This was on a low flame on the burner in the back of my brain. I'd like to think it's good, but really I'm quite biased so I need you lovelies to tell me. So get comfy and read...I mean rally read it and feel it. Review if the spirit moves you...thanks!!!
That first night, declining Bobby's offer of a room at the house, Dean drove his brother to the closest hotel. Nice place, nothing with more than two legs walking around. Sam immediately hit the head, locking himself inside for a moment. He was in pain and didn't want to put it on display for Dean. Yeah, sure. Dean knew.
"Come out here Sammy. I want to take a look at your back", he was talking to the door.
"It's fine Dean. Just gimme a minute, alright?"
And Dean had. He'd given Sam enough time to compose himself, but when the door swung open Dean was all over his baby brother, like white on rice.
"Does anything else hurt?" Dean asked, having fought his brother to sit down and take off his shirt. Fingertips moving softly over bruised and battered flesh, warm but not hot.
"Ahh", Sam let a hiss of pain out as a digit pressed too hard to the tender tissue. "My shoulder. He hit me in the shoulder and I heard something crack".
Dean looked him over, made him raise his arms, roll his shoulders, bend his back. Satisfied that his Sammy was in fact a person completely intact, he settled the boy on the bed with ice packs and ordered hot wings and pizza. No beer tonite. He wanted to feel the fear and euphoria that the days events brought.
Every bite of food gone, pain killers coursing through Sam's body, and a few carefully placed steri-strips on Dean's brow, the Winchesters settled in to work on that month of sleep Sam had talked about not so long ago.
But Dean couldn't sleep, and truth be told, he didn't want to. He wanted to be awake and experience every moment. And so that's how life was for Dean after that night…lived.
365 days, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes, 31,536,000 seconds. It was all Dean Winchester had left on this earth and he intended to spend it with his little brother, killing every evil thing they could find. He wasn't going to waste it looking for a way out of the deal he had made. If he did Sammy's life would be over and everything would be in vein. And he wouldn't have Sammy looking either. Unh unh.
What Dean didn't know was that Sam had looked for a way out of the deal for the first few weeks. Every moment he was out of Dean's sight he had the laptop open, searching for anything viable. He had Bobby probing books he hadn't thought to touch in years, looking for a loophole. And at night when Dean was asleep, Sam would pray for intervention and plead for mercy.
They both kept a countdown. Never telling each other, but always aware of the time they had left. They did their best to keep their heads down and off the radar. On day forty-seven they finally eluded the Fed's when the shady motel room they were occupying was blown to pieces. Angry ex-client. Don't ask. Fortunately, Dean was in the middle of one of his grease consuming marathons at the diner two blocks down, so the boys walked away clean. No one was the wiser.
About three months into the countdown Dean got reckless. They were exorcising dozens of demons and burning bones left and right and Dean was losing his grip. With nothing to lose he had taken to the idea of taking things a little further than they had to go, stepping a little too close to the fire, flirting with death. It went on for weeks and Sam was scared of losing Dean too soon…not getting the year he had been promised. So he put it to a stop after a close call on a hunt. A gun held to his own chest, tears streaming down his face, Sam convinced his brother with a threat, that if Dean was going early, so was he. It ended that night in that motel, two men covered in mud and blood and tears.
Half way through the year they eased up on the hunting. Life became late nights at seedy bars that turned into early mornings sleeping it off in the impala . Which meant sleeping until noon more often than they should and basically becoming good-hearted bums. They hustled, they lied, they drank, they had a good time. When a good case popped up they took it, never forgetting what their father had taught them about protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.
They visited New Orleans where Dean introduced Sam to a friend of his, Rougon, who just happened to be a voodoo preist. They did Bourbon St., Jackson square, a casino, and the classic river paddle boat. After that they made their way, looping across the states. Dean insisted on see The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, fawning over Hendrix's six string and babbling about Jimmy Paige. Graceland and Beale St. made Memphis a memorable stop, with what they could remember after all the drinking they did on Beale. Sammy saw the Smithsonian and would have thought Dean was tolerating it, but really, Dean was loving every second of Sam loving it. And as a last hurrah? Sam drove Dean to the Grand Canyon and watched emotions and wonder dance across Dean's face he was sure hadn't been there since November 21, 1983.
It was all great, but Dean felt his greater purpose and the open road calling to him. So they packed up. Duffles in the back seat, 9mm in your waistband, and hit the highway. Each mile carried them closer to Dean's fate. Dean took out a demon in Tucson and another in Bertrandville while Sam burned the bones of a nurse with no bedside manner in Bloomington.
Dean was taking more and more pleasure in the demon hunting. Each exorcism became personal. Latin flew from his lips without falter. He drew on the battles, feeling more and more alive each time he sent one of those sick, evil, twisted, god forsaken, bastards back to the bowels of hell.
It was like taking pieces of his soul back, avenging the ruin of Sammy's life.
Then the day came. Dean had not looked and Sam had never found anything. They drove to the mountains of Breckenridge, Colorado because Dean loved it there. They sat in the car and waited. Dean stalled the moment and tried to fill the time with instructions on how to take care of the car and who to call if he needed work done on it. Then Sam's phone rang and he wouldn't have answered had it not been Bobby on the other end.
"Colorado", he spoke into the receiver, Dean just listening.
"No, nothing. We did what we could I guess". But then Sam fell silent, a glint of something in his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I guess it can't hurt." And before he hung up, "Yeah, he knows. Been telling him for the last twelve months". And finally, "One way or another, we'll both be at your place by nightfall".
When Sam looked back at Dean there were questions in his brother's eyes. "What do I know that you've been telling me for twelve months?"
"That you're an idiot", Sam swallowed hard as tears rimmed his hazel eyes, "And that I love you".
"Oh, Sammy", Dean put a hand on the back of his brothers neck and squeezed it. "I did this man. My choice." He stared at Sam, bottom lip sucked into this mouth, chest heaving as he tried to stay calm. "You gotta promise me you won't be like me Sammy…you won't waste your life. No making deals or getting yourself in trouble while I'm not around to watch your back".
Sam was trying hard not to lose all control, "Yeah".
And then there she was, long black hair and olive skin, sheathed in a black dress that was far too skimpy for the cool Colorado air.
Both boys got out of the car and approached the demon.
"Times up Dean", she spoke coolly.
"No chance I can change your mind, huh?" Sam spoke up, earning a disapproving glare from his brother.
"Don't think so little Sammy. Big brother and I made this deal fair and square and I've been waiting to come and collect", she told him.
Sam's feet spread as he planted them firmly in the gravel, arms crossing his chest. "Well now, I don't know about fair and square", he spoke with bravado.
"And just what do you think you've come up with to save him?" She asked, openly laughing at the idea of Sam saving his brothers soul.
"He didn't have a soul to barter, lady", Sam said with a sneer.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" She asked stepping toward him slowly, dirt and gravel crunching under bare feet.
"See that's the rub right there. Low intelligence", Sam stared at her, expecting her to get it. "You didn't read the fine print, did you".
"I knew exactly what I was doing when I made the deal", she answered confidently.
"No", Sam mocked her and shook his head. "No, see, cause if you had done your homework you'd know that Dean's soul didn't belong to him, so he couldn't sell it".
Her eyes lit up and she knew exactly what Sam was alluding to. "Daddy Winchester", she mumbled.
Dean's eyes shot between Sam and the demon. The wheels were turning, pieces were starting to fit together. It was the thing that Bobby had implored Sam to try. It was the truth. But would it work?
Sam's eyebrows curled when he looked at the defeat written on the demons borrowed face.
"See, Dad sold his soul for Dean. You remember that right? So Dean's soul doesn't belong to him, it belongs to our father". Sam allowed it to soak in and settle in the cracks. "You have no right to it or to Dean, so get the hell out of here before I walk you down there myself".
Dean took a step back, the weight of what leaving Sam meant, finally lifting. He and the demon exchanged glances. "Well, Dean" she began, "I guess this is it baby". She stepped closer and smiled, "Kiss goodbye?"
Adrenaline was coursing through his veins and Dean was vibrating with anger and revulsion and relief and elation. "Fuck off, bitch", he hissed through clinched teeth.
And she did. She turned on her heels, defeat in her step, and walked away and into the night.
Then, like an afternoon exactly one year ago, Dean grabbed his brother with all the force his body possessed, and hugged him tightly. Sam reciprocated, holding his brother to his body, feeling the life thrumming through his veins.
"Alright", Dean choked out, "Gotta breathe Sammy".
Sam slowly released his brother and looked in his eyes before looking down and away.
"Hey", Dean mumbled, "Thank you. I…thank you".
And two Winchesters drove away from those mountains and out of Colorado, souls intact and hearts full. And so life would go on.
Demons would be exorcised, bones burned, monsters fried, and the boogeyman held at bay. There would be no picket fences or wedding days. They simply continued on in the lives of hunters.
Sam never went back to school and never thought once of abandoning his brother. He met a girl, Chrissy, who he thought he could really spend time with. But it turned out that Chrissy didn't like Dean and Sam couldn't live with that. Sure, his brother was an acquired taste, but if you were going to love Sam, you would naturally love Dean. So Chrissy stayed in South Carolina when the brothers moved on.
Dean had a pregnancy scare in Oregon. He'd spent every night with Anne Marie after they met in a bar. She came to him on day three of week four, late and suspicious. Dean had run to the pharmacy and come back with a test in his hands and a prayer on his lips. Hours later, over beers at a quiet table in the corner of 'their' bar, they both laughed over the near miss and promised to move on without regret. Dean always did.
The year Dean turned thirty-seven a rawhead got him. He'd gotten the teenaged girl out of the house, but got pinned in the foyer when he came back. It bashed his knee with a coat rack. Sam fried the thing and hauled Dean out of the house and back to the motel. When his knee had swollen to the size of a melon in minutes and Dean couldn't even move the leg, Sam took charge and brought him to the ER. His patella had been shattered. Four surgeries, three orthopedists, five pair of crutches (often on the receiving end of Dean's anger and frustration) and sixteen months of physical therapy later, Dean walked unaided.
When the weather changed Sam could feel it in his spine and through his shoulder. Keep Dean on his feet more than a few hours and he walked with a limp. But physical scars were not the only kind the brothers carried.
Sam always knew when it would happen. A hunt would go sideways and things would get close. He would have a near miss and Dean would finish the job with a resolve that frightened Sam. But after the fact, locked in a motel, Dean would start his ritual. He would force his brother to sit, checking his body for bruises and blood. He would look in Sam's eyes and feel his head for lumps. But after the frantic body search, Dean would always calm down. And Sam could count on his own ritual. Dean would put Sam to bed, then sit awake, unable to sleep for all the screaming in his head. He'd replay the time when he had slipped up and Sammy had been dead. He'd relive the fear and anguish and sorrow. He'd curl his knees to his chest and sit against the headboard. Till Sam got up and joined him on the mattress. He'd put Dean's hand over his own heart and make the point of tapping his hearts rhythm on Dean's leg. I'm here Dean. Don't do this to yourself. We got through this just like every other time. You've got me. And Dean's breathing would slow down and he'd fall asleep before Sam could make it to his own bed.
It went on that way for many more years. Bobby had helped Ellen get back on her feet and countless hunters had done their part to rebuild the Roadhouse. Ash's picture was hung behind the bar that Jo could be found cleaning most nights of the week. Bobby had battled through another twelve years after the death of the demon. He died of a heart attack at home. Alone. Sam found him in the kitchen slumped over the table, white as a sheet. He cried for ten minutes before he called Dean to come. They salted and burned the old boy's bones before burying the ashes next to Bobby's father. They bought him a headstone that read, Friend, Mentor, Father. Give em' hell. Those who knew Bobby understood.
Ellen held on for years. She kept Sam and Dean alive as only a mother could. There would be tears to wipe and actions to admonish. She'd offer free beers for jobs well done and cook meals for the pair of hungry hunters. She treated them like they were her own and turned a blind eye when they did wrong. She slipped away at the age of eighty-six, time finally catching up to her. Dean cried. He'd lost another mother and for a few days Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to pull him out of his grief. In the end he couldn't…Jo did.
Jo and Dean never became more than friends. They were as close as a man and woman could be without sharing a bed. They had some kind of bond that no one could understand. They had both lost their father and fought the good fight in spite of it. They both knew what it meant to have the choice to leave this life but not. They both knew loneliness and the ache of never fitting in. But Sam and Jo…that was a different story. Sam took a shine to the tiny blonde and made a real go of it with her. Dean caught them in the act one night, but never spoke to either of them about it. Sammy and Joanna Beth carried on the strained relationship for almost two years, before it became clear that rough sex and a shared adoration for Dean were the only things they really had between them. So he kissed her softly and told her he was sorry, but he did love her, just not that way. He went back to the motel and left his brother to comfort his best friend.
They stayed on the road. The impala tried to quit a few times over the years, but two engine rebuilds and god knows how many hoses and belts later, she was forced to stay in the game. Years passed and the fight got tougher as time started to beat the bodies of the brothers.
Sam was the first to go at the age of sixty-four. It was a brain tumor that Dean chalked up to the demon and his damn visions. He slipped away on a Sunday morning in a hospital in Lawrence. The sun was shinning and Dean was holding his hand. You've done this before so don't be scared now. I'll see you again before you know it Sammy. And he was gone.
Dean salted and burned the bones and buried them. A beautiful green marble headstone marked Sam's final resting place. Dean followed Sam's wishes and kept the inscription simple. Son, Brother, Hero
After that Dean quit hunting. He retired to a simple life at the Roadhouse with Jo…pouring whiskey and puling drafts. He was kind of a legend, offering stories and sage advice to younger hunters. Then one day he kissed Jo and the forehead, as he always did, and left in the impala like he would any other day. But he never came back. No one can say for sure that they saw him and his black beauty on the abandoned highways, but Jo was sure he had left for a reason, and told the hunters that came through her bar that he was out there. Somewhere.
Did you like it? I have to say, I read it when I finished and cried when Sammy bit it. And there is a reason I didn't really kill Dean. I think Dean falls under the category of larger than life and I couldn't htink of one way for him to die that fit him or did him justice (and as authors we can choose a death that does the character justice). So I like the idea of an aging Dean traveling back highways, helping anyone who needed it, saving people, killing evils, and being the loveable dog he is. Maybe. Who knows. Hope you guys enjoyed reading it as mcuh as I enjoyed writing it. review please!!