Work Text:
Sam sucked in a loud sob as Dean’s forehead pressed onto his shoulder. His grip loosened and his hand fell limply by his side. This was it. No resurrections this time. His fingers dug into Dean’s jacket and he held onto his brother with his dear life.
Gone. A voice in him mocked.
And for the first time in his existence, he felt utterly and completely alone.
When Dean had been in purgatory he had felt almost this way. But he had Riot. Time it was different. This was the end for real. No more Chuck, no running around in a maze, no more adventures. He was just another hunter now. Just another hunter that lost all his family and has nothing left to live for. “You either die too young or live long enough to see everyone you love die” was the hunters’ motto anyway. His grip on Dean’s jacket tightened as panic settled over him.
Something in him snapped and he quickly lifted Dean’s head off his shoulders and pressed his fingers to the side of his neck to pick up a pulse. There was no way he was going to feel anything there but he believed that if he can go all these years without losing hope, he can hold onto it now too. Frustrated at not feeling anything at Dean's neck he takes in deep breaths and lets them out to calm himself down and checks again. He grunts in frustration, and grabs Dean by his collar and jerks him up.
“Why’d you have to go? Why now?” his anger melted into devastation as Dean’s head lolled forward and then something dawned on him.
Just a couple of minutes back, he had said that it was okay and that Dean could let go. But he had totally forgotten about that. Once again he accepted that his brother was in peace. Yes, it hurt like hell. But Dean is in heaven now. He’s free. The thought of his brother finally finding peace and not spending another moment in this cruel and merciless world tugged a sad smile at the corner of his lips but it fell just as it grew.
He hugged his brother with one of his hands going over his shoulders and the other right below the rebar lodged into his back and slowly started pulling him off of it. The sound that followed was sickening and his gut twisted in agony. Gritting his teeth, he gives a strong tug and has Dean buckling into his arms.
He barges into the bunker, grabs a very puzzled Miracle, and drives straight to Pontiac, Illinois with Dean in his back seat. He went looking for that stretch of land he had buried Dean in, the first time he died. That time Dean had come back to him after four months. He wasn’t hoping for a resurrection this time but that child in him that always looked up to his big brother, believed in him, and always knew that he’d come back, had taken over the wheel. He wasn’t Sam Winchester right now. He was Sammy. A hurt and lost Sammy without his big brother.
On the road, his phone kept buzzing with messages and calls from Eileen. After a few, he just couldn’t take it anymore and threw the damn thing out the window. Miracle wouldn’t give up trying to scramble into the backseat to curl into Dean’s side but Sam held him from going. A few more barks and Sam loses it. The brief yelling has Miracle whining and then going shockingly silent, and Sam regrets it instantly, but he doesn’t know what to do, and miracle doesn’t even let out a yelp for the rest of the journey. Sam just gives him silent apologies with his teary eyes but Miracles doesn't see.
He couldn’t think straight and had no control over his emotions throughout the drive. If he was sobbing now, he’d be angry enough to want to rip off the steering wheel the next minute or try to smile through the pain and try to be happy for having his brother’s suffering end, because Dean would want him to deal with this well. It took him a couple of hours to go numb and drive at a speed that had nothing to do with what he was feeling. Once in a while, he’d turn around and a flicker of sadness would show on his face but then the numbness kicks in again and he drives ahead.
Washing away the blood and wiping down Dean’s body, Sam felt nothing but irritation and anger. There was no one he could blame for what had happened and that was just angered him further. He couldn't blame Chuck, or anyone else for that matter. He could always blame the dead vamp but it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t bring his brother back. He dressed him in red flannel over a black undershirt and jeans. He was about to wrap him up in white sheets but Dean didn’t look like himself without a jacket. He rummages through Dean’s duffel bag and finds a black one. The fabric felt oddly familiar under his touch but he shrugs off the feeling and walks over to Dean and puts it on him. He gave the jacket a final tug and saw that it was a little tight on Dean. He frowned as he thought back. Dean hadn’t put on weight over the years. If anything, he might have lost a couple of pounds after losing Cas.
Cas. Another loved one he’d lost. Not only did he lose Cas but he also had to watch Dean trying his best to get through every minute, down every beer until he’s numb and passed out of the floor, and forgetting to take showers or even eat. Just when he had thought that watching Dean mourn his lost love was tearing him apart, this happens.
The frown leaves his face as he realizes that Dean had this very jacket on himself when he had barged into his apartment the night it all started. To tell him that “Dad’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few days”. Huffing dryly at the stale memory, his fingers slip into pocket by pocket of the jacket to see if Dean had kept something in them. The jacket clearly didn’t fit him well. He had grown out of it. If he was carrying it around, then it was possible that he could have been keeping something in its pockets. His fingers twitch as he feels the cold metal at the tip of his fingers in one of them. He hastily grabs it along with the leather chord and his eyes pool again with tears and they stream down as he dangles it before himself. It was the amulet. The wave of sobs hits him again as he slowly slips them over Dean’s head.
His eyes were sunken and the freckles could no longer be seen. Weary lines ran across his forehead, at the corner of his eyes. The innocence and softness of Dean Winchester’s face were lost and what was left behind was just a worn body. On the table before Sam, was the body of one of the greatest hunters to have ever lived. The body of a man who killed Hitler, Lucifer, and Death himself. What he couldn’t find in that face was the man who loved selflessly, never asking for anything in return. He couldn't find who used to be so strong as to smile, laugh, and love through the pain and carrying the weight of the world and his little brother on his shoulders. He couldn’t find his brother in that face. So he throws the white cloth over it. This isn't Dean. Dean's gone. He tells himself again, losing count of how many times he had done that already. He takes in a deep breath in pride that breaks into a dry sob of agony and takes one last good look at his brother before he has him going up in flames.