Disclaimer: Don't own… not mine…DANG IT ALL! If I throw myself on the floor and kick and scream, do you think it would make a difference? Naw, me neither…
NOTE1: This was written after season 1 finale and beginning season 2 , after 2.02 Everyone Loves A Clown…I was not happy how it ended, this was my retaliation…made me feel better…
NOTE2: "Remember after dad died…you went to make a deal with that crossroads demon?" This is from: And the Night Burns On… THIS is THAT story…
NOTE3: Thank you for the review cold kagome of :Where is it? And Hell's Boys. Thanks to Luvjase, Sastiel, mousefiction, and Little Escapist for their reviews of Hell's Boys. Also thanks for all the favs and alerts.
Sam stood in the window to their room watching Dean working on the impala. Well his room, Dean didn't sleep there anymore. Too close to Sam, he couldn't blame him. He had been driving Dean's baby when they got hit by the semi. If only he'd been paying attention that night. But it was a little late for 'if only', well it was too late for a lot of things, now wasn't it? Sam asked himself. He sighed sadly and turned from the window, he had things to do. Watching Dean all day wouldn't get them done, either.
As Dean stumbled in that night to Bobby's darkened house, he realized he was glad he was sleeping on the couch. Upstairs was just too far to crawl. Which is what he would have to do to make it up those stairs. He hadn't been this wasted since… well, the last time he got drunk. Too drunk to think, that was a good way to be. Now, if he could get people to quit trying to talk to him, it would be perfect. He snorted, yeah right. Who was he kidding, his life fucking sucked! It was his fault Sam had lost dad. How could Sam forgive him when he couldn't forgive himself? Nope, he thumped himself on the forehead, not going there. Stop thinking… he commanded himself. That bottle of tequila wasn't making him numb enough. He smirked to himself. Good thing there was half a bottle of Jim Beam hidden under the couch. He plopped down on the couch, and searched under it for the bottle and grinned when he finally clasped the neck of it. Pulling it out and practically ripping the lid off, he upended it. As he finished off the bottle, Here's to you Sammy and all your emo crap. He saluted with the empty bottle towards the ceiling.
As he fell asleep, his last thought was he was probably going to regret mixing tequila with Jim Beam. He awoke from a nightmare sometime the next morning. Semi slamming into his baby, on repeat. Not to mention the damn doctor saying, "Call it.". Killing his baby's trunk with the crowbar. Had the crowbar incident really only happened yesterday afternoon? It was all Sam's fault. He didn't know when to stop and shut the fuck up! It was already daylight outside, so he wasn't sure how long he'd been out. When his bare feet hit the floor he realized he'd been out perhaps too long. Someone had taken off his boots, probably Sam. Kid couldn't leave him alone even when he was sleeping. He rubbed a hand over his face as he lay fell back against the couch with a moan. Yep, he regretted it. The world seemed to be set on a slow spin. I might puke, Dean thought sluggishly.
This sucked. The vicious cycle he was stuck in. He worked himself into exhaustion during the day so he wouldn't have to talk to Bobby or Sammy. Avoided anywhere either one was, then drank himself into oblivion every night so he wouldn't have to think. It was working ok until Sam decided to venture once again into his space to talk about dad. He slammed his fist into the couch, he didn't want to hear how Sam wasn't ok and how he thought Dean wasn't either. When they were on that road awhile back and he'd let loose on Sam, Sam had left him alone until yesterday…fuck! Was it too much to ask just to be left alone?
He sat up again, slowly this time. If he moved slow enough it wasn't so bad. He was starting to stand when he felt a slight puff of air brush against his face, causing him to shiver with a sudden chill, an almost whisper on the tails of a breeze… He couldn't make out all of it, but could almost swear he heard, "too late…" He shook his head, he must still have a slight buzz. He snickered at that thought as he made his way to the stairs. He needed a shower and the remainder of his clean clothes were still upstairs where Sam had unpacked them and put them in his side of the dresser. Maybe he would get lucky and Sam would already be up and somewhere… who was he kidding… anywhere else would be great. Then he wouldn't have to look at the wounded puppy dog eyes and know that he was responsible for part of that look. Because then he would feel like he needed to fix it and he just didn't have the energy to deal with it. Not now or anytime in the foreseeable future. So he was really glad to find an empty bedroom. He smiled, maybe his luck was finally changing.
He was opening his top drawer when a wave of unease stampeded across his back. It prickled down to his arms like goosebumps when you feel a ghostly presence. His hands clenched the front of the open drawer as he slowly looked up into the mirror. The room was empty. Both beds made. Two duffels by his bed , none in front of Sams'. The night stand was cleaned off. He looked down, the top of the dresser spotless. Sam must have went on one hell of a cleaning spree. Bobby never messed with the room, unless looking for a book they had been taken from the library and not returned. And only then if he needed it for some research he was working on at that time. He tilted his head to the side in confusion because the room had a sudden air of wrongness. Closing the drawer, he closed his eyes. His heart was suddenly pounding as he turned to face the empty room, he opened his eyes. It wasn't that it was empty, he thought. It was more a vacant feeling. That was when he realized what was wrong…the Sammyness that was normally there, just wasn't. His breathing hitched. There was no dozen books laying open in various stages of being read by Sam, no Sammy stuff scattered around just because he could. No stuff from Sam's pockets that he would empty daily and leave on his side of the nightstand. Receipts, change, small scraps of paper with titles of books he wanted to find, borrow, steal or buy. There was nothing to say that Sam had ever been there except for the duffle that sat at the end of his bed, beside his empty one. He frowned walking over to his bed and nudged Sam's duffel with his toe, it felt full. A chill washed over him clear to his bones, it felt like he'd been dowsed with ice water. There was a medium sized box sitting in the middle of his bed, taped closed with just his name written on the top in Sam's handwriting. His heart slammed into his chest as he backed away from his bed and that box. Because he knew one thing for damn sure, he didn't want to open it. "What the hell?" Dean muttered, staring at the room, almost willing it to reveal all its secrets. Because the thought that was creeping into his head was not acceptable. But it whispered relentlessly on, "Sammy's gone…you've lost him." He swirled around, yelling, "Sammy!" as he raced out the door. Hangover forgotten. As he raced down the stairs he tried to remember the last time he seen Sam. He realized with a jolt that almost made him puke on the spot that he hadn't seen his little brother since Sam came out and they had talked about them not being all right. Well, Sam had talked. Dean had then watched Sam walk away. Then Dean had broken windows and the trunk of his baby. Because if he'd tried to talk to Sam at that point then he would have probably broken his little brother. He had been that angry. There was no returning yell from Sam, causing him to jump down the last four steps and race to the kitchen. Screaming, "Bobby!" When Dean hit the linoleum in the kitchen, his socked feet slid across the floor. He propelled his arms to stay upright and stumbled to a stop.
Bobby was so startled by Dean's yell and sudden entrance that his coffee cup crashed out of his hands onto the floor. "What the hell, boy?"
"Sam?" Dean asked breathlessly, back tracking a couple of steps to the kitchen door. Tried to get his breathing until control.
"Left this morning." Bobby said, grabbing a rag off the counter as he knelt to pick up the mess of the broken cup and split coffee.
"What?" Dean gasped, falling back against the doorframe.
"Don't get your knickers in a wad… he had a box and letter he wanted to mail, went to the post office. Said he'd be back sometime tonight. Something about a library and maybe a bar…"
"Damn him, he's taken off." Dean snapped, straightening.
"How did you get that from what I just said?" Bobby asked, standing as well. He tossed the glass in the trash and the rag down one of his many laundry shoots.
"Did you see him leave with the box?" Dean asked, looking around, trying to find anything that belonged to Sam laying around. Nothing.
Bobby looked thoughtful, "No, when I ran into him, he was pulling the box out of the impala. He was just sitting out there in the passenger side when I started over to him. He told me then… said…" He stopped trying to recall. His mind had been on finding a new trunk lid that Sam gave me the money for…" I had called a couple of guys looking for a new trunk lid for your car, I was trying to give Sam his money back, then remembered someone else I could call and I came inside…"
Dean bit his lip, then murmured, "What money?"
Bobby sighed, "Sam gave me money to find a replacement trunk lid for the one you redecorated. Said it was his fault, he should pay for it." Bobby looked at Dean, noticing that he was turning pale, took a couple steps towards him before continuing, "Told me he had returned all the books and reshelved everything for me… Awh, shit!" Bobby made a grab for Dean as he started swaying, looking like he was going to pass out.
Dean stumbled away, backwards out of Bobby's reach. Tripping over his own feet as he turned scrambling to get to the impala. He opened the trunk to find it was empty.
Bobby had followed him out and stood warily beside the impala, "Dean… what are you doing?"
Dean slammed the trunk shut and raced to the driver's side of the car and stared at the shell of his baby, "Come on, baby… tell me where he left it." he whispered, desperate. He just knew that the letter Sam was mailing was left here, somewhere for him to find.
"Dean… maybe you should…" Bobby started only to stop when Dean turned to him.
"Bobby, I just have a bad…." Dean stopped, tears in his eyes. He'd been certain about the letter…he ran a hand thru his already messed up hair. He knew it was for him, so where?… his hand froze as his eyes landed on the glove box… the only still working door in the whole car…both hands were already reaching as he dove to the passenger side of the impala. He almost ripped the door off the glove box in his haste to get it open. It was empty except for the envelope laying there. As he pulled it out he could see his name written across it. It was from Sam. If the letter was to him, then the box he'd had out here was the one sitting on his bed with his name on it. "Damn it." Dean snapped, scrambling out of the car. It meant Sam wasn't going to the post office and he was suddenly terrified that it also meant he wasn't coming back. He took off at a run to their upstairs room.
Stumbling into the room he tossed the letter on the bed beside the box. He quickly ripped the tape off the box. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes, "Please let it be nothing… a prank…" Opening his eyes, he knew it wasn't. There'd been nothing to prank about for awhile now. Taking another deep breath he opened the box and saw the note on top. Pulling it out he stared at the contents of the box. He stared, frowning, not comprehending, he shook his head. Sam's weapons, it looked like the majority of them. With shaking hands he opened the folded note.
I hope one day you can look at these and use them and remember me- us as brothers. Until then, seal it back and ask Bobby to store them. Everything else I left in our room. Please, just don't throw them away. They are the only thing I have of me to give you… Someday, huh?
"What the fuck, Sammy?" Dean snarled… breathe…breathebreathebreathe… holding the bridge of his nose with one hand, note scrunched up in the other.
"Dean?" Bobby asked, coming into the room.
Dean turned to Bobby with tears in his eyes, "Bobby…" Desperation in the saying of just his name as well as the silent plea Dean never uttered aloud, "Help me. Fix this. Make it not be happening."
Bobby came over to look in the box and his eyes jerked back to Dean's face. He tried to drag air into his frozen lungs as he plopped down hard onto the bed next to the box. "The damn fool…" He said with a sigh. Sam had everything of value to him in that box, well except Dean of course. That didn't bode well for whatever the idjit was planning.
Dean looked frozen into place himself, as a voice in his head was singsong-ing on repeat IlostSamIlostSam… breathebreathebreathe… He let the note slip unheeded out of his fingers as he picked up the envelope. Sliding to the floor as he turned, he braced his back against the side of the bed. Drawing his knees up he laid his head down and prayed, silent tears falling. Beok. Beok. Beok… God, please…I'll make it up to him, just give me a chance. All the things he'd said slammed into Dean at once… "These are your issues, Sammy. Not mine… quit trying to shove them onto me." He'd shoved him away at every turn. His head raised up and banged back against the mattress, "FUCK!"
Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, "You don't even know what it says."
Dean choked out, "But I know him, Bobby. I know how he is… and I… I." He looked over his shoulder at Bobby, "I still pushed him. He needed me and I walked away… now he's just doing the same." That said, he slowly turned the envelope over and opened it. He pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper and some pictures fell out onto the floor. Looking at each one made him panic even more. Pictures of Sam and Jess and Jess by herself. The few they had been able to save from the fire. A couple of him, Sam and Dad, different ages. The one he picked up off the floor and stared at was one of him and Sammy from right before the asylum. Bobby had taken it and they had their arms thrown over each other's shoulder and huge grins on their faces. He balanced it on his knees and opened the letter.
My big brother, mentor, my hero and best friend.
The list could go on forever. I have thought awhile about this.
I've always done things… too little-too late. You are right! That list is as long as yours. (and Dean noticed the arrow Sam had made to the sentence about Deans list)
Realizing Dad did the best he could.
Realizing it could have been so much worse
Realizing Dad gave me the greatest gift for my childhood. You.
You were my normal, my mom, my dad… everything. You tried to give me everything you could…
It just wasn't until after college started that I realized I already had my slice of normal… with you.
You're the only brother I'd ever want. And again too little too late…
And I understand… Dean I do… I'm a selfish bastard… it's ok, I know…
and I am going to fix this…
For Once… I can do something for you.
And maybe this time. This time maybe it will be enough for you to love me again, at least, a little. I've missed you big brother.
Please don't remember me with hate…
Keep your eyes focused on the end of Bobby's drive.
I'm sending something home to you.
I will always love you,
Your sappy little brother,
Dean sat stunned, forgetting once again to breathe.
"Dean?" Bobby asked softly as if trying not to startle him.
Dean jumped up, clenching the letter forgotten in his hand as he dumped the box upside down on the bed turning he sent a lamp flying off the night stand. "What the fuck?" He snarled, looking at Bobby.
"Dean, you have to tell me…" Bobby started, standing.
Dean started slapping his pockets like he was trying to put out a fire. He finally found what he was looking for when he pulled his cell phone out of his jean's pocket. Speed Dial 1, Sam. He had changed it after him and Sam started hunting together, he remembered Sam's silly grin when he'd noticed that little fact. He'd held up his hand and told Sam, "No chick-flick moments, dude." His silent mantras became as he waiting for Sam to pick up, , you better pick…He heard the unmistakable ring of Sam's phone from the pile on the bed. "FUCK!" he screamed again as he threw his phone at the wall, not caring where it landed as he scrambled for Sam's. Holding to his chest, he listened to the tone signally a missed call. Tears ran down his cheek as he ran a hand from his mouth, holding it there like it would keep all his emotions in, then dragging it down over his chin. "He's not planning on coming back." He told Bobby flatly. After a few seconds Dean realized Bobby hadn't responded. He looked at Bobby.
Bobby was staring at something he was holding in his hand.
Dean took a step back, "No." He whispered, he'd never left that before… ever.
Bobby was holding Sam's wallet.
"Bobby." Dean's voice sounded strangled, it was a plea.
Bobby opened it, "Everything's here except cash. " Bobby pulled out a picture of Dean, Dad and Sam. Except Sam had ripped himself out of it.
AND DEAN KNEW!
"You stupid son of a bastard!" Dean ranted, kicking the bed and then storming out.
Bobby followed afraid of what Dean might do in the frame of mind he was now in.
By the time Bobby made it to the yard, Dean had taken a crowbar to the impala again. Bobby was glad the other trunk lid was still in transit or he'd be ordering yet another one.
Dean was ranting with each swing, "How could he think I would want this?" After several minutes of his screaming and slamming the crowbar into the impala trunk, he turned and flung the crowbar out into the junkyard barely missing Bobby… Dean collapsed to his knees. "God, Bobby…" He was trying not to cry, looking up at him.
Bobby rushed over falling to his knees and pulling Dean into his arms. "I gotcha, boy… I gotcha."
"Bobby… he's going to make a deal… Sammy… Sammy for Dad…" Dean started sobbing. God he wasn't over dad yet… "He thinks I want that. God, Bobby, have I been that big of a dick?" But he knew the answer. He didn't need Bobby to tell him. He started to struggle against Bobby. "I gotta stop him…" He looked at Bobby after he pulled away.
"I gotta… I love dad… I do." Dean struggled with the words he was trying to say.
"Not something I ever doubted kid." Bobby told him seriously.
"But Sammy…" He tried to hold back another sob, "He's mine… since I was four. It's like he's my kid… not just my brother." He glanced around. "Bobby, where's the nearest crossroad?"
"Dean, I'll get the truck… get your phone." Bobby said, starting towards the garage. At the look Dean gave him, Bobby responded, "In case he calls."
"Oh." Dean said, before running into the house. I took him a minute to find his phone. He thanked God he hadn't broken it earlier. He started for the door only to turn back for Sam's phone. As he raced back down the stairs Sam's phone beeped to let him know the phone had voice messages. Dean slammed the front door and he ran into the screen door opening it with his elbow. He tore down the steps jumping the last three. Bobby met him with the truck by the porch. He didn't slow down as he launched himself into the truck before it had even fully stopped.