Archive of Our Own

Dean glared at his phone in frustration. He knew they shouldn’t have taken this case. Stupid Sam and his stupid need to make things right. The second he realised that the ghost they were dealing with was Ava’s, he should have taken Sam and gotten as far away as possible. Put some other hunters on it. Maybe then he could have avoided this no-reception ghost town that came with far too many memories.

Dean hated this. Hated the gravelly roads. Hated the darkness that was quickly falling, the way the wind whistled around him. Hated the puddles of mud he kept stumbling over. Hated that this was where he had held his brother as he died...

Yeah, that may have something to do with it.

But Dean would never have let Sam come here alone. After all, one of them had to stay behind to protect the fiance’s parents in case Ava decided to make a reappearance and Dean had made sure that it was Sam.

Sam had offered to go, of course, knowing that this place held no pleasant memories for Dean either, but Dean refused. Sam felt guilty enough when he’d realised that Ava and her fiance had become vengeful spirits. He didn’t need to have Ava’s ghost taunting him and blaming his brother further.

Ava had nothing on Dean, though. There was nothing she could say that Dean hadn’t told himself all those years ago. Besides, maybe salting and burning Ava’s bones would give him some long-needed closure.

Dean marched on through the abandoned town, eager to get this over with. The place smelled like decaying wood and mud, which, hopefully, it wouldn't cover the stench of Ava's decaying body. Entering into the first building, Dean could have sworn he saw a flicker of his dying brother in the corner of his eye.

Yeah, closure might be good.

It took all of Dean's willpower not to turn around and check, but it was just his brain messing with him. Sam was hours away. Even if he had followed him, which Dean had been careful to check that he wasn't, he wouldn't have been able to get here for an hour at the very least. The memories did nothing to help his already sour mood, though.

“Come on out, Ava. I’m not interested in playing games,” Dean called, distracting himself and hoping to get some indicator of where to start looking. After all, if Ava appeared, that meant her body had to be relatively close, right?

Suddenly, a cry sounded behind him and Dean immediately spun around, the sound too familiar, practically ingrained in his bones. The pained voice trembled in the air for a moment before going quiet. Raising his gun, Dean left the cabin, an unsettling feeling running up his spine.. He knew exactly who that voice belonged to. But it couldn’t be...

No, his brain was just messing with him again. The amount of times he’d heard that scream in his nightmares told him that much.

But it sounded so real that Dean couldn't help but poke his head outside to check.

A familiar figure was in Dean’s vision now, clearly the source of the pained noises. Dean started running. Surely, his brain couldn't conjure up such a realistic hallucination?

“Sam!”

Any doubts of the situation left Dean’s brain at the sight of his baby brother falling to his knees.

“No!” He yelled, racing forward. The moment felt far too familiar, suppressed memories quickly coming to the surface. His brother only a few yards away, yet way too far. Dean’s own desperation mounted as he raced towards Sam, knowing it was too late. But it was a look at his Sammy’s face that proved how much Dean’s brain was confusing memory with reality. The hair that now came down to nearly his shoulders was short and shaggy, Sam’s flickering face missing years of aging and torment. This was how Sam had looked nearly six years ago, when he’d lost his brother for the first time.

But there was a difference. Dean had struggled with this memory for years, not to mention the millions of other traumatic experiences that haunted him, but he had always been able to tell pretty fast when he was seeing things that weren’t there. This Sam was here, whether Dean was seeing him as younger than he actually was or not, some form of his brother was here and hurting. And Dean didn’t care how old his brother was or how flickery he seemed; he was going to help his little brother.

“Hey, hey. I got you. You’re gonna be just fine, Sammy.”

He knelt down to be on the same level as Sam, who was currently on his knees, head lolling. “Come on, Sam. Eyes up.” Dean’s fear spiked. That had been his best impression of John’s drill sergeant voice, something Sam always responded to, but it didn’t cause a reaction. Was he gone already?

No. Dean refused. He had been too late before, he wouldn’t allow himself to be now. Dean reached his arm forward to shake him.

But his hands only felt cold air.

Dean watched as his hand moved through Sam’s body. The only indication that Sam wasn’t a figment of Dean’s imagination was the chill that spread across his fingers and into his palm. It was a cool night, but the icy feeling had nothing to do with the outside temperature. In fact, the tingly sensation was one that was familiar to Dean. Familiar enough that there was no doubt in his mind what it meant.

“Sam...?” He asked tentatively, his voice having lost all bravado, but Sam’s eyes were closed now and he looked far too dead for Dean’s taste.

This didn’t make any sense. There was no way Sam could even be here, let alone dying in a ghostly vale. Let alone feeling like a ghost.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed, the quick beating of his heart the only thing that he could hear, and counted three slow breaths. He had to know he could trust his senses. Panicking would only fuel any hallucinations that his brain might be creating. Taking a final moment to prepare himself, he opened his eyes.

Sam was gone.

Dean let out a half laugh, half sob in relief. His brother wasn’t dying at all. It was just his stupid brain messing with him and dragging up painful memories.

Nothing new for a Winchester.

Letting out a huff at how worked up he’d gotten over nothing, Dean pushed himself up and looked over to the next cabin. He ignored the unsteadiness of his legs and the mud splattered on his favorite pair of jeans. Time to focus.

Before Dean started to walk, though, a glowing figure appeared in front of him again, clutching his arm as he stumbled forward. “Dean...” He said, relief evident in his voice.

Dean jumped back as his brother stepped towards him, eyes pleading and reassuring at the same time. Just how he looked before Jake... Surely, his imagination wouldn’t try the same trick twice?

But then his brother’s head was raised to the sky, a yell of pure agony filling the air, and Dean was struck with the sudden realization of what this was.

This was a death echo.

Everything lined up. The younger version of Sam, the flickering face, the icy incorporeal touch. Sammy had died here, all those years ago, and sometimes when people die, their souls got trapped in a loop. A replay of their death... over and over again...

No. That didn’t make any sense though. Sam was with Ava’s in-laws, protecting them. Surrounded by sigils and salt. Safe. If anyone was going to be endangered by this mission, it would have been Dean. He was the one salting and burning the body. Besides, if Sam had... had died, his death echo would have been placed where he died, right? Not here. Not dying in the same way he did all those years ago.

But if Dean was being honest, he hadn’t really dealt with that many death echoes before. And he was guessing whoever decided where death echoes went wasn’t used to the person dying multiple times.

Shaking his head, Dean forced his attention back to his suffering little brother.

“Hey, hey. C’mon Sammy. It’s me. Can you hear me?” Dean watched in pain as Sam slumped further forward, his slack body holding itself up as if Dean from all those years ago was still catching him. He wondered briefly if death echoes were only from physical deaths, because Dean could have sworn that he was dying right along with his brother.

“Sammy. Sam! Snap out of it. You gotta wake up kiddo.” Dean’s voice was still shaking, but he didn’t care. If it got Sammy to respond, he would sob his freaking heart out. This was never supposed to happen. But then again, Cold Oak was never supposed to happen either.

He had to get through to Sam, prove to himself that this death echo wasn’t actually his little brother. No, his Sam was several hours away from here making awkward small-talk with some old people. This was just an empty memory of something that had once happened. This wasn’t the real Sam.

But then Sam’s eyes slid closed a final time and Dean had to close his own against the nausea of reliving this. It didn’t matter if this was his current Sam or not. It was still stabbing a hot blade through his chest.

A moment later, he opened his eyes to find Sam gone. He knew this was part of the process, that his ghost would return just as he had been before any moment, but Dean couldn’t help the small whisper from passing through his lips. “Sammy?”

And suddenly Sam was back. Relief in his eyes as he called out to Dean. Right before the invisible knife slashed into his back.

Once again, Dean tried to catch Sam from pure instinct as his brother collapsed to his knees, but unsurprisingly, they went right through. Balling his hands into fists, he welcomed the frustration that came over him. Anger was much easier to deal with than the grief of watching Sam die over and over again. Why was this happening? What was happening?

Dean suddenly felt sick and had to swallow back the bile threatening to rise. A new memory came flooding back to him. Azazel as the Devil’s Gate opened, only a few days after Dean made the deal. Had this been what the Yellow-Eyed Demon meant when he asked how Dean knew that what he brought back was “pure Sam?” Dean thought at the time that he was implying that Sam wasn’t Sam. Probably just messing with his brain, trying to pull him and Sam apart. But no, he must have been saying that he hadn’t brought back all of Sam. He had missed a part. A part that had been here, in Cold Oak, reliving a terrible death for seven years.

A hand flew to his mouth, trying to hold back the horrified sobs that threatened to break loose. Taking another moment to control himself, Dean swallowed once more and straightened up. He had to fix this. It didn’t matter if this was a part of his current Sam anymore or not. It was still a piece of his brother’s soul that was suffering and Dean had never been able to tolerate that. He took a step closer to the spectre. As far as Dean was aware, there was only one way to break a death echo’s loop: someone close to them had to to snap them out of it.

And that someone would have to be him.

Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to look at Sam’s glazed eyes. “Sam?” He waited for a moment, muscles tense in anticipation. There was no response, but Dean figured he shouldn’t be surprised. It still made his stomach clench though, and he chewed slightly on his bottom lip before continuing.

“Hey little brother. It’s Dean. Can ya hear me?” He tried to keep his tone light. How had those wimps from the ghost-hunting show done it? Perhaps it was easier the more recent the death was? But Dean refused to just leave his brother suffering here, regardless of how hard it would be to get Sam to notice him. “C’mon Sam. Show me some sign that you’re in there. Sammy?”

Again nothing. Dean growled in frustration. His brother’s death echo had fallen to his knees and Dean was losing his patience. Did the world really just want him to ignore his brother’s pain? Perhaps if he tried reasoning with Sam? He’d always been the more logical of the two and if Dean could remind him what’s going on...

Dean forced his voice to sound strong and calm.

“Come on, Sam. You gotta snap out of it, okay? You’re fine. You’re alive, remember?” Dean actually had no idea how this worked. Was this part of Sam’s soul still attached to his current Sam? Or had it been completely separated, an independent section of Sam’s soul? There was no way to know unless he could break the loop.

Dean’s breath sped up. Why had nobody told them? They’d had their souls checked plenty of times since Cold Oak. Not to mention he literally just got Sam’s soul back from Hell. Certainly Death would have told him if a section was missing. Wouldn’t Cas have been able to tell?

That being said, they hadn’t met Cas until a few years after Sam first died. It was possible that Castiel didn’t know what Sam’s soul had originally looked like.

Dean shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to free Sam. Separate or not, this was part of his brother’s soul and he wasn’t just going to leave it here.

“Sammy, please look at me.” No response. Sam had closed his eyes, head slumped where Dean’s shoulder would have been all of those years ago. Dean squeezed his hands into fists, resisting the need to reach out. “Please, man. I need you to-”

And suddenly, his brother was gone. A bright light and then nothing.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean let out a shudder of a breath and waited for the cycle to begin again. The cold wind blew through his layers easily and Dean’s teeth started to chatter. He wanted to get away from this place, but he couldn’t just leave Sam. Not without doing everything he could to save him.

Not that he had been much help in trying to save him the first time...

Before Dean could dwell further on that thought, Sam’s ghostly form appeared again. There was the same calling out of Dean’s name and the same yell of pain when the non-existent blade sliced through his spine. Dean didn’t waste time focusing on that, though. Instead, he braced himself for Sam to fall and got right to business. If pleading didn’t work, he’d just have to try something else.

“C’mon Sammy. It’s time for big brother to save the little damsel in distress. I can help you, but you gotta give me something to work with. A word, a glance. I don’t care. Just please Sam. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I need you, man.” Dean lost his mask for a moment, allowing how lost he really was to show, and winced. So much for humor, but really? Nothing about this situation was funny. And who knew? Maybe emotions were what Sam needed to snap out of the loop.

A moment later, though, Sam was gone, leaving a broken Dean out of ideas and out of hope. The darkness of the night seemed to swallow him whole and it took everything he had not to give into the despair. This wasn’t his style. He wasn’t a guy who just sat around and watched those he loved in pain. He was the guy who did something, the guy who killed had cause the pain.

Before he knew it, Sam’s echo had flickered back into place.

Dean forced himself not to flinch this time as Sam cried out. He couldn’t keep watching him die. This had to be the time. He had to snap him out of it. “Sammy, listen, it’s Dean. I’m trying to save you but I can’t do it without your help, man.”

Sam fell to his knees, his eyes still unfocused. This time, Dean went too, ignoring the slosh as his knee hit a puddle. He didn’t break his eye contact with Sam’s glazed stare. “Come on, Sam! You can do this! Just listen to my voice and come. Back. To. Me.”

Dean emphasised each word, hoping that any one of them would be what brought those hazel orbs to attention, but instead they drooped closed with a wave of finality that Dean remembered from the first time. At least then he could actually hold his brother in his arms.

A tear slipped down his cheek and Sam glitched out again. This was too much. This was supposed to give him closure, not re-open every wound he’d ever had from this painful memory. Watching Sam die once was enough. Watching him die in Cold Oak and then again in Stull Cemetery, that time knowing his baby brother was going to be stuck with the literal devil for the rest of eternity, was unbearable. This? On top of all the other times he’d lost Sam?

Dean wished it was him in the loop.

Why wasn’t this working? It was supposed to work if the people were close enough, right? Well, Dean couldn’t think of anyone closer. They had grown up in each other’s pockets. Dean literally sold his soul for him, so why wasn’t this working?

Unless the brothers weren’t as close as Dean had thought.

Dean’s jaw clenched in immediate rejection of the idea. It was true, they’d had their rough patches over the years, and things had been said that neither of them meant, but there was no way that they’d lost that much. No way that they’d become that damaged.

But then an involuntary image of Sam came to mind. One where he smiled, watching as Dean was turned by a vamp, not doing anything to stop it.

Dean shuddered, but forced his thoughts away. That wasn’t his Sam. That was Sam without a soul, without any emotional conscience or connections. It wasn’t his fault, and that Sam had nothing to do with this one. Death echoes were literally made from the person’s soul, after all.

Dean froze mid breath. What if this wasn’t just a piece of Sam’s soul? After all, he’d always been under the impression that a person needed to be dead in order to have a death echo.

Dean’s stomach twisted and he wished for the 100th time that night that they hadn’t taken this case.

The death echo hadn’t been here when he’d first arrived, but it could have been in between clips. That was plausible, right? After all, Sam had been completely fine when Dean had left.

But the drive had also been several hours long. What if something had happened to Sam during it? Would his soul return to the place where he’d first died? Dean squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, regretting not listening to their father more carefully when he had mentioned echoes. It was possible that they were rewriting the rules, though, considering people weren’t supposed to come back to life in the first place.

No. Sam wasn’t dead. He wouldn’t have gotten offed that easily. Besides, they had taken pre-cautions to make sure the family was well-protected, and Sam was with the family. Salt, iron, a rifle loaded with rock-salt... Not to mention Sam’s natural skill and training. There should have been no way Ava or anyone else could’ve gotten to him.

Wait, Ava.

And then it all clicked. Dean had completely forgotten about the ghost.

The vengeful, psychic ghost that had it in for Sam.

And suddenly, all grief was replaced by searing hot fury. “What do you want?!?” Dean screamed, his voice echoing through the night. How could he have been so easily tricked? This had to be her doing. Ava knew how close Sam and Dean were. In fact, her ghost had probably watched the original Cold Oak first hand. And now, using her freaky psychic powers, she was projecting an image of one of Dean’s worst moments to distract him. This wasn’t his Sam dying, just a twisted trick to try to save her own hide. “Forcing me to watch him die over and over again? This some kind of turn on for you?” His voice cracked under the combined strain of shouting and the emotions that were still fighting for dominance, but he didn’t care. Not when there was some ghost trying to convince him that his brother was dying right behind him. Well too bad, because Dean wasn’t as stupid as she thought.

Nobody appeared though. Nobody but Sam’s death echo. Dean ignored it, glaring into the darkness. He refused to give Ava another moment of satisfaction. He had seen through her game and sooner or later, she would appear.

But she didn’t, and Dean was forced to stand there, resolve fading as his brother died over and over beside him. Dean was getting desperate, but that was just what Ava wanted. To distract him. But no, he knew what he had to do.

Dean growled. So Ava thought she could torture him with memories of his baby brother dying, huh? Well, good try, but he was calling her bluff.

After Sam’s form flickered out once more, Dean realised he was still on the ground. He quickly forced himself up, determined to move before another echo started. He couldn’t just stand around here anymore. The least he could do was find Ava’s body and finish the case.

It’s what Sam would want, a voice in his head said, but Dean shoved the thought away immediately. His brother wasn’t dead.

Pursing his lips and ignoring the pale echo of his brother’s form, Dean started forward. If Ava was able to project an image of Sam like that, she must have been nearby. And it looked like her psychic abilities had transcended death.

Dean walked around the town, using every ounce of power to ignore the calling of his name in the background. It went against everything he stood for to keep walking while his hurt brother called for him, but he had to keep focused on Ava. He figured he would know when reached the right building. After all, her corpse was still relatively fresh. The cry of pain behind him ripped through Dean just like it did the first time, but he refused to let it show.

“I know it’s not him, Ava!” He called, done with her games. “Now come on out so we can get this over with!”

Dean barely had time to recognise the pungent smell of death before he was sent flying into a wall. His vision took a moment to return and, when it did, Dean’s line of sight was full of a grinning Ava.

She looked nothing like the nervous girl he’d met years ago. Sam had warned him that she had gone a bit off her rocker, but he hadn’t been expecting the level of insanity that he saw in her eyes. Dean briefly wondered how much of it was from her time as a ghost and how much was from her time with the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

Dean managed to aim and fire his rifle as the spirit started to close in again. She hissed out of sight as it passed through her and Dean smiled grimly. Apparently super-human ghosts still didn’t like rock salt.

“That’s what you get for making me think my brother was dead,” he spat.

Without wasting another moment, Dean followed the smell to the partially decomposed corpse in the corner. Apparently, her body had just been left to rot and Dean felt a flicker of guilt rush through him. Sam would never have let them just leave her corpse there. He would have insisted that they go give her a proper funeral, in memory of who she once was.

But no one knew her body was even there other than Sam, and Sam had been dead. Dean and Bobby hadn’t even bothered to check for the other bodies, so caught up with Sam.

Dean bit his lip, the memory of Sam’s death way too vivid right now. But as soon as he was done with this, he could get back to his perfectly alive little brother.

Pouring the salt over her corpse and dousing her with gasoline, Dean didn’t notice when Ava had reappeared behind him until he was lifted off the ground. Apparently psychic ghosts could lift people with their mind, so regardless of how Dean tried, he couldn’t get out of the invisible grip he had on him.

“Oh, he’s dead alright.” Ava hissed, a wicked grin on her face. “That thing outside was here for a day or so after Sam died, doing the same thing it is now. And then, a day or two later, it disappeared.” Ava smirked at him, an eyebrow raised. “I suppose you had something to do with that?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. If Sam’s death echo had disappeared when he’d been brought him back to life, then why was it here now? That couldn’t be a good sign...

But no, this was just a cheap trick, right?

Ava continued, a song-like lilt to her voice. “That wasn’t the only time though. There were lots of times it would return, some only for a few hours, once only for a minute...”

Dean’s head was spinning. What was she talking about? There was their trip to heaven and Lucifer, but that was all he was aware of. She couldn’t be right.

“You’re bluffing,” he challenged, voice more confident than he felt.

She let out a high-pitched laugh. “So what? You think it’ll just disappear once you kill me?”

Dean smirked back at her. “Yeah, I do. Cause you’re the one that caused it in the first place.”

This time, Ava’s laugh came out more as a cackle and Dean’s skin crawled at the sound. “You’re right. I did cause it. But not by any supernatural ability.” Her grin grew even wider, eyes crazed with sick glee. “No, while you were taking your sweet time driving here, I took that time to take out my dearest in-laws. Imagine how surprised I was to find that little Sammy was alive! But I wasn’t going to let him keep me from my mission and it really wasn’t my fault that Sam tried to stop it...” She pouted in mock sympathy.

No, no that couldn’t be right. Sam had salt and guns and training and...

“And that’s when I realised the pattern! With all of the times his spirit got sent back here in that loop, I never knew quite why it happened when it did. But now I know! Anytime Sam dies, he’s sent here. To relive his first death. Seems fitting, seeing as it was supposed to be his only one.” She gave Dean a knowing look.

Ava pushed her hand forward and Dean collapsed against the old furniture below him, shattering it. He stood up to face Ava, determination in his eyes. “You’re lying. And I’m going to prove it.”

Ava sent a devious smile at him, amusement in her eyes. “Oh, really? How?”

One side of Dean’s mouth lifted into a humorless smirk. “Like this.”

Pulling the lighter from his pocket, he flicked it open and threw it at her corpse. Ava let out a primal scream, the flame consuming both her corpse and spirit. Dean once would have felt pity for her. After all, she had been a sweet girl before all of this started. She threatened his brother, though, and that was unforgivable in Dean’s book.

Speaking of which, Dean took off into the open area, never in his life so excited to see nothing but wet mud.

He started to make his way back to the car, feeling the weight of the last hour sliding off with each step, when the sound of a relieved “Dean...” filled the air.

Dean froze. But he had killed Ava...

He turned back just in time to see his brother, still ghostly white, getting impaled by an invisible knife.

“No!” Dean screamed, running forward, though he knew he couldn’t do anything. What did this mean? Had Ava been telling the truth? Was this really his Sammy? The panicked thoughts were going way to fast for Dean to actively consider them all. His barely fixed world was on the brink of shattering all over again. Why did they even split up in the first place? This entire case was a terrible idea. Dean had known it but he still let himself be talked into it. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? If that mistake ended Sam’s life, Dean would never forgive himself.

Suddenly, Dean couldn’t take another second of standing here with his dying brother, unable to help. He couldn’t keep living with this uncertainty. He needed to know if Sam was really dead.

Nearly tripping over his feet, he ran to Impala and got in. There had been service about thirty minutes out.

He made it there in ten.

The second he saw the second bar flash on his phone, he slammed on the breaks and dialed Sam’s number.

Sam wasn’t dead. Ava had been lying. She had to have been. But then why hadn’t the death echo disappeared after Dean burned her body? Perhaps it was some other monster. The ghost of a shape-shifter or something. Maybe it really was just the memories being dragged forward and his brain messing with him. Or some test from the angels and to taunt him or-

“Dean?” Sam’s voice answered. His lower, huskier voice. Not a voice filled with relief about to be ripped away from him, but his present, healthy Sam voice.

The world stopped and Dean couldn’t breathe for a moment. It felt too good to be true. Like as soon as he let himself believe it would be ripped away from him. After struggling to speak for a moment, Dean was barely able to let out a whispered, “Sammy?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Sam’s voice responded, worry laced in his tone. “What’s wrong, man? Are you okay?”

The relief was too much for him and the phone slipped from Dean’s hands. He was alive. He was real. He was safe. Sam was completely fine. Not dead, reliving the worst moment Dean had ever known.

In the background, Dean could hear Sam’s concerned voice on the other line. He knew he should answer but he couldn’t bear to pick the phone back up yet. Not when there were tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat. He doubted he’d even be able to talk right now.

As more time passed, Sam’s voice got more and more desperate. Taking a final steadying breath, Dean wiped his face and picked the phone back up. “Yeah, Sammy. I’m fine. I’ll be there soon.”

Without another word, he hung up the phone and started to drive.

___________

“Dude, what’s wrong with you? What happened back there?”

Dean really should have expected to come home to a furious little brother. After all, he had hung up on Sam without really telling him anything and ignored all the calls he sent after.

Yeah, Dean would have been a little upset too.

Thankfully, Sam seemed to realise that something outside of their normal had happened and backed off some. Switching to a softer tone, Sam asked the only question he actually cared about, “Are you okay, Dean?”

Dean briefly considering just blowing off the whole ordeal. See if he could get away with not talking about it, but with the way Sam was looking at him, he knew that wasn’t an option.

Pursing his lips, he said bluntly, “You have a death echo.”

___________

The idea of still missing a part of his soul had Sam freaked out even more than Dean. That being said, with their recent hunts and Sam learning what he had been like without a soul, it was understandable.

They ended up driving back to Cold Oak on Sam’s insistence. Dean had argued against it at first, but eventually realized it might help to see Sam alive next to the death echo. It would provide firm evidence that they weren’t the same Sam. It would help him separate them from each other. Wasn’t that the kind of thing others would classify as healthy coping.

The drive there was tense and silent, Sam nervous about his soul and Dean nervous about returning to Cold Oak. Was he positive none of it had been in his head? What if they arrived there and Sam didn’t see anything?

But Sam’s small gasp as they pulled up told Dean that he definitely wasn’t the only one who could see the death echo.

Dean watched as Sam slowly got out of the car and started to approach the death echo. A twitch ran down his spine and Dean suddenly felt the need to pull Sam back and get them as far away from here as possible.

But since Dean hadn’t been able to snap the death echo out of its loop, Sam was their last chance. After all, who could be closer to you than yourself? If he couldn’t do it then there must have been no piece of soul left to save.

The thought eased some of Dean’s nerves as he got out to follow Sam. He hadn’t considered that the death echo might have just been an after-image of those few days when Sam was actually dead. If that was true, than maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. This was just some freak supernatural event that happened sometimes and they would move past it like they always di-

But then the death echo’s eyes snapped to attention and looked directly at Sam.

“You should be dead,” the death echo said, its voice a mix between Sam’s younger voice and a higher voice Dean didn’t recognize.

Before Dean or Sam could do anything, the death echo reached out its hand and touched Sam.

“Sam!”

The effect was immediate and Sam crumpled to the ground, gasping in pain.

Dean raced to his side, his hands hovered over his brother’s twitching body. He needed to touch him to find the wound, but he was worried that his touch would make it worse. After all, the death echo didn’t appear to actually attack him.

“What’d it do to you, Sammy? Where are you hurt?”

“M-my back,” Sam choked out, eyes squeezed shut in pain. His voice was tight, far too like the pained sounds from the death echo’s loop and his body trembled as his nerves were overwhelmed.

The words sent a knife into Dean’s gut. His back? No. No, he was not losing Sam again. Not like this. Not here.

Dean gently helped Sam onto his side, grateful that this time he could at least touch his brother, and checked his back with trembling hands. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

This all felt too familiar and Dean held his breath as his fingers felt for the blood he knew was there.

But there was no blood.

Sam whimpered slightly as Dean probed his back harder in his search for the wound. “Dean,” he breathed out. “Stop.”

Dean did so with a quick sorry, but his face was of pure relief. He put a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “You’re gonna be just fine, kiddo. It’s not there. You hear me? There’s no wound or anything.”

Dean pulled Sam up into his arms, allowing himself to absorb that thought. Dean held Sam closer, trying to comfort him through whatever had passed through him. It had to be some aftershock from touching his own death echo, but there was no wound so Sam was okay.

Right?

But at the movement, Sam quickly yelped. His eyes were squeezed shut as he rode through the newest wave of pain.

Dean flinched back as he realised it was his movement that had caused it. What was going on? There was no wound, no nothing. Why was he in so much pain?

He took in his brothers shaking form and his memory supplied the image of his brother on the floor in a motel a few weeks back. How could he have forgotten about Sam’s wall? What if the death echo had messed with it? Dean’s heart sped up so fast that Dean could barely hear his own voice over it. “Sammy? Sammy, talk to me. What’s going on? Is it your wall?”

But Sam’s eyes were drifting closed and there were no tremors running across his body anymore. Instead, he was completely still, head lolling like a dead weight. Just like the death echo earlier.

Dean cupped Sam’s cheeks, preventing Sam’s head from rolling and trying to force him to meet his eyes. “Sam?”

No response.

Dean patted at his cheek again, trying to rouse some sort of reaction. His brother was never meant to be so still. Dean would prefer another hell seizure to this. “Sammy?”

But his eyes had slipped closed, head only held up by Dean’s firm grasp. He looked exactly as he did the first time he died. “No.” Dean muttered, instinctively rejecting the idea. Sam didn’t move. “No! No, Sam!”

Dea’s fingers clawed at his brother’s throat, needing the reassurance. There was no wound. No anything. He couldn’t be...

Nothing.

Sam didn’t have a pulse.

“Nononononoono... Please. Please, Sam! You can’t do this to me!” Dean smacked Sam’s cheek, desperate for any sort of sign that his brother wasn’t gone.

But there was no response except for Sam’s body to slump against Dean’s, completely lax.

Dean felt his eyes water, his arms snaking around Sam to clutch at his back. He rocked their bodies back and forth, mind still in denial. There was no blood, no wound, nothing that should have made Sam’s heart give up.

But there was still one thing that Dean could try. Someone he hadn’t even known about all those years ago.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. They weren’t on the best of terms right now, but surely he still cared about them enough to save Sam. “Cas, please! Come on, I need you! Sam needs you!”

Dean sat still for a moment, waiting on his last real hope. But the air was as still as Sam, no flutter of wings announcing any angel’s presence. Biting back a sob, Dean cursed the angel in his head, hoping Cas heard every word of the ‘prayer.’

It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered but the fact that Sam still had no heartbeat.

Forcing his emotions back, Dean allowed his first aid training to kick in. While he’d had to resuscitate victims on cases before, he’d always been grateful for the fact that his brother had never been one of them. But it looked like life couldn’t even grant them that one small mercy.

Laying Sam flat in front of him, Dean started compressions on his chest. There was no need to pull up his shirt to make sure he was on the right spot. He had felt for the thumping of Sam’s heart through his shirt so many times that he knew exactly where it was. ‘Stayin’ Alive’ played in the background of Dean’s brain. Before now, he had always found the irony amusing. Now, watching Sam’s body bouncing lifelessly with each press, all humor was lost on him.

Pausing to give two rescue breaths, Dean swiped at the tears in his eyes. He needed to be able to see. Sam’s life depended on this and he was not going to screw it up by doing the compressions too low because he couldn’t see through his tears.

Only ten more compressions in, though, and they were streaming down his cheeks.

He continued like that for several minutes, muscles aching, but he refused to give up on Sam. He wouldn’t stop until he was back.

Though after this long without oxygen to him brain, Dean’s mind supplied unhelpfully, it probably wasn’t possible for him to come back without some type of permanent damage.

A sob tore loose at the thought and Dean pressed harder until he simply couldn’t continue. Pounding on his chest weakly, Dean cried out for his brother, one last time.

“Come on, Sammy. Please, you can’t leave me like this! Not after everything we’ve been through. Not now...”

Sam’s body didn’t move though and Dean finally let the tears stream down his face. It was nothing compared to what Sam deserved, but it was what Dean could give at the moment.

Suddenly, a light appeared to Dean’s side and he glanced up to see a glowing figure frowning down at him. For a moment, Dean had forgotten about the death echo and thought it was Sam’s, his Sam’s, ghost. But no, even if the shorter hair and younger face didn’t give him away, the eyes would have.

There was no compassion in those eyes.

No sign of his Sammy anywhere in them and Dean couldn’t even fathom how he ever thought this cold expression could have belonged to his brother.

Wiping at his face and trying to reclaim his dignity, Dean barked out, “Bring him back.” He didn’t actually have any hope that the death echo would do so, but he had to try.

Death echoes weren’t supposed to be violent after all. Yes, they were horrible and heart wrenching, but rarely dangerous. How could he have known what this one would be violent?

But it didn’t matter. Sammy was his responsibility. His baby brother whom Dean was supposed to protect. And Dean had been the one who brought him here. He had led him straight to his slaughter.

The death echo was no longer wearing it’s normal blank expression, though. It was staring directing where Sam lay besides Dean, looking perplexed.

Dean put a protective hand against Sam’s chest, knowing it wouldn’t matter but feeling like he needed to at least make an effort. “Stay away from him,” he snarled as the death echo continued to study Sam.

There was no immediate response and Dean had just come to the conclusion that the death echo couldn’t hear him when it’s head whipped towards him. The eyes were blank and cold, face expressionless, and Dean’s heart clenched in anticipation.

But the death echo stepped away, and Dean felt a wonderful flutter under the hand splayed against Sam’s chest.

Sam had a heartbeat.

“Sam?” Dean asked tentatively, death echo completely forgotten.

The younger man groaned, trying to push himself up to a sitting position before another cry of pain came out and he wrapped an arm around his chest.

Dean knew he should probably be apologizing for the bruises that his CPR had most-likely caused, but he couldn’t lose the grin that spread across his face. “Sammy.” His eyes filled again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

Sam was disoriented, but he was quickly regaining color. “Dean... Wha’ happened?”

The scratchy voice was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever heard. Before Dean could answer his question, though, the death echo moved forward. Dean tensed, ready to protect Sam at any cost, but the figure made no effort to move closer. Instead, it just stared down at Sam. “You are not the same. We cannot claim you in his place.”

Before either of the brothers could ask questions, the death echo disappeared in a final burst of light.

The brothers sat there for a moment, uncertain of what had happened or what that meant, before Dean slowly started to stand. Pulling Sam to his feet gently, he said, “Come on. Let’s get out of this place.”

___________

They reached the car fairly easily. Even though Sam’s ribs and chest ached and there was still a slight pain in his back, Sam could walk on his own.

That didn’t end up mattereing in the long run, though, as Dean had slung Sam’s arm around his shoulder and started walking before Sam could say anything. The initial fog of Sam’s recovery had cleared and he remembered every second of the last few minutes in painful vividness. Sam knew that his brother needed the physical assurance right now and, if he was being honest, he needed it too.

When they finally got in the car, Dean didn’t turn it on right away. Instead, he just let out a heavy breath and ran a hand over his face. Eventually, it was Sam who broke the silence.

“What did it mean by that?”

Dean sighed. He had known that this was coming but was still not looking forward to it. “It doesn’t matter, man. The important thing is that you’re still alive, okay? Can’t we just take the win?”

Sam looked away, knowing that Dean didn’t want to hear his response. Taking that to mean it was the end of the conversation, Dean went to grab the keys, but Sam couldn’t hold in his fears. “What if I’m not completely me? Maybe when Death put my soul back in...”

“No, Sam.” Dean cut off immediately. “Look, they probably were just realising how much older you are. We’ve both been through literal Hell, man. Neither of us are the same person we were five years ago, Sammy, but that doesn’t mean that anything’s wrong with us.”

Sam didn’t respond immediately but Dean refused to break his stare, determined to resolve this now. After a moment of silence, Sam finally relented. “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right.”

Dean sent him a cocky smile. “‘Course I am, Sammy.”

With that said and done, Dean inserted the keys and started the car, happy to put this place behind them permanently. There was just one final thing he needed to say before they never talked about it again, though.

Staring at the road, Dean’s mood sobered quickly. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, though.”

Sam grimaced, rubbing his sore back lightly. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“Good,” Dean said. Dean pressed on the gas, turned up the radio, and started the drive back home. A lot of old wounds were opened for both of them today, but as long as Sam was still by Dean’s side, he knew they would turn out okay.