Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?
It's official. I SUCK AT ENDINGS! I know this ending may seem a little abrupt, but it's where the story seemed to lead. Honestly, I think anything else I might have written would have been written poorly and simply would have bored you.
Thank you all you loyal readers and reviewers! I simply cannot express my gratitude for your support! I hope you enjoyed the ride :)
So here's the end. I hope it doesn't disappoint too much :P
Sam is 13, Dean is 18
Enjoy chapter eighteen!
Dean ran to where his father was supposed to be sleeping to find John sitting listless on the floor, looking at nothing. Jim was standing over him, breathing heavily.
"Killing yourself isn't going to solve anything, John," Jim said. Dean's eyes widened as Jim tossed John's pistol to the side with disgust. "You can't just run away from this."
John giggled. "I don't have a right to live..."
"You don't have the right to leave us with this mess!" Jim growled. "Suicide is a sin for a reason, John. It's selfish and hurts everyone around you."
Dean picked up John's pistol, staring at it. "Dad..." he said quietly. "You weren't seriously gonna shoot yourself... were you?"
John avoided his son's eyes. "Dean..."
Dean let out a sarcastic laugh. His eyes shown with tears as he glared at his father. "And, um... what exactly were you expecting me and Sam to do after that?" Dean scoffed, unaware of the tear running down his face. "You were just gonna... turn us into orphans. 'Cause would really be a fantastic end to these last couple of months, don't ya think?"
"Dean..." John begged.
"I mean," Dean swallowed hard. "It's not like... Sam wouldn't blame himself. Oh no, Sam never blames himself. It's not like watching one parent die was enough, oh no... let's make it a complete set!"Dean looked out into space, as if imagining a picture. "Here Lies John Winchester. He didn't have enough balls to deal with the consequences of his own actions. Orphaning his children was much easier than he thought!!"
"Dean, please..."
Dean swung out with his arm, slamming the pistol's barrel into John's face, knocking him back against the wall. "You're a fucking bastard," Dean mumbled. And with this, he dropped the pistol and left the room.
John held a hand against the spot where Dean hit him. A deep gash was slowly leaking out blood, but it was the least of his concerns at the moment.
Jim sighed as he picked up the pistol. "John--"
"I know," John said. "God... I know."
"Tough," Jim said, pulling up a chair so he could sit in front of the broken man. "'Cause I'm going to tell you again. Maybe this time it'll sink through that thick skull of yours."
"You're not gonna say anything I haven't already heard, so--"
Jim looked up at the ceiling. Lord, forgive me. He looked back down at John. "For all intents and purposes, John, shut the hell up and listen to me."
---
When Dean stormed out of the room, he suddenly stopped when he saw Sam leaning against the frame of his doorway. "Sammy..."
"I heard everything," Sam said.
"Oh." Whatelse could Dean say?
They stood there for a moment, listening to Jim's muffled voice, before Sam walked up to Dean and hugged him.
While these hugs haven't been an uncommon occurance as of late, it still took Dean by surprise. "Sam...?"
"I didn't do it," Sam said, his voice muffled in Dean's shoulder.
Dean frowned. "Didn't do what?"
Sam stepped back, his face shining with fresh tears and a bright smile. "I didn't shoot you."
Dean blinked, not quite understanding what Sam was saying. "What do you--?"
"Dad did. I got the werewolf. Dad was just guilty. And the spectral infection fed off that guilt." Sam laughed happily. "I didn't almost kill you... I didn't screw up..." Sam closed his eyes. "God I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off me..."
Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, still in a state of shock.
Has... has Sam just turned a corner?
Three months later
Sam was sitting in one of the pews of Jim's church. He wasn't praying at the moment, merely in deep thought.
The church was dark and empty. This was how Sam liked it best. Before, he didn't really mind being with people. But ever since his infected father abused him and he accidentally killed that man, Sam was uneasy being with other people.
When Sam thought back about the abuse and the traumas, he thought of them very candidly. Even when he spoke of them aloud, he did so nonchalantly, often making everyone around him a little uncomfortable. Not that that was how Sam truly felt about those memories. But Sam figured if he started acting that way, eventually it'll be how he truly felt.
He still wakes up in the middle of the night, stuck in the throes of a nightmare. But Dean was always there, reassuring him, telling him everything was alright. Sam talks to Dean everyday, telling him exactly how he feels, about everything that happened. He hoped that it'll all add up, one day, to permanently moving on. On rare occasions, Sam would break into sobs, Dean wrapping his arms around him and whispering nonsensical reassurances.
"Hey, Sam."
Sam turned his head and smiled. "Hey, Dad."
John sat next to his son, leaning backwards with a sigh. "I think we're gonna head out soon."
"Mmm," was Sam's only response.
"I think I found a hunt a couple states over. Poltergeist."
Sam nodded. He had been expecting this.
See, Sam and John have had several long talks together. In fact, their relationship has incredibly deepened since this who thing started. They were candid with each other and understood each other on a deeper level now. They've even gone back to having the occasional fight.
John looked at his son carefully, trying to gauge his response. "Son? Are you alright?"
Sam just shrugged. "It's life."
Thanks again to all of ya'll! Please review to leave any last thoughts :)