Sam stood by the motel room window, drinking a soda, watching the night drift by. Ever since he got his soul back, ever since he'd BEEN back, Sam liked to take a step back and enjoy the little things about their not so wonderful life. He'd finally been able to put all of that hostility and anger he had felt towards Dean for so long behind him, and focus on the fact that his brother would do anything for him, did do anything for him, and that sometimes it was okay to be the little brother.
Things that had bothered him once upon a time, just didn't seem that important anymore. The big things, the things that he had always taken for granted—Dean, Bobby, The Impala (of all things), were there and they were all together and happy, well as happy as anyone could be who was a hunter.
He smiled to himself and downed the last of his soda and turned around intent on getting on some sweat pants and getting ready for bed. However, when he turned Balthazar was standing right in front of him. Sam jumped and made a startled sound. "Geeze! Give a guy a heart attack will ya?" Sam asked and ran a hand through his hair, sat the soda can down and leaned against the dresser, willing himself not to put his hand to his chest.
"For a hardened hunter you sure do startle easily." Balthazar replied flippantly.
"Usually something makes a sound." Balthazar reached behind Sam and picked up the soda can.
"From what I understand your brother went straight for the hard stuff when he got out of hell. Must be true what they say." Sam quirked an eyebrow of curiosity. "They always said you were the more sensible of the two."
"I don't know if sensible is the right word. I did do a triple indy into the hot box with Lucifer riding under my skin. One might not call that exactly sensible."
"Well, it never seems to matter with you Winchesters anyway. You are like cats. 9 lives and all, and for some reason whenever one of us drops you…you land on your feet. Curious thing really."
Sam sighed, he hated the foreplay with angels. They were sarcastic bastards. "You didn't come here to talk about my taste in post hell beverages. So out with it. What can I help you with Balthazar?"
"Your brother needs your help." Sam's eyes widened and his posture went from relaxed to stiffened in less time than it took for an angel to appear out of thin air. Everything was going so right. They were together, the hunts were coming and they weren't save the world huge, and he and Dean were just able to be brothers again. Just able to catch some crap movies at the dollar theater, do touristy things in cities they hadn't been to before, talk, catch up, just be okay with each other and their lots in life. But of course something would happen, it made sense after all, Winchesters could only be happy for a finite amount of time, and then something had to screw it up. And if an angel was coming to get him to his brother things must be screwed up really bad…especially if the angel coming to get him wasn't Cass.
"What happened? Where is he? Is Cass with him? Why did you waste so much time?" Sam was moving as he spoke, frantically pulling on boots, grabbing for his coat that he had thrown carelessly across the back of a chair, and throwing it on in less time than it took most people to open their mouths.
"I'll take you there, you just have to remember to help your brother."
"What in the hell are you talking about?" Sam asked incredulously. "Of course I'll help my brother!"
"Alright. Sam. Thank you." Balthazar touched Sam's forehead and his feet
landed on the sidewalk in an alley in the middle of the night. Sam looked around trying to get his barring, he was in a city, he heard horns honking, he saw lights flashing, and he thought he heard the disappearing footfalls of someone running at top speed. He felt something hit his ankle, and he heard the gurgling of a man struggling to breathe through blood, and his own blood went cold. It had to be Dean. This is why Balthazar wanted him, this is why; he wanted Sam to be there when Dean died. Sam cursed Balthazar, if he hadn't wasted so much damn time in getting him here, there would be something more to do to help Dean other than sitting with him while he took his last breath. Sam had heard this song before and he never ever wanted to hear it again.
He didn't want to look down, but he felt the hand slap at his ankles again and he forced himself to look down and what he saw took his breath away. He had looked down into his own face choking on his own blood. Sam swallowed hard and tried to keep the panic at bay.
He took a step back and tried to reconcile what he was seeing with the rational part of his brain. It came up empty. Where in the hell had Balthazar dropped him? How was watching himself die going to help his brother? Before he could take another step back, the dying form grabbed onto the leg of his jeans and gave him such a haltingly plaintive look that Sam sank to his knees next to the man on the ground. If Sam had a clone out there this was the man.
"Help." He choked. "Help.." He tried to cough.
"Shhh. It's okay. Just let go." Sam found himself saying, knowing how much it hurt to die, and how much more it hurt to actually cling to the last of your life rather than to just simply let go.
His clone shook his head and threw his hand towards Sam's chest and muttered. "Find Dean." And with the vital message delivered the man on the ground, bleeding and suffering finally let go, and the last breath in his lungs expelled out in a cloud of warm breath on cold air.
Sam looked down into his own hazel eyes, he ran a hand down his mouth and muttered "Oh God." He took a moment to gather his wits about him and reached down and closed his clone's eyes, surprised to find moisture at the corners.
He rocked back on his haunches and cursed Balthazar. "What in the hell am I supposed to do here?" He asked no one in particular and covered his mouth with his hand and tried to figure out what his next move was.
"I'm sorry." Sam said as he started feeling the man's pockets for his cell phone and his wallet. He found the man's cell phone, but no wallet. He looked around the man on the ground, got up and went the way of the footfalls and thrown into the next alleyway was Samuel Winchester's wallet. Well, at least his ID and his library card. Everything in the wallet that had at one point held credit cards, debit cards, or money, was gone.
So he was killed for his money. How is this supposed to help Dean? Sam wondered and looked around the alley way for any signs of the man who had robbed Sam's double and all he found was the wallet and no matter how carefully he combed the area between the dead body and where the wallet had been thrown, he was unable to find anything that would point him in the direction of the murderer.
He was kneeling next to his double's dead body when the phone that he had pulled of his clone began to ring, he looked at the display and it simply read "home" and hesitantly he answered.
"Sam!" It was a woman's voice on the other end, one he had heard before, but one he hadn't heard often enough to be able to identify solely on his name.
"Have you found him? Have you found Dean?"
"No. No. I haven't found Dean yet."
"I've called all of the hospitals, and I called the morgues." There were tears in this person's voice now and Sam understood the feeling. There had been times in his life where he had had to make the same calls looking for his brother, and it never went well, no matter the answer. "Sam. I called your father." Sam swallowed; he was speaking with his mother. Not some weird fucked up angel bastardized version of his mother, nor was she the ghost of his mother, nor was she an illusion, nor was she too young to know who he was. This was the mother he was supposed to have had, been raised by, been nurtured by, it made the lump that was already in his throat worsen.
"Your dad…he's been out all night looking for Dean too and neither one of us has had any luck. We have to find him before he does something stupid." Sam's face went slack as he looked down at the dead man before him and he knew without any doubt, without any hesitation, Dean had something to do with the death of the man at his feet and the realization nearly knocked him over.