A/N: Hey Bookworms! I've been working on this for quite while. It literally took me almost a month to write up this chapter. Just a plot bunny that struck me after I watched "A Christmas Carol." on the TV a few months ago. :) I planned for it to be a one-shot but now, it's going to go for at least 3 chapters. :) So, what? Three-shot?
This is set in Season 3, a few months after Dean makes the deal to sell his soul for Sam's life.
Anyway, hope you all like it! :D
As Jake finally fell to the ground, Sam picked up the shard of wood and walked over to his friend turned enemy. But as he reached him, Sam knew that he could never kill another human, even if it was a human with freakishly weird powers that made him a mini hulk or something. Giving Jake a disgusted look, he threw the shard a few feet away; turning to find a way out of this hell hole. His injuries felt more pronounced as the adrenaline wore off. He clutched his left arm, wincing when it jostled with each step. It could be dislocated, he thought to himself. Honestly, he just wanted Dean.
"Sam?" he heard an all too familiar voice call out.
Relief, happiness and a dozen other emotions flooded through him as his eyes felt on his big brother, his one reason for living. He smiled as Dean threw on a relieved look himself seeing his small brother alive.
Seeing his brother is what caught Sam off-guard and he didn't sense or hear Jake moving up behind him with the shard of wood. "Dean!" he called out in glee. And the next thing he remembered was Dean yelling in a panicked tone and a sharp white-hot pain ramming into his back.
Sam gasped aloud as he sat up on his bed, still feeling the phantom pain on his back. He absently ran a hand on his back reassuring himself that he was fine and alive. That's when it hit him again. He was only alive because of Dean. He looked over to his brother's bed to find him sleeping soundly. He looked around the room and realized that they were still at the motel. Running a hand through his hair to calm himself down, Sam tried to settle down again hoping to get some sleep.
It was two hours later, almost 3 am and Sam still couldn't sleep. Thoughts of his time in Cold Oak and his brother telling him that he'd sold his soul kept falling on him like bricks. Dean had only a year left to live after which his soul would be hell's possession because he was stupid enough to sell his soul in exchange for Sam's life. Then again, Sam knew that if the situations had been reversed, he would have done the same thing.
"But still," he whispered to himself. He didn't deserve to live. They were all in this mess because Azazel had fed him demon blood as a baby that night his mother had burned on the ceiling. If he'd died in the fire that night instead of his mother, none of this would have happened. His father would still be alive and possibly his mother too and Dean wouldn't have had to sell his soul. With a heavy heart, he realized that Jess would be alive and happy too. Everyone was better off without him.
Deciding he needed air, Sam quietly crept out of bed, stuffed his feet into his shoes and donned his jacket over his pyjamas before sneaking out the motel room door. He hurried towards the Impala, the one place he counted as home. The Impala always comforted him. He was always able to relax, joke with Dean and fall asleep in the Impala when he couldn't do so in a motel or elsewhere. Sighing at he sat on the hood, he leaned back, gazing at the stars as he'd done so many times over the years with his big brother. Another sharp jab of pain went through him when he realized that in a couple of months, Dean wouldn't be watching the stars with him, a beer in hand.
"This is all my fault," he muttered, heartbroken.
"I'm so sorry that this ever happened," Sam whispered as he looked at the sky, silently hoping that his father, mother and maybe even Jess were listening to him. "If I hadn't been born, you guys would still be alive. Still be happy," he said in a broken voice. Sam couldn't stop the tears as the grief finally broke through his stubbornly set up walls.
And now, Dean.
He'd tried everything in his might to make Dean feel better, make himself feel better knowing that Dean's trip down stairs was due in a few months' time. He tried pleading, reasoning, nagging and everything else he could think of, but the guilt, the gaping hole in his chest never filled up.
Sam knew the truth. I was dead. I should have stayed dead.
Sam clutched at his hair in agitation as wave after wave of grief and guilt crashed into him like the sea crashed against rocks on a stormy night.
Dean wasn't the one who should be dying.
"It should have been me..." he told himself. "Me."
"You're wrong love."
Sam nearly fell off the hood as he jerked his head up at the voice he knew so well and missed with all his heart. He stared in awe at not one, but three people he missed sorely and wished were still alive. Blonde hair, sparkling eyes and still wearing the smurfs pajamas that she'd worn that day, Jessica smiled sadly at her one true love.
"Jess," Sam said in a cracked voice. He couldn't believe his eyes.
Blonde hair, green eyes and a white gown and Sam could finally see his mother for the first time in flesh, well sort of.
The same old jacket, messy black hair and the ever so rare smile on his face.
Sam couldn't believe his eyes. He must be dreaming. He had to be dreaming because these people were dead...because of him.
"You're not dreaming son," John said, smiling as he walked up to his youngest.
Sam gulped as he tried to remember how to talk. "H-How...?"
"That's not important, sweety. Let's just say we were sent here for you," said Mary, looking greedily and longingly at Sam as he looked back the same way. He'd never had a mother's love like Dean had. He'd only been a mere six months old when she'd been snatched away from him.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked as he cleared his throat, trying to overcome his emotions.
Jessica smiled sadly as she walked gracefully up to Sam and laid a hand on his cheek. Sam unconsciously leaned into it, tears streaming down his face. Jessica's hand felt cold, not human. "You're not alive?" Sam contemplated. The more closely he looked, he knew he was right. All three visitors were emitting a low glow, like the faint shining of a star. They looked…different. Younger somewhat and not quite here. They appeared translucent.
"No," Jessica said, confirming Sam's suspicions. Sam looked longingly at his former girlfriend, his one true love.
"Then how are you here?" Sam asked.
"We honestly don't know, son," John answered as he stepped closer to his youngest. The son he'd done everything to protect. The son he'd fought with. The son that didn't deserve the crap he'd given him growing up.
Sam didn't know what to say. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still felt as though his mind was playing tricks on him. But in his heart, he knew. They were really there. Maybe not in flesh, but in soul.
"Why are you here?" he asked, choking back fresh tears.
"To show you the truth, Sammy," John said, hating to see the pain in Sam's eyes as he looked at them.
Sam frowned. "The truth?"
"You don't deserve to die, son," John spoke.
Sam shook his head. "Yes I do. If I'd died in the fire that night, Mom might still be alive. Jessica would be happy and alive at Stanford and you wouldn't have had to sell your soul for Dean, Dad...God," he broke, the burden of his survival, his mistake to have lived crashing down on him. He was sure of it. He didn't deserve to live.
"You better shut that trap before I snap, Sam Winchester," Jessica said with no heat as she looked up at her boyfriend. Sam smiled hearing the familiar exchange. Jess was always able to beat some sense into him when he sounded delirious.
"Things are just how they are supposed to be Sam," Mary said, smiling sadly at her baby boy.
Sam looked up to his family, his long-lost family with yearning. "How are you so convinced?" he asked, needing to know.
"How about we show you?" All three of them said. Each of them laid a hand on Sam and Sam felt an agonizing pain hit his chest. It's like his chest was being compressed and all he saw was his family looking up at him before black invaded his vision.
Sam gasped as he drew in lungfuls of much needed air. He opened his eyes to see that they weren't in the parking lot anymore. They were back home. Back in Kansas.
"What...?" Sam trailed off, unable to form a question with the millions bombarding his mind.
"Just see," Mary whispered as she held her sons' hand.
Sam allowed his eyesight to adjust to the dim-lit room they were standing in. The curtains were pulled across the windows, the room not holding much of an aura with the presence of a bed and a side table. In a few seconds he realized that it was his mother on the bed with John sitting by her side; concern, pain and worry etched into his features. A doctor sat on the edge of the bed examining Mary.
Sam had no idea what was going on. "What...how...?" he stammered as he looked to the John and Mary standing by his side.
"Just watch," John prompted. Sam obeyed.
The doctor hung his head and sighed as he looked to the John on the bed. "I'm truly sorry John but there's not much I can do from here. She's...too far gone. The loss of her child has hit her hard and the fever just keeps coming back to attack her already weakened system. I can't promise anything except keep the medications going and try to cheer her up."
John rubbed a hand over his face. "Crap Mary, why are you doing this to yourself?" he whispered softly, running a hand through his wife's hair. He stood up from the bed as the doctor got up to leave.
"Let me know of any changes, good or bad," he said, clapping a comforting hand on John's shoulder.
"Thanks Mark. I'm sorry for the – "
"Cut the bull crap Winchester. What are friends for?" Mark smiled sadly. "Take care, my friend." And saying so, he left the room.
John walked back to his wife and sat down on the spot occupied earlier by Mark. "Mary? Sweetheart?" he called, trying to rouse her.
Mary let out a weak moan as she fluttered her eyes open. "John?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
"Right here, love," John said, smiling through the tears in his eyes. Sam's heart ached seeing his parents in such a state. He understood now. This is what would have happened if he'd died in the fire.
"Dad?" said a small voice at the door. Sam gasped as he turned around. He looked at the floppy golden brown hair, the freckled face, those astonishingly familiar and sparkling green eyes, the face of a brother he'd only seen in photos. Dean. He looked no older than five.
"Dean. Come here kiddo. Momma's awake," John said, beckoning his son over to him. Dean smiled and walked over to his father.
"Hey Mom," Dean said as he sat on his fathers' lap. He didn't like how his mother looked, weak and broken but he smiled as her face lit up seeing her oldest son.
"Hey Dean-o," she said weakly. "What mischief are you up to now?" she asked.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Nothing Mom," he assured. His face lit up as he remembered something and he started shuffling around in his pajama pockets before pulling out a crumpled, folded piece of paper. "I drew something for you," he said and handed over the paper to his mother.
Mary tiredly opened the paper and tears started to form and stream down her face as she saw the stick figures on the page. Dean had even managed to try to spell out their names. Four stick figures were drawn with a slightly tilting house in the background. Two tall figures marked 'Mom' and 'Dad' while two small ones, one slightly taller than the other, marked 'Me' and other marked 'Samy'.
"Sammy," Mary whispered as her breath caught in her throat. It's like she couldn't take the burden anymore. She sobbed freely as her hand caressed the paper. Dean looked alarmed and guilty at having made his mother cry.
"Go watch some TV, Ace," John whispered to his son. Dean nodded knowing his father would handle this. He'd do everything to make it up to his Mom later. John watched Dean shuffle sadly out the door and took Mary in his arms, rocking her gently.
"It's okay Mare. It's okay. Shhh," he chanted, having done this so many times over the last couple of months. His heart shattered hearing his wife's relentless sobs.
"Sammy," she sobbed. "I miss him. John. I want him. I – I need him. My baby..." she trailed off, latching tightly onto her husband. "My fault. All my fault," she whispered.
"It's not your fault baby, it's not," John whispered, tears streaming down his own face.
Sam couldn't watch this anymore. He turned away and stepped out of the room. His mothers' agonizing sobs and moans cutting into him. He looked with tear filled eyes towards the ghost – at least that's what he thought she was – before him. "She - you get better, right?" he choked out.
Mary shook her head, sadly. "You dying, it...it tore me apart. I died in my sleep a few days after this," she admitted.
Sam stumbled back in denial. "So, this is all real?" he asked, confused.
Mary nodded. "This is what would happen if you'd died, Sammy," she replied.
Sam nodded, trying to process it. He rubbed hastily at his wet eyes. "But Dad and – and Dean? They live right? No hunting, just a normal life?" Sam asked, almost pleading.
John shook his head in sorrow. "Let me show you," he said softly before they all placed his hands on him and the painful feeling in his chest came back. Just before he blacked out, he spotted a child outside his parents' room, hunched over, tears racing down his face.
"Sammy," it whispered.
Well? I'll try my best to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!
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