One week after Sammy's release, Dean met up with the mortician and buried Sam by Jess. His tombstone bore his real name; they went through life changing names with every town they entered. The subscription on his tomb read ''Move on but never forget.''
Now Dean lay red roses on Jess's grave and White on Sam's on the anniversary of Sam's release, and does something that puzzles even himself. He prays. he prays Sam found peace, found Jess & mom, and mostly that Sam would forgive him.
"Please Sam forgive me," and with that he stood, and wiped his eyes to hide the evidence of tears. He walked to the car and he could swear he heard in the wind Sam's voice saying
"Forgive me and move on",
And Dean did. Though every day he carried on, always wearing Sam's Rolex to remind him he was never alone.
Intereo in telum of vestri diligo ones (Die in the arms of your loved ones)