A/N: It's been a while since I've posted a story on Fanfic. I notice I always say that when posting a new story, but I always tend to leave my stories half way through because of writer's block or lack of time. So I decided I should stick to one shots.
I wrote this in any spare moments I could find in between my numerous assignments and assessment pieces and so the language and gramma are not fabulous, but I decided to post it up anyway.
I've used scenes from all 3 seasons, and just to clarify, the italic writing are scenes which actually took place during the show, so I do not claim any of them.
Quickly written, didn't have an editor or beta or anything, and I hope it makes as much sense to you as it did in my head, but that might not be much. I could've made it longer, but i decided not to.
Please review, good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Until the End of Time
Time. Sam and Dean had seen and killed creatures most people couldn't imagine in their wildest dreams, yet the idea of time still remained oddly elusive to Sam. It always acted in the strangest fashion of all.
It was here with him again, Sam could feel it. He knew what it was because time wasn't a stranger to him. They had met many times before; even though its presence was not sought or desired, it decided to call upon him all the same. And once it had approached, it stayed there stubbornly, reminding him of what was at stake. It hurried Sam along, pushing and pressing for him to move faster, faster and faster before the sand would fly away from him and more innocent lives were lost; before their Dad would vanish with out a trace again; before the demon accomplished his plan; before Sam was overtaken by his demonic side. Before they would take Dean away from him.
Sam sighed, eyes dark and tired. "How long did you get?" He asked hoarsely.
Silence, then - "One year." Dean said wearily. "I got one year."
Sam nodded, jaw tight. "You shouldn't have done that." He said voice low. "How could you do that?"
"Don't you get mad at me." Dean whispered pleadingly. "Don't you do that. I had to." He said fiercely. "I had to look after you! That's my job!"
"And what do you think my job is?" Sam asked quietly.
"You've saved my live - over and over. I mean you sacrifice everything for me, don't you think I'd do the same for you?" Sam asked incredulously.
Dean was silent.
"You're my big brother," Sam said with a quiet intensity, "there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you out of this."
Time is arrogant. Everything and everybody must move according to it. It doesn't wait for anybody, but moves along at its own speed. Sometimes it moves so slowly, that it seems as if it isn't moving at all, and a moment seems to linger for what is much more than a moment, until it finally flutters away. Other times, it seems to gallop by, where great periods of time fly by so swiftly that we don't realise that it has passed us by until it's too late, and all we are left with are regrets. And this, funnily, tends to occur when time is needed most of all; but time, of course, waits for nobody - and Sam knew this now.
"You're not going to let me die in peace are you?" Dean asked exasperated.
Sam smiled. "I'm not going to let you die period."
Time was devious. It played games with him, fooled him, taunted him. It was present with Sam wherever he went; he carried it in his very hands – every second, every moment, was a small grain of sand which sat in his palms, but kept relentlessly slipping through the cracks of his fingers.
"What's done is done Sam." Dean said, his voice deep, steady. "You can't change it now."
Sam looked straight into Dean's eyes. "Watch me".
Time was cunning. In moments of darkness and turmoil, it was present as like always, but somehow felt heavier, denser then before, adding further burden and anxiety to rest upon Dean's shoulders. It seemed to settle upon him, like a layer of dust, until it was suffocating him and even open air felt claustrophobic. Ruthlessly, it tested Dean; it talked to him, tormented him and reminded him of past troubles and pain. It tore and ate away at him, and threatened to engulf him. And the agony became such that Dean, like all people, made rash decisions and actions so as to enable him to push through, to clear the dust and overcome time. Even if only for a while.
Sam looked at Dean miserably, unbelievingly. "How could you make a deal like that?"
Dean swallowed. "Cause I couldn't live with you dead. I couldn't do it."
"And what, now I have to live while you die?" Sam asked, his temper rising.
"That's the general idea, yeah." Dean answered lightly.
Sam wanted to scream at him. Wanted to hit him. How could he be taking this all as a joke? But of course, when did Dean take anything concerning himself seriously? It made no difference to anyone if he was sick or injured, dead or alive, right? Here, let me sell my soul for you, I don't need it anyway.
"You're a hypocrite Dean. How did you feel when Dad sold his soul for you? Because I was there, I remember. You were twisted, and broken, and now you're gonna do the same thing, to me. What you did was selfish."
"Yeah, you're right," Dean agreed, "it was selfish. But I'm ok with that."
"I'm not!" Sam retorted.
"Tough." Dean snapped, "After everything I've done for this family, I think I'm entitled."
But time plays tricks, and though the dust had been blown away, people realise that perhaps what had been done for the best, no longer felt like the best. That perhaps, they couldn't deal with the consequences of their actions. And soon, the dust would begin to fall again - slowly, but steadily – and time would begin to tear at Dean's insides once more as he awaits his impending fate. But all that was lost or given away could never be returned, because time, strangely, is a one way street.
"Sam." Dean said abruptly.
Dean cleared his throat, hesitating. "I've been doing some thinking and, uh, the thing is," Dean paused, plucking up the courage he needed to trash his pride, "I don't wanna die…" He admitted "I don't wanna go to hell.". There, he had said it.
Sam blinked, startled that Dean had finally said the words that confirmed what he had known all along. "Alright, yeah" Sam replied with as much conviction as he could, "we'll find a way to save you."
Save. Dean needed to be saved. Saved by his little brother. Dean was supposed to be the one who saved Sam, not the other way around.
Dean nodded dumbly. "Ok, good." He said, smiling weakly.
Dean hesitated, unsure whether he actually wanted to know the answer, but then said - "There's no way to save me from the pit is there?"
Ruby sighed, eyes thoughtful, calculating, "No." She replied.
Dean nodded, jaw tight. Of course there wasn't, deep down he had always known. But he could deal with that… right?
Time was Sam's enemy. It lured him into false sanctuaries, allowing him to believe that he was in control, that it was on his side – that it was his friend. But then it deceived him, and it flitted away from him, too quickly, leaving Sam behind, groping for what was now forever lost. And so determinedly, he would grab another handful of sand, and this time hold onto it tighter than before. But this only caused for it to slip away from him quicker than ever before, laughing in the face of his futile efforts. And soon, he knew he would have no more sand to hold onto; the hour glass was emptying and Sam's determination deteriorating, rusting away alongside it. And during his darkest hours, he wondered, he dreaded, if perhaps, Dean couldn't be saved. But then he would curse himself for such thoughts and think harder, dig further for something, anything to save his brother.
"So what," Sam said shrewdly, "you're the guy with nothing to lose huh? Oh wait, lemme guess," He added sarcastically, "it's because uh, it's because you're already dead right?"
"If the shoe fits." Dean replied indifferently, shrugging his shoulders.
"You know what?" Sam started heatedly, "I'm sick and tired of your old stupid kamikaze tricks -"
"Woah, woah. Kamikazee?" Dean cut in. "I'm more like a ninja." He said smirking, with his usual attempt to avoid such conversations.
"That's not funny." Sam said, face impassive.
"It's a lil funny." Dean tried, still smiling.
"No, it's not." Sam said again, fiercer then before.
"What do you want me to do Sam?" Dean asked, his own temper rising. "Huh? Sit around writing sad poems about how I'm gonna die? Well you know what, I got one. See what rhymes with shutup Sam?"
"Dean! Drop the attitude Dean." Sam said exasperatedly." Quit turning everything into a punch-line. And you know something else?" He added. "Stop trying to act like you're not afraid!"
"I'm not." Dean said in a low voice.
"You're lying!" Sam yelled. "And you may as well drop it cause I can see right through you."
"You have no idea what you're talking about." Dean said sending Sam a look which clearly told him to back off.
"Yeah, I do." Sam retorted. "You're scared Dean. You're scared because your year is running out, you're still going to hell and you're freaked".
"And how do you know that?" Dean challenged
"Because I know you!" Sam exclaimed.
"Yeah because I've been following you around my entire life!" Sam ejaculated. "I mean I've been looking up to you since I was four, Dean - studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world. And this, this is exactly how you act when you're terrified. And I mean I can't blame you." He said, tone becoming softer as Dean's brick wall began to collapse. "It's just. . ."Sam's voice faded as he looked away.
"What?" Dean prompted earnestly.
"It's just I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again" Sam admitted. "Cause" Sam hesitated, " just cause."
Time changes people; for better and for worse. It changes their appearance, their perspective, their thoughts, their beliefs. Time can make someone stronger, or weaker. It can heal wounds - both physical and emotional – and it can aggravate wounds; wounds of silence and hostility from those that had once been counted as companions, but had changed - that had been changed by time. Time changes one's likes and dislikes, their desires and hopes, their priorities and responsibilities. Time changes people; sometimes people change over time, and sometimes, people have to change because of time.
Dean sighed, "No, I'm not mad Sam I'm worried." He said exasperated. "I'm worried because you're not acting like yourself."
"Yeah, you're right," Sam agreed, "I'm not. I don't have a choice."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked quietly.
Sam sighed. "Look, Dean, you're leaving, right?" He said slowly. "And I gotta stay here in this crap hole of a world. Alone." He added bitterly. "So the way I see, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after you've gone, then I've gotta change."
"Change into what?" Dean asked confused.
"Into you." Sam said, his words sounding more resentful then he intended. "I've gotta be more like you."
Time is invincible. It can never be beaten, but it can definitely be cheated – and Sam and Dean had managed to trick it many times before. But now, time had become familiar with their artifice and trickery. It had become wiser as it grew older and was too difficult to hoodwink. Time was ruthless and unforgiving of Sam and Dean's escapes earlier. It had come hunting for them, to redress the many victories Sam and Dean had taken. But these victories weren't really victories, but simply a lease, a further extension, which they would have to repay dearly for .This, as Sam had always known, was inevitable, but it did not mean that retributions had to be compensated for sooner rather than later.
"Sam, there's a lesson here, that I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours." The trickster said frustrated.
"A lesson?" Sam repeated dumbly, " What lesson?"
"This obsession to save Dean!" He exclaimed, "The way you two keep sacrificing yourself for each other? Nothing good comes out of it!" He said harshly, "Just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness." The trickster said quietly, "Bad guys know it too. It's gonna be the death of you Sam. Sometimes, you've just gotta let people go."
"But he's my brother…" Sam said pathetically.
"Yup." The trickster said bluntly. "And like it or not, this is what life is gonna be like without him..."