AN: Hi, guys.

So sorry to be doing this again, but I've got some bad news. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to put this collection on hiatus until September. I know, I know, but I'm going to be going on summer vacation at the end of the month and I'll be gone for two months. Not only will I be on vacation, but I will have little to no internet connection for two months. (EEK!) I was really hoping I would be able to get a few more Underdogs Wednesdays up before I left but real life has kind of taken over. This month is mostly going to be about cleaning, trying to figure out how to pack for two months away and just generally getting ready to leave.

I cannot apologize enough for this. I was really hoping that I would be able to get something out before I left, but it doesn't seem to be happening. I also have to apologize for the lack of updates on You Are a Hurricane. I genuinely thought I would be able to get another chapter up before I left, but I haven't had a huge amount of time to write these past couple months.

With that said, I didn't want to leave you guys with nothing...but all I have is this short excerpt from a full length fic (that might not even be completed, don't hold me to this, I have no idea what this summer holds for me) that could sort of work as a stand alone mini fic. ...Albeit a very, very sad stand alone mini fic.

Information/Warnings for this mini fic/fic excerpt: Takes place post Arrow season two and post SPN season nine. Tommy lives. Warnings for somewhat violent imagery, mentions of alcoholism, and also, um, you know, major character death.

Disclaimer: I own none of the the characters you recognize.

Underdogs Wednesdays

Written by Becks Rylynn

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As she steps out of her father's hospital room into the hallway, Laurel blinks as her eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of bright lights. She doesn't know what to expect from his phone call. Sam rarely calls her these days, so if he's calling her now... She's not sure how this could be a good thing. There's a part of her that doesn't even want to pick up. If she picks up, she doesn't have to hear whatever bad news Sam is about to give her. Unless it's Dean and he's just using Sam's phone because his was crushed by a monster. Not like it would be the first time.

Yeah.

Yeah, that's probably what's happening.

''Hello?''

''Laurel.''

It's bad.

''Sam.''

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, but she can hear his harsh, ragged breathing and that says more than you know. When he does eventually speak up again, his voice is wrecked. Like someone has taken his entire world and shattered it. ''Laurel.'' It's just a half sob of her name, nothing more, but it says everything.

Her vision blurs. There's a deafening roar in her ears and she can't catch her breath. ''No.'' Everything feels sideways all of a sudden. Her legs feel like jelly, she feels dizzy and she thinks she might throw up. Or pass out. Possibly both. ''No.'' She reaches out blindly for something to hold onto, placing a hand flat against the wall. ''Don't. He's - No. No, no, no, he's fine. He's fine. He's always fine. He always comes home to me.'' There is no answer. ''Sam, tell me he's coming home to me.''

Sam sucks in a breath. He sounds winded when he speaks. ''I'm sorry,'' it comes out in a croak. ''I'm so sorry.''

''No.'' She shakes her head. ''No, please, no.''

''I...tried. But I... I couldn't.'' Then he splinters and she's left listening to him sob.

She can't breathe. None of the air is reaching her lungs and her stomach is churning. She doubles over, gasping for breath, one hand on the wall. ''No.'' It's an agonized moan this time. She can't keep herself upright. Her already unsteady legs go weak beneath her and she collapses, sinking to her knees, trying to breathe. There is something in her throat. Something is crawling and scratching its way up. ''This isn't happening,'' she chokes out. ''This can't be happening. ...How - '' her voice cracks. ''How did it happen?''

Sam doesn't answer her.

She's not sure she even wants to know.

This was always how it was gonna end, Laur, she hears Dean's voice say in some sort of grief or shock induced auditory hallucination. It's like he's right next to her, whispering in her ear. We both knew that.

The tears don't come slow. There is nothing gradual about her breakdown. She breaks down completely, whimpers turning into guttural, howl-like sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks. She is still on the ground, shattered, sobbing, and shaking, when Oliver and Tommy find her.

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Tommy refuses to let her go to Kansas alone.

It's probably for the best. Laurel is incoherent and can barely stand. There's no way she could make it through the flight by herself. Oliver has tickets for the red eye flight waiting for them by the time they reach the airport, he'll have a rental car waiting for them by the time the plane touches down, and he promises to stay with her father until her mother gets there. Tommy handles everything at the airport. He gets them checked in and through security without a hassle, and he doesn't let go of her hand. They're good boys.

It's not an extremely long plane ride, but it feels like it takes forever. Tommy tries to coax her into sleeping but she can't. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees something bloody, whether it's Dean's ravaged body or the memory of her father coughing up blood and telling her that he can't breathe. It's the worst three hours of her life.

She spends the time thinking of all the ways it could have happened.

Was he all clawed up? What about his heart? Was it damaged? Was he shot? Stabbed? Was his head bashed in? Does he still have his heart? Or did something rip it out of him? Does he have everything else? Is he in pieces? How much of him is left?

Was it quick? Or was it slow, drawn out and long? If it was slow, how much did it hurt? Did the pain pass quickly, leaving a numb, floating kind of feeling? Or was it excruciating until the very last second?

Did he choke on his blood? Did he choke on her name? Was he alone? Did he know what was happening? Did he see it coming? What were his last words? Were they about her? Sam? Castiel? What did he see? Right at the end, right before he went, what did he see? Did he see his mom? Was she there? Did she come and get him? Did that make it better? Is he in heaven? Was he able to get in? Is he at peace?

Was he scared?

His heart.

What about his heart?

She pictures it in her head. Him dying. She sees it again and again, in all different ways. She tries to think about what his last words could have been. She hears the words in her head. She hears his voice. And then she realizes, of course, that she will never hear his voice again.

By the time they're on the ground, the sun has risen and she just wants to see him, whether it's a pretty sight or not.

From the airport, it's about an hour long drive to Lebanon, where the bunker is located, which gives her more time to think.

In the car, she thinks about all of the ways this could be a false alarm. Maybe he was just severely injured. Maybe Cas healed him. Maybe Sam did something stupid and brought him back. Maybe this is all just a really cruel prank.

Maybe, when she walks in the door, he'll be standing there, healthy and alive, and waiting for her. He'll kiss her hello and apologize for scaring her. ''It was close,'' he'll say, ''but I'm here, pretty bird.'' She'll be too happy to be mad at him for putting her through this and she'll be so glad to see him, so glad that he's alive, that she won't want to stop touching him, just to make sure he's there.

And they'll live happily ever after and he'll come home to her always and he won't be dead.

He won't be dead.

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She had slapped him across the face when he showed her the angry red Mark on his arm and explained to her what it meant. They had fought over empty wine and whiskey bottles, both less than sober, eyes red and raw. He had been determined and desolate. She had been angry and scared.

''You're going to die!'' She had screamed at him, right after she threw a glass at his head, because he didn't seem to understand how every word that came out of his mouth sounded like a goodbye. ''You're going to die and I'm going to watch!'' She had been hysterical that night. ''Why?'' She asked. ''Why do you keep doing this? Why do you want to die so badly?''

His voice had been remarkably calm, albeit hoarse and unusually quiet, when he responded, ''You ever think maybe you would be better off? You ever think maybe everyone would be better off? I'm poison, Laurel. What have I ever done for you that's good?''

She had burst into these very undignified sobs at that, hands coming up to cover her mouth, because it was one of the scariest things she had ever heard him say. It was terrifying that he thought that about himself, that life and the people around him had both knowingly and unknowingly beaten it into him that he was better off dead, that he was always going to be the bad guy, that every choice he made was the wrong one and his pain didn't matter as much as Sam's or Castiel's or hers. ''What have you ever done for me?'' She asked incredulously. ''You love me, Dean. Why don't you ever think that's enough? Why can't that be enough?''

He had looked regretful, not because he didn't mean it but because he had made her cry. ''Laur...''

She crossed the room to kiss him. She stood on her tiptoes and took his face in both of her hands, pulling him down so she could kiss his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead. ''We're not,'' she told him. ''We're not better off without you. We're not. You have no idea, Dean. You have no idea how dark this world would be without you in it. You have no idea how dark my world would be.''

He wound up burying his face in her hair, not crying but close to it, breathing shallowly and whispering apologies into her hair while she held him.

But he never took it back.

He never took back the fact that he legitimately believed the world would be better off without him.

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Sam is drunk when he opens the door to the bunker to let them in. He's wobbly on his feet, his eyes are bloodshot, and he smells like whiskey. He looks like a ghost. ''Laurel,'' he slurs out a greeting and gives her a shaky smile. He mumbles out her name again, ''Laurel'' and then looks behind him, waiting for Dean to come and greet her.

Dean doesn't come.

''I... I don't...'' Sam looks helpless. She has never seen him look so helpless before. ''I don't know what to do.''

Laurel chokes back a sob and closes the small but big distance between them, wrapping her arms around him.

Sam Winchester is older than her, tougher than her, significantly larger, he has been through hell (both literally and figuratively) and the amount of loss he has suffered is insurmountable. He is not a little boy. He has never been a little boy. Not to her. Dean always saw him as his baby brother, his kid, someone who needed to be protected at all costs, even if it meant giving his life so Sam could live. Laurel always saw a grown, capable man. She has never faulted Dean for his view of Sam because to her, Sara is and always will be the giggling little girl with scraped knees and wild hair, chasing butterflies in the summer sunset. It's just that she's never seen Sam like that. She's never seen him the way Dean does.

Until now.

She thinks she gets it now. There's a boy in her arms, lost and shaking, and he's in pieces, and he's not okay and he's not going to be okay.

Laurel knows what it feels like to be an older sibling who loses a younger sibling.

Being an older sibling is like having a piece of your heart and your soul walk around outside of your body, and when you lose them, the entire world goes with them. You don't just lose the woman who got on the boat or the man in the hospital bed; you lose the girl who chased butterflies and the boy you rode to the ER on your handlebars. There's zero chance of ever being whole again when you're an older sibling who loses a younger one because you have failed the most important job you have ever been given, and they have taken your heart, your whole heart, with them; to the bottom of the ocean where she fell, to the church where he gave up.

A younger sibling who loses an older sibling, though.

Laurel has no idea what that's like.

Is it like losing your strength? Is every bit of courage stripped away from you? Do you die with them? Or is it like losing the one thing keeping you here on the ground and without them you're left struggling to find solid ground before you float away? Is it like being taken off life support? Can you breathe without them?

Do you want to?

Sam is a heavy weight in her arms. He melts into her like he's a child seeking comfort from his mother and, just this once, Laurel decides she can be that for him. ''I know,'' she whispers, carding her fingers through his hair. ''I know, sweetie, I don't either. But I'm here, okay? I'm here.''

Sam exhales shakily.

She holds him tighter.

She thinks this is what Dean would've wanted.

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end

AN: I really want to thank you for all the support this collection has gotten. Thank you all for commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarking this fic, or even just giving it a chance and clicking on this. The support has been amazing and I'm grateful for every one of you. You guys are the best! *kisses all your faces*

I will be back in September, and I hope to see all of you then!

- Becks Rylynn