Disclaimer: As is with a lot of my stories, some of the ideas for this plot were taken from a Buffy storyline, so that belongs to Joss Whedon. And I don't own the boys.
Author's Note: Not entirely ripped off from Buffy, I promise. Enjoy, and please review!
He hadn't slept for a single second, all night. But of course, when the hours you have left to live have dwindled down to a mere 26, it's no surprise. Sam was asleep from the moment he'd lain down on the bed, but not Dean. Dean sat up all night, his arms wrapped around his knees, sitting there, just watching his brother.
And now that daybreak had come, he knew what he had to do. Sam was still sleeping soundly. Dean drew in a deep breath and untangled himself from the position he had been sitting in, reaching over to the nightstand where Sam's phone lay. He held down on the Power button for a few seconds, hoping that the sound it made wouldn't wake Sam up. Even the quietest sounds always seem to be louder when you're trying not to make any noise. But Sam still slept, and the phone turned off. Dean's hand moved from the phone to his brother's forehead, where he let it lie for a few seconds.
"Bye, Sammy," he murmured. "Love you, kiddo." It was so much easier to say when he wasn't awake. Dean reached around behind his neck, unclasping the amulet necklace that he always wore. He placed it next to Sam's cell phone, stood up, and silently left the motel room.
Once outside, he pressed his own phone to his ear and dialed Sam's number.
Hey, this is Sam. I'm not here right now, but if you'll leave a message I'll get back to you. Thanks.
"Hey, Sam. It's, um, Dean. Obviously, yeah." Dean gave a slight chuckle at his own awkwardness. "Well uh, if you're getting this message it means I'm gone, and please don't try to figure out where I am because I honestly don't even know where I'm going myself and I only got like 15 hours left. To live. Yeah." He paused. "So uh, I was going to write you a note but I figured that's pretty lameass and I guess a voicemail is a little more personal, so…I mean, not that I'm big with the personal. But anyway. I'm just calling you to tell you goodbye, and I already said goodbye to you while you were asleep but that doesn't really count. So, um, goodbye, Sammy. I guess this is where I'm supposed to tell you that I want you to live a good life and find a wife or whatever, so yeah. Well, whatever you wanna do. Keep hunting, kill some more demons, or give up on it altogether and go marry someone and have kids. You don't have me or Dad around to argue about it with, so it'll be a bit easier. Whatever you decide to do, just know that uh, you know. And uh, I don't regret anything, by the way. In case you were wondering. If I had to go back and do it all over again I'd still have made the deal, cause you're my pain-in-the-ass little brother that I gotta keep alive." Dean paused again, realizing something. "Well actually if I was able to go back and do it over, I'd probably have not let you die in the first place, right? Yeah. Uh… I'd better end this voicemail because I don't want it to cut me off in the middle of this heartwrenching speech, huh? Just um. I meant to say this before, a lot of times, but I never did. …I really do love you, Sammy. And that's obvious 'cause I wouldn't have sold my soul for just anybody. But I figured I had to clarify it because you'd get all teary if I didn't. Seriously, you gotta learn to pick up on the subtext now and then. You're such a friggin' girl." He had to pause here, to swallow back the tears that threatened to spill over. Dammit, he hadn't meant to get all choked up. But that's what this stupid, stupid family did to him. Made him all emotional, so he couldn't think clearly. He took a deep breath and continued, moving on to a lighter subject. "By the way, because I'm such an awesome big brother I'm giving you the Impala, and if you ever get in a crash don't you dare try and fix her yourself, I cringe at the thought of what you might screw up. Bring her to Bobby, he'll help you out. Love you, kid. Bye."
Beep. Dean hit the end button, and walked away. Away from the motel, from his baby brother, from his car, from his work, from his entire life. He had no idea where he was headed, but it didn't really matter, all he had to do was walk. There were less than 15 hours left anyway.
And he thought it was over. But when out of sheer habit he turned on his cell phone a few hours later, he hadn't expected to get a voicemail from Sam, too.
"Hey, Dean. So I guess that's it, everything we ever worked for, or loved, or cared about. You don't care anymore? Fine. Call me back if you get this, you fucking jerk."
Dean's heart sank. Sam knew that Dean wouldn't die without making sure that things were all right between the two of them. By pretending he was mad at him, Sam had ensured that Dean would call him back. The kid knew him better than he'd ever know himself. Friggin' manipulative little bastard. He dialed his brother's cell phone number.
"Dean?" came the hopeful voice across the line.
"Yeah, it's me. Got your message. Way to be all nice to your dying brother."
"I had to." Dean could practically hear the grin in his brother's voice, and in picturing Sam's face his heart began to ache. He missed him already.
"I know you did," said Dean. "You're a smart one."
"But then again, wasn't I always?"
"Are, Sammy," Dean corrected. "You still are. You're not the one dying in ten hours."
"Yeah, about that. Where are you?"
"Sam…" Dean sighed. "I'll text you where I am a few minutes before my time's up, but not before that. I'm not having you here while I die, and that's that." He expected an argument, an accusation, some form of defiance. But all he heard was a weary sigh.
"I guess there's no arguing with you on this?"
"No, there's not."
"Okay," said Sam.
"Look, man, I'm gonna go now, so…" Dean trailed off uncomfortably, but he could tell Sam understood.
"Bye, Dean. I love you." There was a moment's pause.
"I love you, too." Dean swallowed back the massive lump that had been forming in his throat and hung up the phone.
Ten hours later, he was dead.
Always true to his word, he had in fact texted Sam with his coordinates five minutes before his soul had been taken from him. Sam called Bobby and they both raced to the location. They found him lying flat on his back in the woods, eyes wide open, hands resting on his chest. Sam had cried there for a little while, throwing himself over his brother's body and refusing to let go of him. Bobby understood, though—he always did. Now it was just Sam sitting in the motel room, watching his brother's body as if waiting for him to wake up.
They know Dean Winchester's dead. Those had been Bobby's words to Sam. They know he's dead, and they'll come. A hundred, a thousand at a time. They won't stop until Sam's dead too. And then they'll destroy the Earth.
Sam swallowed, gulped, let a millionth tear fall onto the ground. His brother's body lay in front of him, and although Sam didn't know it, it was an eerie recreation of Dean and Sam after Sam had died.
Sam wasn't even sure how long he had been sitting there for. He had cried for hours, then talked to Dean's dead body, then cried some more. What am I supposed to do? he had asked tearfully. Except there was no answer. There was nothing he could do. Dean was in hell, and there was no way to bring him back.
At least, that's what Bobby would have told him. No way to bring him back, no possible way. But Sam wasn't Dean. He knew full well that there were more ways of bringing a dead person back than just selling your soul. More risky ways, sure, but they might work.
What's dead should stay dead. Unless what's dead is Dean Winchester.
Sam allowed a slight smile to creep across his face – he knew what he had to do.